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Skyrim Page 3 - "Either you're naked, or I'm drunk. Maybe both."

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After last night’s little…hiccup, Brynjolf thought it best to set things right as soon as he woke. He dresses in an orderly fashion and fast-walks over to the wooden divider at the foot of the Guild Master’s bed, knocking politely. There would never be a time that he would not knock again – the first had resulted in a very intimate portrait and a good punch to his cheekbone that Brynjolf swears he can still feel today whenever he thinks about her. “Lass? You decent?”

He hears a chest snap shut behind the divider, a note of haste to the way it rang in his ears.

“Lass?” Deciding the risk was worth it (and not only because he wouldn’t mind to see his lass naked, either. Not at all), Brynjolf side-steps the divider. The charming smile he’s been working up is crumpled in an instant. “Pax?”

“Now’s not the time, Brynjolf,” his Guild Master says, voice soft but reprimanding all the same. She snaps her head up, eyes shut, stamps her foot, takes in a sharp breath through the nose – what she does every time she messes up. “Oh, damn it!” Returning to her work at a snail’s pace, Pax packs a bag filled with basic necessities for what he estimates could last a week. “I wasn’t supposed to talk to you,” she mumbles, but this was something he assumes he wasn’t meant to hear.

“What are you doing, lass?” Brynjolf hasn’t been one to show his emotions up front, would much rather play the card of charm (because charm was easily fabricated and just as easily bought), but even his silver tongue couldn’t catch the hurtful, accusatory tone it suggested.

Pax’s eyes are shut again, fingers knotting around the buckle of her satchel. “I’m leaving,” she tells him, but continues to mutter as she sets back to work again, “have to go see someone. Won’t be too long.”

Brynjolf shook his head. “Lass, who? Who are you going to see? You keep leaving and coming back, and every time you do, you look halfway to Shor’s halls!”

He doesn’t know why she laughs, but she does. The soft, bitter sort of chuckle born from secrets under lock and key. “It doesn’t matter. My business is my own, Brynjolf.” She turns to look at him as she shoulders her supplies. There was none of the fire, the sheer heat, from the night before – just a tranquil, soothing brown that Brynjolf has become so fond of (used to, he automatically tries to correct it). “And, um – I’m sorry. Really.” He tries to catch her wrist as she passes, but the woman is craftier than her character lets on.

“Pax!” No matter how often he tries to shout her name as he chases her to the Cistern’s hidden entrance, she wouldn’t respond – wouldn’t even look back at him, probably wondering why he even bothered to chase her for so long.

Defeated, he retreats to the Flagon, drink on his mind.

He’s sitting with his arms leaned up on the bar countertop, glowering into the contents of his tankard, trying to pretend like he understands what’s just happened. Last he checked women weren’t this hard to figure out.

“You gotta problem with that mead o’ yours, Bryn?” Delvin says as he takes the seat on Brynjolf’s right.

“It’s not the mead I have a problem with,” he responds, not even bothering to hide the bitterness and resentment.

“Ah, so it’s about our boss, then, eh?” His smirk is sly and only somewhat vindictive as he says it.

Brynjolf just takes a sip of his mead.

Delvin waves Vekel over for a drink, telling the glum Nord, “Come on then, get it all off your chest. You’re bad company when you get pissy about somethin’.”

“Why in Oblivion would she apologize, and then just leave like that, just – just ignore me on her way out?” He took a long swig of his mead, downing the contents swiftly. “She’s been acting real odd recently, too. Leaving for long stretches of time, coming back looking like she’s been fighting hordes of Daedra.”

“From what I understand, that can’t be too far off,” Delvin supplies.

Brynjolf ignores him. He’d rather not think about Pax running around Skyrim slaying Dremora. “And then, when we argued yesterday, I’ve never seen her angry since I met her, Delvin, but she was pissed. She told me to respect her, like I was beneath her or something. Then, out of nowhere, she called herself a dovah. I don’t know what she means by that. Does she even know what dovah means?”

Delvin takes a sip from his tankard, apparently thinking. “She must. She wouldn’t’a used it if she hadn’t.”

“Something’s going on with her, I’m telling you, Delvin,” he says it quietly, a harsh, conspiratorial whisper. “She’s keeping something from us.”

“‘aven’t you looked around yourself, Bryn? We’re the Thieves Guild. It’s commonplace for our lot to keep secrets. Sapphire still insists on keeping us in the dark about her real name.”

“This is different.” Brynjolf swings his head to his right, finally looking at Delvin. “And I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

Delvin sighs. He knows better than to discourage a Nord on a mission, but Brynjolf imagines he’s not exactly comfortable plotting against the Guild Master’s wishes.

“Maybe her chest’ll have some answers….” Standing, Brynjolf abandons his drink in order to make his way over to the Cistern, Delvin on his heels.

“This seems highly inappropriate, Brynjolf,” he stammers, “and that’s comin’ from me.”

The thought briefly crosses his mind as he pushes the door to the Cistern open and walks the short distance to their Guild Master’s bed that it might be a tad inappropriate for him to be going through his leader’s things, but it is quickly scrapped in favor of searching his pockets for the hidden seam he keeps his lockpicks in. Brynjolf kneels down and makes quick work of the chest set next to Pax’s bed.

“Bryn, think about this. What would she be keeping from us? It can’t be anythin’ too important.”

“Better safe than sorry,” he says, throwing the lid open. He and Delvin lean over the rim, peering at the contents. There’s a moment of silence where they just look, before Delvin whistles and Brynjolf lets his hands rummage through.

Dragon scales and bones, first off. They’re weighty, but he’s careful to set them down gently. Plenty of books, the majority of which are fairly rare – including some book titled Annals of the Dragonguard – and a stock of potions that could last the whole of the Guild several months. Scattered around are septims and various gemstones, stolen jewelry and ingots. His eyes catch on a particularly well-kept book under a pile of scales and gold and, acting on instinct, he fishes it out. The book is large and weighty, with a leather-bound cover that belongs to most journals. When he flips it open, he finds that the book is, in fact, written in Pax’s handwriting. “Her journal,” he thinks aloud, leafing through what must be hundreds, maybe even thousands, of pages. “What’s this? ‘Arngeir knew the name of the Shout, "Dragonrend", but could not teach it to me. However, he has agreed to show me the way to reach Paarthurnax, the Greybeards' leader, who lives at the top of the Throat of the World. Arngeir says that Paarthurnax is the only one who may know this Dragonrend Shout.’ Delvin, you don’t think she’s…?”

“She can’t be,” Delvin responds, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. “From what I’ve heard, the Dragonborn’s some girl by the name Dominique. Maybe she’s an admirer? A fellow student with the Greybeards?”

Brynjolf snaps the journal shut, tossing it carelessly back into the chest and slamming the lid down. “I doubt that.” He stands. “How long ago did the lass leave?”

“Can’t have been more than an ‘alf hour.” Brynjolf feels Delvin’s leer of suspicion on his back as he walks over to the ladder leading up to the graveyard. He hears the old Imperial call after him, “Ay! Where’re you goin’?”

Whether Delvin hears him or not as he goes hardly matters. “The Throat of the World!”

OP again! I can't imagine Pax is gonna be pleased when Brynjolf confronts her about her secret. Wonder how long it'll take for him to catch up to her, cause she could be moving like the wind for all he knows.

I love what you put up, because I can definitely see Brynjolf and Delvin reacting the way they did (And for that matter, I think my chest in the cistern is pretty identical to what Pax stored in there). Can't wait to see what happens next!

This is coming together so well. I love how the Dragonborn is so sweet and mouselike, except when she's mad. Really looking forward to more.

more updates!

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