Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Aela! Anja!” Nimre cried out, her voice rising above the hum of the tavern as the two women stepped through the doors of The Bee and Barb. She pushed back from her table so fast her chair nearly toppled, her face lighting up with joy. Rushing across the floor, she pulled them both into a tight, warm embrace. “Oh, it’s been too long, my dears,” she said. “Come on, sit down, sit down, you must’ve had such a long journey.” She ushered them toward the small table she’d fought hard to keep from her fellow tavern patrons.

Anja smiled. “It’s so good to see you again, Nim,” she said, her face lighting up. “We’ve got so much to catch up on.”

“Let me go grab some mead then!” Nimre said, getting ready to make for the bar.

“Not so fast, Nim,” Aela giggled, grasping her arm. “I really don’t want to deal with a hungover wife again.”

“Shut up!” Anja shot back with a playful scowl, flicking Aela on the arm with the back of her hand. “A mead for me, please, Nim. Ignore her.”

Nimre laughed and made her way toward the bar. The tavern was alive around her - the clatter of metal tankards on wood, the low murmur of patrons lost in conversation. The candlelight flickered and danced across the walls, the heavy scent of booze, roasted meat, and woodsmoke clinging to the air.

“Hey Keerava,” Nimre called, leaning casually against the bar.

The Argonian bartender barely looked up from the tankard she was cleaning. “Oh, it’s you again. What in the blazes do you want?”

“Three Black-Briar meads, thanks,” Nimre replied as she pulled out her coin purse. “This should cover it.” She dropped a generous handful of septims onto the counter, clinking as they fell.

Keerava frowned at her and grunted something that Nimre didn’t quite catch, but nonetheless, she scooped up the septims. “Just take these and go,” she muttered, sliding the bottles across.

“Thank you!” Nimre said brightly, cradling the three bottles in her arms as she turned back toward her table. Aela and Anja had sat down, keeping a seat for her.

“Okay,” she smiled, handing a bottle of mead to each of her friends. “Drink up girls!”

“Thanks, Nim,” Aela said, raising her bottle, uncorking it with a small pop. “Much needed after a long trip.”

Anja didn’t hesitate: she gulped the whole thing down in one long drink. The empty bottle clinked loudly against the wooden table. She definitely hasn’t changed, Nimre thought, amused, watching her wipe her mouth with her sleeve.

“Where’ve you two come back from?” she asked, giggling when Anja burped loudly and unapologetically.

“Outskirts of Dawnstar,” Aela replied, shaking her head fondly at her wife. Aela was a bit more responsible, slowly sipping her mead. “Little anniversary trip.” She smiled and her cheeks flushed. Anja turned pink as well, as a sheepish grin crept onto her face.

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Nimre said warmly. “What did you two get up to?”

The two women glanced at each other, eyes flicking between their friend and one another, trying to figure out how much to say. “We, um…” Aela began.

Anja snorted. “Aela, you can just say we fucked,” she butted in. “Nimre gets it.”

“I don’t know, Anja,” Nimre said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s been a while since I’ve had any action.”

Anja gasped and her eyes widened. “Really? You’re struggling to get laid?!” Anja asked, shocked. “But- but- look at you - you’re stunning!” she stammered. “A sexy little wood elf like you, with tits like those?” She made an exaggerated gesture with her hands. “How are you not getting laid?!”

Nimre burst into laughter. Aela just groaned and buried her face in her hands. “This,” she muttered, “is why I say she shouldn’t drink. One drink and the filter just disappears!”

“She keeps us on our toes, Aela,” Nimre said, still chuckling. “Put it that way.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Aela muttered, looking across the table at her wife, who was grinning, tipsy and seemingly rather proud of it.

“If you are really struggling to get laid though, I’m sure you could bang Haelga,” Anja blurted out, sounding more wasted by the minute. The secondhand embarrassment was getting stronger and stronger for Aela, as her wife continued to speak without thinking. Nimre just laughed though.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Nimre asked incredulously, staring at Anja. “You know?” she paused.

A look of confusion swept across Anja’s face. “Know what?” she asked back.

“Oh by the Eight Anja,” she sighed. “Do you seriously not remember me threatening to drop her statue of Dibella down a well?”

