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In all your years, you don't think you've ever been so flustered. Your bottom lip hurts and tastes of copper from biting down in an attempt to keep from making a face. You're positive you're blushing, but that's easily dismissed by the glass of wine you've been nursing for the past hour. Apparently your claims of being a "total fricken lightweight" are paying off, as none of your Guild mates seem to notice anything awry.
It started with an offhanded conversation starter from a very tipsy Sapphire, asking if anyone had heard about the Dragonborn. "I saw her when I was getting out of Dawnstar, she basically took it out singlehandedly." She says, sounding disbelieving despite apparently seeing it for herself. "She rode the dragon."
You peek over the edge of your book, eyeing your fellow thief curiously. She doesn't know...
"Sounds like you want her to ride you." Vex says bitingly, smirking.
Oh, Nocturnal have mercy. You want to cover your mouth just to make sure no noises come out, but sudden movements might tip them off.
Sapphire just roles her eyes, "You would too if you saw her."
"I heard from a pretty reliable source she's not married." Delvin chimes in. "Halfa the guards in Whiterun won't shut up about how great she is. Apparently there's rumors about her doing less savory work too."
They're not wrong. You glance around the flagon contemplatively. Most of the Guild Members not on a job have wandered over here as night set in, taking your advice to take it easy for a night to heart. With Nocturnal's blessing restored and your own hard work to get the Guild back on top, you've been much more concerned with their well being rather than gold.
"Who's gonna recruit the Dragonborn?" Brynjolf scoffs, as if the very idea of approaching The Dragonborn with an invite to the Thieves Guild is unthinkable.
Stop.
You always forget that as a Nord Brynjolf more than likely grew up on tales of Dragonborn pasts. He probably has this gilded idea of what the Dragonborn is like, how noble and brave she is. You're not sure if that pleases you or not. You still mentally consider yourself his protégé after all, despite being a higher rank than him.
"You, of course. You've obviously got a knack for it." Vex answers, making a motion to where you sit perched on the wooden crates. For a split second you think she knows, but then you realize she just means Brynjolf simply got the present Guild Master.
"What do you think a the Dragonborn then?" Someone you can't quite remember the name of asks curiously.
I heard the Dragonborn has an eight pack. That the Dragoborn is shredded.
Brushing off your knee jerk memer reaction, you simply raise your eyebrows and pointedly finish off your drink. "Don't drag me into this conversation." You say after swallowing, your voice blessedly smooth.
"I saw her up close. She's got a heart of gold and a pretty face." Etienne suddenly says, swiping the spotlight from you. He's got that starry eyed look that makes your ribs feel too tight. So he does remember your flippant 'official Dragonborn business' response when he asked what you were doing in a Thalmor institute.
"Okay, we have to settle this, raise your hand if you've got a crush on the Dragonborn." Vipir mocks, already lifting his hand.
You're more than a little shocked when several other Guild Members raise their hands. A few of which immediately start fighting over who's her biggest fan.
"Vekel." You call over the noise, bringing a hand to your temple. "Can you get me another glass?" You're gonna need it.
Vekel flashes you a thumbs up, a gesture he no doubt picked up from you. He delivers the new glass with a smile and you hand over more than enough to cover it. "Thanks." You murmur.
"So what do you think she's like in bed?" Nuruin asks.
Fucking hell.
Brynjolf saunters over to where you sit as you down the second glass without pause, laughing, "Slow down there, lass. What's got you in a tizzy?" He leans against the crates, his face right next to one of your knees.
"No one's ever asked what I do outside the Guild and I'm having so many regrets. I'm dying, Bryn." You groan, curling up in on yourself. Being a thief has made you significantly more flexible. Although that could also be attributed to your extremely active lifestyle as Dragonborn.
Brynjolf is more than accustomed to your hyperbole. "Why are you dying this time?"
You peek at him, "You promise not to tell anyone?"
"I swear on my honor as a thief." He places a hand over his heart, doing his best to look sincere despite the mirth shining in his eyes. He's always loved when you get dramatic.
"Swear to Nocturnal." You demand.
He roles his eyes. "I swear on the Lady Luck herself, Nocturnal, that I won't tell a soul what you do outside the Guild, although I doubt it could possibly merit such secrecy."
You unfold yourself and jump from the stack, holding your hand out for Brynjolf. "Come on."
