Azalia // Skyrim Fanfiction

Chapter Three

When Azalia awoke, she was in a warm bed. She groaned when she felt the throbbing pain all throughout her body. She went to stand up but fell forward when she put weight on her right foot. A pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her upright.

"Woah there, Lass," Brynjolf said, steadying her, "You're bruised all over and you've at least sprained that ankle."

"I'm fine," Azalia muttered, pulling herself from Brynjolf's grip. She grabbed a healing potion that lay beside her bed and chugged it down, the liquid burning her throat uncomfortably. "I'm fine."

"Just take it easy, okay?" The redhead said worried and she nodded reluctantly.

"Where am I?" Azalia asked and Brynjolf smiled.

"You're in the Cistern," He announced, "Home to the Thieves Guild. You'll get used to the smell eventually."

"Did you bring me here?" Azalia asked in disbelief, her last memory was her crashing through the window and falling in a graveyard. Brynjolf opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by another voice.

"Actually, I found you. I'm the Guildmaster here." Mercer said, "What exactly did you do to the Thalmor?"

She looked up at the man, a Breton. He was older than Brynjolf and had greyish hair. He held an air of authority around him, demanding to be obeyed. He wasn't unattractive, and Azalia wondered how she came to be surrounded by so many men.

Azalia sighed, "About a year ago I decided it would be a good idea to crash a party in the Thalmor Embassy and steal as much as I could carry. I was caught and tortured until I escaped, taking a bunch of soldiers and a high up Thalmor noble man with me."

"Well then," Brynjolf coughed out. He didn't expect the young woman in the Bee and Barb to have led such a dangerous life.

"I've been hiding out with the Companions in Whiterun for the last couple of months."

"The Companions, eh?" Mercer asked inquisitively, "They're quite insufferably good, ain't they?"

"Yes, actually," Azalia replied, her lips upturned slightly, "They knew I wouldn't be staying forever, so when I got a letter from Jarl Laila saying that she had a job for me, I left. Looks like she set me up."

"Brynjolf says you have the makings of a good thief," Mercer stated, sizing her up. His eyes raked over her feminine figure, musceled and curvy. "Seeing as I went through the effort of dragging your ass down here I'd hope you don't disappoint me."

With that Mercer Frey left, and Azalia turned to Brynjolf with a puzzled look on her face.
"He's always like that.. So, are you going to tell me your name now?"

"It's Azalia," She replied, a smirk on her face despite the pain she was enduring. The healing potion had made a noticeable difference but she still ached.

"Azalia, that's a pretty name," Brynjolf said with a coy smile, "It suits you."

"Thanks," Azalia laughed, rolling her eyes. She got a better look at Brynjolf this time. He was a handsome man, well built and strong.

"Oh!" He exclaimed, "I got your weapons back from the Keep, they're under the bed you were sleeping on. Just incase the men got sticky fingers."

Azalia nodded and thanked Brynjolf and retrieved her weapons from under the bed. She slung them around herself, feeling quite bare in the thin dress that she was put in. She walked towards the door where Brynjolf had disappeared and passed the desk where Mercer sat.

"I hope you don't think you're leaving," Mercer said without looking up from his books.

"So what if I am?" Azalia retorted, pissed off by the mans attitude.