“Ohhhhh,” Anja replied, nodding her head. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I do remember that. Yeah, you might have a little trouble with her, don’t know if she is all too fond of you.” Nimre laughed at her friend.

Then, Anja’s tone softened, sounding slightly more sober. “But really Nim, is there anyone you’re interested in?”

A dreamy expression came over Nimre. A person did come to mind. He was a tall, broad-shouldered Nord, with flaming red hair and a little stubble to match. And the most enchanting pair of green eyes she had ever seen. She hesitated. “Maybe,” she said with a little smile, blood rushing to her cheeks. “There might be someone…”

“Well? Don’t be shy! Give us the details!” Aela said, playfully nudging her.

“Yeah, come on Nim!” Anja joined in. “Tell us! Tell us!” she chanted, banging her fists on the table in rhythm.

“I will! I promise,” Nimre said, flustered. She lowered her voice. “I just can’t say it in here, I don’t want my coworker to overhear me.” She glanced nervously over at Sapphire, who leaned up against the wall, enjoying her mead in solitude. She was a regular at The Bee and Barb, sticking around, listening out for any news in Riften. More specifically, if there was anything coming through the city’s gates that might be worth “borrowing.” However, she was not exactly impartial to any other gossip going around. “Come on, if we finish our drinks - not you Anja, you’re done for tonight, we can head back to my house, and I’ll let you in on it there.” She drained her bottle of mead, and set it back down on the table. Aela followed suit. The three of them got up and made for the exit, Anja significantly more unsteady on her feet than when she walked in.

The trio walked into the cool Riften air, the moonlight illuminating the weathered boardwalk.The three of them walked across the bridge over the canal, and onto the stone pathway, following it all the way over to Honeyside - Nimre's little house. It was a small cabin, made of timber and stones, with a small garden off to the side, and heavy oaken doors leading the way in. Little puffs of smoke rose up from the chimney and into the night sky. “Come on in,” Nimre said, unlocking the front door, and holding it open for her friends. They walked in, Nimre following behind. The sconces on the walls filled the house with a warm golden light, and the faint smell of honey and smoke from the hearth filled the room. It was a cosy little house, and Nimre loved it more than anything. “Come, let's go sit on the balcony," Nimre said, leading them out the back door, and onto a small parapet that overlooked Lake Honrich. There were a couple of small wooden chairs that sat around a little table. A candle sat atop it, burning brightly under the starlit sky. “Aela, want another mead?” Nimre asked, looking over at her.

“I’ll take one sister!” Anja cut in before Aela could answer.

Nimre looked down at her in her seat. “I didn’t ask you,” she said, giving her rather tipsy friend a once-over. Anja looked up at her with wide eyes, trying to look as innocent as possible.

“Pleeeease,” Anja begged, dragging out the word dramatically. “I used my manners, Nim. That means you have to say yes.” She propped her chin up on her hands and put on the most exaggerated pout she could manage. Aela tried to stifle a laugh at her wife, who looked like a child begging their parents for another sweet.

Nimre stared at her for a moment, confused. “That’s… not how manners work.”

“Sure it is,” Anja shot back, grinning. “I said please, didn’t I?”

“She’s got you there,” Aela chimed in. “Also, I’ll have another mead,” she added.

“Ugh, fine,” Nimre groaned at Anja. “But only because I know you’ll annoy me all night if I say no.”

Anja grinned triumphantly. “Knew it.”

Nimre shook her head as she opened the door. She paused and looked back at Anja, shaking her head. “I swear, you get more and more feral every single time I see you.”

“Only because I know you’ll enable me!” Anja called after her.

Aela gave a long, weary sigh and muttered to herself. “Lightweights and enablers. Divines help us.”

Nimre walked back into the kitchen, and opened up the cupboard, pulling out three metal tankards. She uncorked a bottle of Black-Briar reserve, and slowly poured out a tankard for herself and Aela. There was a small amount left in the bottle. She poured it out into the final tankard, though it only half-filled it. Oh well, she thought. That one’s Anja’s. She held one tankard in her left hand, two in the other and expertly pushed the back door open with her hip. She handed the tankards out.

"What?" Half?" Anja protested.

