A Master Thief (A Brynjolf Fanfic)

Twelve

I awoke late that evening. Washing my face with water and doing the best I could to comb the knots out of my hair, I entered the the tavern of the Ratway. It was called the Ragged Flagon, and to my relief, not many of the thieves were there. Most, I assumed, were out collecting and stealing. The few that had remained behind merely cast me disdainful looks and went about with their drinks and food. So I shyly approached the woman behind the bar. She was a broad-shouldered Nord, masculine in appearance and even had cropped hair, but she was the first person aside from Brynjolf and Karliah to welcome me with some warmth. I learned her name--or what she simply went as--was Maya. 

"Here, love," she instructed in a guttural tone. "Drink this up. It'll put color back into those cheeks of yers." She slid me a tankard of something that smelled sweet and strong. 

"What is it?" I asked before I could catch myself, peering into it with curiosity. I'd only ever supped wine and mead before because according to Madam Callick, "Ale was for pirates and brigands."

"Just do as I say," Maya grunted. "Also, have some warm bread." And she handed me a few buttered rolls. I was unused to not eating and am afraid to say that I devoured the bread with the quickness of one who was starving. However, Maya beamed happily. I sipped on my drinking, finding it potent upon first touching my lips, but warming and soft once it hit my belly. It was what I imagined a dragon's fire must feel like: A consistent soothing burn in the gut, then roiling up to scald the lips and mouth upon exiting. But I liked it quite a bit.

Once I'd had my fill, I looked around. Brynjolf, Mercer, and Karliah had left to infiltrate Lord Telir's manor in Crouis that morning while I'd slept. Karliah had written me a note stating they would return by dusk with news. But down below in the cavernous halls of the sewers, I'd no idea what time it was.

"Mistress," I turned to Maya. "Has Brynjolf and the others returned?"

"It's Maya, m'lady," the broad woman stated unceremoniously. "And yes, they have. They were awful quiet about the job, though. So I can't say how it turned out."

That's not a good thing. "Pray, where did Brynjolf go?"

"Last I saw, he was headed towards the training room."

I thanked her and slid off the stool, walking towards the training room. Before they had left, Karliah had given me a brief tour of the thieves' home so that I could find my way around. I had known better than to go snooping here and there, but thanked her anyway. But I was grateful she'd shown me, as I found the training room with ease. It was filled to the brim with weapons and dummies upon which the thieves practiced their combative skills. Though violence wasn't their first resort, to go about in such a dangerous line of work without precaution would have been foolish. Even I could see that. 

I found Brynjolf where Maya had said he was--training tirelessly. He had a flask on a stool that I assumed was not filled with water, and only paused to swig from it. Then he'd be back to swinging his sword almost angrily on an already mutilated dummy. Cotton and stuffing flew everywhere, but I watched, transfixed as the young thief leaped and bound with the grace of a dancer. Much to my scandal, I allowed my eyes to study Brynjolf closely: His thick red hair, his sweaty skin, his leather breeches. He was the thing of most women's fantasies. 

Suddenly, he paused to strip off his shirt and I felt my pulse quicken.

Beneath his clothes, Brynjolf was rippled in muscle. He had a soft coating of red hair on his broad chest, and his arms were so corded with veins and adrenaline that I felt heat coursing through me simply upon looking at him. His pants sat low on his waist and I saw how his chiseled stomach moved and glistened with sweat....