Your fellow thief seems awfully amused by your need for secrecy, but he follows anyway. A few of your Guild members whistle as you head into the cistern (and you may or may not have responded by flicking them off over your shoulder).
Brynjolf lets you drag him all the way up into the stairway that leads out into Riften, where you pointedly sit on the last step and pat the place next to you.
"Okay. For starters I know some of the Guild has made comments about my week long absences, and I'm not telling you this to make it sound like an excuse for my shitty Guild Master-ing, but--"
"You're not a shitty Guild Master, lass. If you were we'd be sure to tell you." Brynjolf interrupts.
"But there is a reason I'm gone a lot of the time." You continue, looking down at your leather clad fingers rather than Brynjolf's sure to be understanding face. Damn him for being so mentoring. It's no wonder you still feel like a total newbie when he's around.
(You're also prone to feeling like a lovesick fool, but that's hardly a surprise.)
Bryn remains silent this time, waiting for you to get your nerve up.
It takes you a moment, the silence filled with the sound of you plucking at your gloves anxiously. "And I feel bad for keeping this from the Guild for so long, honestly, but at first I didn't want to get treated differently, you know? I just wanted to be the new thief, to be "Brynjolf's protégé" instead of some hyped up thing." You continue.
"But then they started talking about the Dragonborn and I'm so awkward! God, Sapphire hasn't complimented me once and suddenly she's like, yeah, I'd hit that, like? That's exactly why I haven't-- I don't want them to see me like that. I don't want them to start seeing me as the Dragonborn even though I am. I'm Dovahkiin." Your words are all mixed up and in the wrong order, but you can't concentrate long enough to fix it.
"And also your comment about who'd recruit me is super ironic now that I think about it." You add with a frown. "I mean--"
"Lass." Brynjolf says before you can go off on another tangent. He slips a hand between yours, preventing you from pulling your gloves apart at the seams. A "look at me" gesture if you've ever seen one. Still...
You don't look up until he says your name, and even then its through your lashes.
"You're telling me all this time I thought you were adventuring, you've been saving Skyrim?" He asks, eyes wide. He appears too startled to keep up his usual mask. You've only seen him totally sincere a few times since you've met him. It's a good habit to have as thief, admittedly, but you'd like if he relaxed a bit more. But then again, it might just be too soon for him to trust everyone again, after Mercer.
"Technically I was doing both." You respond hesitantly.
"I kissed the Dragonborn," He says, mostly to himself.
Ah. So that's what he's so torn up over. At least he's not demanding proof of something (although you have no doubts he'll ask you to Shout sometime soon).
You remember the kiss in vivid, almost tactile detail. Right after you escaped the cave in, your Nightingale armor clinging even more than normal, soaked through with icy water as you drug yourself out of the water. Brynjolf scooped you up into his arms when you all made it out, your masks pulled down to suck in as much air as possible (it was significantly harder to tread water with the Falmer eyes in your pack). You threw your arms around his neck in return, cheering, "We did it!"
"Aye, lass, we did." He responded, still holding you up off the ground even when he stopped moving. His smile was a mile wide, the biggest you've seen yet, and despite both of you being absolute wrecks after the whole ordeal, you thought he looked gorgeous.
You aren't sure who moved first, who closed the small gap, but suddenly you were kissing. It wasn't gentle or practiced by any means, but it was soft, your adrenaline fading into a sense of relief and contentment and Brynjolf.
It was Karliah's shocked laughter that got the two of you to part, and Brynjolf set you back on your feet with a hesitant smile. Got carried away, he had said.
"You didn't have a problem with kissing your Guild Master." You grumble in present time, ignoring the hot blush sweeping over your cheeks.
Brynjolf looks up sharply, "I didn't mean it like that, lass. You bein Dragonborn doesn't change-- what happened. 'S just a surprise is all. Can't imagine what my mother would say." The last bit is obviously a joke, but you can only manage a weak smile.
"I'm sorry for not telling you." You sigh, clutching the charm on your necklace. Along with the one you got upon your Guild Master ceremony, there's a coin from your home. One of the only things you have left of that life, truthfully.
"Did you plan on telling us?" He asks. He doesn't sound accusatory, just curious.
"Not if I could help it, truthfully. Shouting doesn't really help thievery, and I like how everyone treats me right now. Not all... Star struck and fake lovey dovey." You admit, leaning against Bryn's shoulder. "The less people who know the better."