"Yep!" Nimre replied. "I do not need you to throw up in my house, I just cleaned the floorboards the other day." she said defiantly.

"Thanks Nim," Aela replied, raising her mug. Nimre sat down next to her two friends. A cool breeze blew in from Lake Honrich.

“Nimre! I used my manners! Come on, surely I can have a full one?” she begged.

"Nim," Aela started. "Who is this man who has managed to catch your eye?" she asked, gracefully changing the topic to distract Anja.

“Ooh yes, do tell!” Anja added. Aela’s plan had worked. For now.

"Well," Nimre started. "He's really handsome."

"Obviously. We have already discussed the whole 'giving ugly guys a chance' thing," Anja replied bluntly.

"And he has red hair, and his eyes, they are just so perfect, they're this beautiful shade of green, I get lost in them every time he looks at-"

"What's his name?" Anja interrupted.

"Brynjolf," Nimre replied, blushing. Just the thought of him was enough to make her want him.

“How long have you known him?” Aela asked, taking a sip out of her tankard, her eyes not living Nimre.

“About a year and a half,” she answered. “I’ve had a bit of a crush on him ever since I first met him.” She thought back to that first day in the Riften, where Brynjolf had first plucked her out of the marketplace, and into the midst of the Thieves Guild.

Anja snapped Nimre out of her thoughts. “Girl, what are you doing?!” She nearly choked on her drink, spraying a bit across the table in a fine mist. “That’s not the Nimre I know. You still haven’t talked to him?”

“I’ve tried Anja,” Nimre groaned. “Every time that I try to talk to him, he just brushes me off.” She cleared her throat. “Hang on, give me a second.” She paused, and took a deep breath in. “‘Oh sorry lass, I'm a bit busy right now, we'll talk later,’" she said, mocking him in a deep voice. Aela and Anja cracked up at this, their laughs echoing across the lake.

“And then he just walks off!”

“So?” Anja frowned, like that meant nothing. “Grab him by the arm,” Anja said, dramatically grabbing Nimre’s arm. “And then say, ‘Nuh uh, you’re coming with me Mr Brynjolf,’” Anja pretended she was scolding Brynjolf, though it wasn’t exactly intimidating due to her tipsy giggling.

“I can’t do that,” Nimre scoffed back.

“Um, yes you can.” Anja frowned. “If you want, I can go talk to him for you?” she offered, batting her eyelashes.

Before Nimre could reply, Aela cut in. “If he wasn’t into her already, you having a little talk with him definitely won’t help.”

“Excuse me?” Anja gasped, putting her hand to chest, feigning offence.

“She’s right,” Nimre laughed. “You’re many things Anja, but subtle isn’t one of them.”

“Subtlety is for cowards,” Anja said with a shrug. “And Nimre’s approach clearly is not working for her. So unless either of you have any better ideas on how to get him on a date and into Nim’s pants, I will be having a little chit chat with this man.” She finished off her drink.

“Anja, by the Eight, you are not talking to him,” Nimre groaned. “Aela, have you got any ideas, literally anything, so that your wife doesn’t mess up my love life even more?” she begged. The silence was broken only by crickets and the rustle of the leaves in the breeze. Tankard in hand, Aela pondered what to do. She took a long, thoughtful sip. As much as she loved Anja, she was wild, impulsive and full of fire, for better or for worse. In this situation though, it was definitely for the worse. Aela and Nimre stared at Anja, who was now giggling as she tried to balance the empty tankard on her forehead.

“Yeah… I also don’t particularly like Anja’s plan,” Aela grimaced, rubbing her temple like the idea itself gave her a headache. “Okay, let’s try something else. Let’s think this through. What do men like to do?” she asked, glancing between the two of them.

“Well, they like to get drunk, have sex, and be annoying,” Anja replied without missing a beat.

Aela stared at her flatly. “I said what men like to do, Anja. Not what you like to do.”

Nimre chuckled. Aela stared blankly, lips pursed at her wife. “Unfortunately, you’re not wrong though,” Aela admitted with a reluctant sigh, finally cracking a smile. “But we need something more specific.”

Nimre, smiled as she watched the two of them go back and forth. Many of their brainstorming sessions were like this: chaotic and ridiculous, yet weirdly productive.

“Well,” Anja said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, “I’m willing to bet he’d at least be down for a one-night stand. I mean, seriously, have you ever met a man who isn’t?” She shrugged. “What do you think, Nim?”

Nimre hesitated. “I… I’d like a bit more than that with him,” she admitted, eyes dropping to her lap. “But... I definitely wouldn’t complain about bedding him,” she added with a sly smile. “I mean, it could be the start of something, right?

“Exactly! That’s the attitude, sister!” Anja beamed, sitting up straight with renewed excitement. “Now, you’re going to do what I said earlier: grab him and drag him up here. I think I suggested his arm, but honestly, any other body part should do.” Nimre let out a snort of laughter, and even Aela couldn’t hold back a grin as she rolled her eyes.

“Obviously don’t literally drag him,” Aela said, shooting Anja a pointed look. “But yes, find a way to get him up here. You know him better than we do Nim, so that bit of the plan is on you. If he tries to give you that ‘too busy’ nonsense again, cut through it. Be direct! Be firm! Don’t let him walk away this time.” Nimre nodded slowly.
“Okay,” Anja said, the cogs in her brain turning. “Getting him up here should be the easy part. But how do we grab his attention? How do we make him want to throw himself at you and beg to stay the night?” There was a moment of silence as the three of them looked at each other, then stared out over the water in contemplation.
Anja finally broke the quiet. “You could just walk up and tell him you want to—”

“Okay, nope,” Aela interrupted, holding up a hand. “That might be just a bit too direct, honey.”
Anja looked vaguely offended, as if honesty had never failed her before.

Aela turned to Nimre. “Do you own anything a little… revealing?”

Nimre blinked. “Define ‘revealing.’”

Anja grinned. “We’re talking the kind of outfit that says, ‘you are lucky I’m even breathing in your direction.’”

Nimre snorted again, covering her face. “Gods, I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”

“Come on sister,” Anja said. “Do you wanna get laid or not? Give us a look at what you’ve got.”

“Fine,” Nimre sighed. “Come on inside.”

The three of them went back inside. Aela and Anja sat on Nimre’s bed, as she opened her cupboard. “Well, I have this,” she said, pulling out a low cut, green and gold dress.

“I’ve seen my grandmother in more revealing outfits Nimre,” Anja yawned. “Next!” Nimre turned back to her wardrobe, hanging up the dress. She rummaged through her wardrobe, when something caught her eye at the back of her wardrobe.

“Oh, I haven’t worn this in years,” she said, as she pulled the hanger out. It was a rather short dress in a soft shade of green, crafted from delicate lace. The cups were intricately woven into a leaf pattern, designed to put her bust on full display. Below the bust, the lace gave way to a sheer, mesh-like fabric that flowed freely, light and airy, with a daring central slit that ran from the hem all the way up to just beneath the bust. She turned around, showing her two friends. “Just to make it clear, I am not wearing this in public.”

“Well obviously, you have to leave a little to the imagination,” Aela smirked. “Keep it on the hanger, in a really obvious spot, make him fantasize about you wearing that. You’ll get laid in no time!”

“Yeah!” Anja added. “But, I’m really tired, so I’ll be off to bed soon ladies.”

“That’s fine,” Nimre said, with a soft smile. “You and Aela can have the double, I’ll take the single bed downstairs.”

“Alright Nim,” Aela said. “You go get some sleep, you have a big day tomorrow.”

“I will,” replied Nimre. “Goodnight!”

Chapter Text

“Morning,” Nimre mumbled groggily. She brushed a few stubborn strands of hair out of her eyes as she walked into the kitchen. She hadn’t slept well. Her mind had spent the night in overdrive, playing out every possible scenario for today. 

“Morning, sister,” Aela replied from the kitchen table. She had helped herself to a simple breakfast: some slices of bread, with a generous amount of butter and honey. Anja, in contrast, was still snoring loudly, dead to the world. “Want some Nim?” She asked, holding up a slice of bread. 

“Yeah, sure. Thanks Aela,” Nimre said, rubbing her eyes as she slumped into the other chair. Aela took a clean plate, and laid out the slice of bread, and lathered it in butter and a thin layer of fresh honey. She passed the plate across the table to Nimre, who accepted it with a grateful smile and took a small bite. 