"I wouldn't call what they're talking about "lovey"." He scoffs. "Should I be worried?"
You glance up at him, eyebrows furrowing, "About what?"
"All your suitors, of course. Half the Guild wants to kiss you, or worse. Lass, you can't fault me for being a little alarmed." He says, a world class smirk gracing his lips.
You roll your eyes. "Oh, please! If it makes you feel any better, you're literally the only person is aaaall of Tamriel that I've kissed."
"Truly?" His smile is all too pleased for your liking. "Who would've thought our Guild Master is so pure." You're happy he choose that title instead of Dragonborn, but his hit on your lack of action is annoying.
"I'm gonna punch you in the face." You say.
He shrugs. "I'd rather you kiss me, but you are the boss."
"You were the one who-- wait, really?" You jerk away, inspecting his face for signs of deceit. "You... You're not just saying that, right? Because if you are I'm making a fool of myself cuz I actually do like you in a less than professional sense and goodness gracious I'm rambling, aren't I?"
"A bit." Bryn agrees. "But I was being sincere." He shifts to pull you into his lap, once again taking advantage of how much bigger he is. Admittedly, he's leaner than most Nords, but he's still bigger than you by a mile. You've long become accustomed to people asking if you're part Breton. Everyone is just really tall in Skyrim.
You relax into his arms, laying your head on his chest. "This is a bad place to snuggle."
"Also a bad place for confessions." He hums. "What's it like then? Being Dragon Blooded?"
"Physically?" You try.
"Sure."
That makes you pause, sorting through the multitude of symptoms you've developed since your first Dragon Soul. "When I bought my first house and had to hand over almost all my gold I nearly cried. And I hoard things. And smells are more like. Colors. It's like sight and taste and smell get all mixed up." The only people who seem to understand that particular quirk are Argonians. Veezara is the only one you felt comfortable enough to talk with about it though.
"What do I smell like?" Brynjolf chuckles.
"Under all the usual sweat and alcohol smell?" You taunt. "...Silver. And the smell of fireworks. Like, after they've been set off. It reminds me of summer and home." You respond hesitantly.
He plucks the coin from your chest, looking over the engravings as if its hiding something. "Fireworks?"
"Popular in my homeland. They're like... Multi colored non magical explosives. We shoot em into the air on special occasions. Usually." You elaborate. "Nothing says fun like gunpowder."
"Where is you homeland?"
"I... Don't know. I just woke up on a carriage, headed to my execution with Ulfric Stormcloak at my side. Alduin saved me, ironically."
Brynjolf's nose wrinkles disdainfully. "You still talk to him?"
You shoot him a confused glare, "Alduin is dead."
"Ulfric." He clarifies with a snort.
Oh.
"Not usually. Sometimes there are meetings I'm supposed to sit in on, being a General and all, but Ulfric is pretty lenient because of the whole Dovahkiin thing. He knew I had to kill Alduin, and that that would take a huge amount of my time to complete. He's... Pretty decent, once you get to know him. And he Shouts." You smile at the thought.
"Now I'm worried." Brynjolf declares. "What's so good about Shouting?"
"I don't know. It just... Makes me really happy I'm not the only one? Aside from the Greybeards and actual dragons, of course. What Ulfric does is considered blasphemous though, and he's never asked me what having dragon blood is like." You smile, just barely gathering the courage to peck Bryn's cheek affectionately.
You're ever so thankful a new recruit tripped over the secret entrance, because otherwise you wouldn't have had the sconce installed and you wouldn't be able to see the noteworthy blush sweeping across Brynjolf's face at such an innocent gesture.
"Aw, Bryn." You coo, surprisingly not mockingly. "You're blushing."
His face contorts like he has some snappy reply, only for him to yawn. He looks so cute you can't help but smile.
Its about time for bed anyways, you suppose. You had planned on getting a little more work done after the party died down and everyone crashed, but this is preferable, to say the least.
"Come on," You laugh, getting to your feet.
You hold out your hands for him and he makes a big show out of needing your help to stand, his laughter echoing in the small room. "Where are we going?" He asks.
"Well we can't go back to the Cistern without wolf whistles," You respond. "But I do have a house."
He recovers from the shock of you offering your home very quickly, dropping down onto one knee and taking your hand mock gallantly. "I'd be honored, lass."
You've never seen Brynjolf look so startled as when you deadpan, "You're sleeping on the floor."