“So,” Aela started. “How are we feeling about operation ‘Get Nim Laid?’” she giggled, before she took another bite of bread. Nimre finished her mouthful. 

Nimre swallowed, then looked over at Aela. “Nervous,” she admitted. “What if he’s not into me? I mean, I think I have a plan to get him back here, but I’ve gotta act fast, before anyone notices he’s missing. But sleepyhead-” she pointed toward the bed where Anja was sprawled out, “-has taken over the double bed.” Anja didn’t stir, even as the sunlight danced across her face. 

Aela smirked, pushing her chair back. “Leave that to me.” Nimre raised an eyebrow but said nothing, biting into her bread as Aela tiptoed across the room. She followed Aela, hanging back behind her. 

Aela carefully peeled back the blanket. Anja snored, completely unaware of what was happening. Aela didn’t hesitate. She went straight for her ribs with a devilish grin. Anja yelped and curled in on herself, swatting blindly, trying to protect herself from Aela’s relentless attack. “Ugh! Don’t tickle me! It’s too early for this!” 

"Then move!” Aela laughed. “Nim needs the bed more than you do!” 

“Why?” Anja groaned, scowling at Aela. “I was sleeping so peacefully before you decided to launch a full-scale assault.” 

“Well,” Nimre said through a giggle, “if I ever end up in a fight with the Last Dragonborn, at least now I know how to make her yield.” She laughed. “Come on Anja. You can go back to sleep in the bed downstairs. I just need this one for phase one of the plan.”

Anja groaned again, a bit more dramatically this time. She sat up slowly, putting her legs off the side of the bed, pouting like a grumpy child that had been asked to do their chores. “Fine.” 

Nimre couldn’t help but giggle at her friend. “Aela’ll take care of you, she’ll take care of breakfast, and ensure my house doesn’t get blown up or burnt down by the time I get back.” 

Aela chuckled as she offered Anja a hand. “Come on love. Let’s get downstairs, and you can get back to sleep.” Anja rolled her eyes but took Aela’s hand.  

“When I get back though, please, for Divine’s sake, just be quiet,” Nimre said, narrowing her eyes at Anja. 

“Hey!” Anja protested. “I am quiet!” 

“If you’re quiet, then I must be totally silent . ” She crossed her arms. “I don’t care what you two do - just keep it down. Assuming this plan even works,” she sighed. “Alright. I’m going to get ready.” Aela shot her a wink as she led a grumbling Anja down the creaky wooden steps. 

Nimre stripped off her nightdress and pulled on her black leather armor, securing the well-worn buckles in place one by one. She left the hood down for now, letting her thick hair fall free. After brushing out the worst of the tangles, she dabbed a tiny bit of perfume behind her ears. Barely enough to notice, but just enough to matter. She glanced over at the lacy green dress, hanging in plain sight on the cupboard door. Ready for stage one, she thought, taking one last look at herself in the small cracked mirror before heading for the door, into the cool Riften air. 

She followed the winding path around the Temple of Mara, cutting through the graveyard and ducking into the tomb behind the Hall of the Dead. She checked behind her, making sure no guards were patrolling the dirt path behind her. She pressed the Shadowmark carved into the stone. It clicked beneath her fingers, and the concrete slab shifted aside to reveal a familiar stone staircase. She climbed down quickly, her boots barely making a sound. At the bottom, a sewer grate opened into the Cistern of the Ragged Flagon. 

The cistern was still and dim, the gentle trickle of water echoing off the stone. Most of the guild was still asleep. But one figure was awake. Clad in black leather armor that matched her own, his hood drawn over his face as he paced the cistern. 

“Brynjolf,” she called. “Come here.” 

He barely turned. “Sorry, lass. I’ve got important things to-.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “No, you don’t. You’re just pacing around the cistern.” She paused, arms folded. “That's Nimre for cut the ‘I’ve got important things to do’ bullshit.” Brynjolf started to walk away. Not today, she thought. Aela’s voice echoed in her head: “Be direct! Be firm! Do not let him walk off this time!” Nimre quickly followed him, catching up with ease. Before he could slip away, Nimre grabbed his arm firmly. She pulled him toward her. “No, actually. You’re not busy,” Nimre said firmly, stepping in close. With her free hand, she reached up and pushed his hood back, revealing his face. His red hair was tousled, and his eyes were just as enchanting as ever. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “There you are,” she said softly, a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen your face, I nearly forgot what you looked like!” 

Brynjolf shifted his gaze downward, the stone floor suddenly very interesting. “Aye… I suppose it has been a while, lass,” he mumbled.

“Well then,” Nimre said. “I think it’s high time you and I had a little chat.” She gestured toward the training room. “Come on. Somewhere a bit more private.”

Brynjolf felt himself being steered away to the training room. Though Nimre was only a little Bosmer, she was surprisingly strong. Nimre hopped up onto one of the training chests, patting the wooden lid beside her. “Sit,” she said with a smile, half-commanding, half-inviting. He sat, not too close, but not far either. 

“Alright then,” he said, folding his arms. “What’s this all about?”

“I wanted to talk Guild business,” Nimre said, focused, though the softness in her expression remained. “Vex and Delvin… they’re not being as helpful as I’d hoped, unfortunately.”

Brynjolf tilted his head slightly. “Oh? What kind of business are we talking?”

“I’m bored,” Nimre said, drawing out the word bored, her eyes brightening with a familiar spark. “Petty theft, numbers jobs, shaking down shopkeepers: it’s all so... small.” She paused thoughtfully. “The Guild hasn't done anything big since the whole Mercer and Eyes of the Falmer debacle. And let’s be honest, that felt more like cleaning up a mess, rather than a heist. I think it’s time we started writing our own stories again.” Her voice gained momentum, a flicker of excitement growing behind every word. “Real heists. High stakes. The kind that earns respect and fear. We have the talent, we have the network. We just need some solid plans.”

Brynjolf was quiet for a moment, watching her carefully. Then the corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” she grinned.

“And do you have any ideas for this grand comeback? Any ideas on what might be worth stealing?” He asked, his eyes lighting up. 

“Not yet,” she admitted, her tone dipping slightly. “That’s the part I need help with. I’ve never arranged a heist from scratch. I need someone who’s done it. Someone I trust.”

“Well, lucky for you…” Brynjolf leaned back slightly, a nostalgic smile touching his lips. “I have missed the thrill. I’d be more than glad to help, lass. Could be just what the Guild needs.”

“Lovely!” Nimre clapped her hands lightly and hopped down from the chest. “I find I work best from home, so we’d better head off.”

But as she turned toward the passageway, Brynjolf hesitated. “Wait. What if they need me here? Someone’s got to keep things running down in the Flagon.”

“Oh, please,” Nimre said, waving her hand dismissively. “Delvin and Vex are still breathing, aren’t they? They’ll manage just fine for a few hours.” Brynjolf opened his mouth to protest again, but she cut him off. And how many times have I had to hear,” Nimre cleared her throat. “'Sorry lass, I've got important things to do, we'll speak another time,’" she said, mocking his accent. Brynjolf raised his eyebrow at her. He looked half-annoyed, half-impressed at her imitation of him. "And as your boss,” she continued, her voice sharpening. “I think that I have been incredibly lax, but for once, you know what? I am actually telling you what to do. You are getting out of the Flagon. And you are coming with me, whether you like it or not, you ginger bastard."

For a moment, it was silent. Then Brynjolf chuckled under his breath and stood up. “Well, you are the boss, and it seems like I don’t have much of a choice.”

“And in other news, the sky is blue and water is wet,” Nimre said bluntly. “Come on, let’s head off,” she said, and with that, the two of them walked out of the training room.

Aela froze the moment she heard the click of the front door opening upstairs. Footsteps followed. 

“Shut up, Anja!” Aela hissed, her eyes wide as she shoved a hunk of bread into her mouth. “Do not stuff this up for Nim!” 

“Mmf- hey!” Anja tried to protest, her voice muffled by the slice of the bread. She spat it out onto the bed. “What was that for?!” 

“Shhh!” Aela hissed again, looking up at the ceiling like she could see through it. 

“Hang on, give me a second,” Nimre said to Brynjolf. “Wait by my desk over there,” she pointed, before quickly making for the stairs, dagger in hand. She didn’t even wait for a reply, her footsteps already thudding down the stairs, faster than usual. A moment later, the door to the guest bedroom swung open with a sharp creak and then slammed shut behind her. The gleaming ebony blade in her hand caught the flickering candlelight.

“Anja,” Nimre said, voice low and seething, “if you do not shut up and you ruin this for me-” She stepped closer, holding the dagger, raising it just enough for dramatic effect. “-I promise you , I will tickle you so hard, you’ll wish I stabbed you instead.” Anja’s eyes went wide as she stepped back, hands raised. 

“Understood?” Nimre added, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. Anja nodded, lips pressed tightly together, not daring to even breathe too loudly. 

“Good,” Nimre said with a smile that was a little too sweet, spinning the dagger once, before sliding it back into its sheath. 

“He’s really up there, huh?” Aela whispered. 

Nimre gave her a quick, exasperated look. “Yes. Now, I want to hear less than nothing from down here.” With that, she turned on her heel and left the room just as quickly as she had entered, the door clicking shut behind her. A moment of silence passed before Aela dared to speak. 

“You heard her,” she whispered with a smug look. “One more noise and it's tickle torture.”

Brynjolf stood quietly, taking in the room around him while Nimre disappeared down the stairs. It was nothing like the Ragged Flagon. The timber-paneled walls gave the space a warmth the Flagon and the Cistern could never offer. The air smelled faintly of pine, honey and smoke - it was soft, soothing. Not like the mildew and mead of The Ratway. Light from sconces flickered, casting golden patterns over the walls, alongside the sunlight filtering in through the windows. He could see why Nimre said she worked better from home. It was a cozy little joint. Her desk sat up against the wall, impeccably organized. Every quill had its place. Rolls of paper were stacked neatly, next to a full ink pot. Beside it, a tall shelf sat, filled to the brim with different books, tomes and journals. Opposite her desk stood a large double bed, covered with a plush, forest-green blanket. But what drew his eye the most made him freeze.

Hanging from the wardrobe door was something delicate. Something lacy. At first glance, he thought it might have been a dress, but no. It was far too short, there definitely wasn’t enough fabric for that. And the fabric didn't leave much to the imagination. It was sheer, practically translucent. And the slit that ran from the hem to under the bust told Brynjolf that it was something different. Something that definitely wasn’t meant to be worn in public. He swallowed hard. The idea of Nimre, the Guildmaster, his boss wearing something like that made him blush. He looked away sharply, trying to focus on anything else. The books. The blanket. The timber wall panels. Literally anything.

The sound of footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts. “Sorry about that, Brynjolf,” Nimre sighed as she returned, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know how it got there, but there was a skeever downstairs.”

He blinked and turned to her quickly, still trying to shake the mental image from his head. “You Wood Elves have sharp ears,” he said, trying to sound casual. “I didn’t hear a thing.” But there was a hint of panic in his voice. Oh no, Brynjolf thought. Her white warpaint stood out in the light, framing her bright, hazel eyes. She had this strange grace about her, and could charm and command anyone in the same breath with a quick smile. 

“Oh, that’s fine,” Nimre breathed a sigh of relief. “Let’s get to work on these plans, do some brainstorming.” She walked over to her desk. Her leather armor hugged her frame perfectly, accentuating the curves of her waist, her hips, her chest. Despite his best efforts to think of anything else, Brynjolf could feel himself getting harder by the second. He wasn’t proud of it. She was his friend, his boss, and she had just invited him here to work. But his imagination was running wild and free, and as hard as he tried, he could not wrangle the damn thing up. Stop it, he told himself. You’re not a horny teenager in the Bee and Barb, you’re here on business. Brynjolf felt incredibly dirty, like he needed to bathe, thinking about what her breasts would look like, only covered by a thin piece of green lace. He could practically see her in that little green thing, hair tumbling over her shoulders, the mesh fabric flowing freely over her hips.

“Brynjolf?” Nimre asked. Her voice went in one ear, and out the other, bypassing his brain in the process.

“Brynjolf,” she asked again, a little more sternly. Still, no response.

“Brynjolf!” She clapped, right in his face.

He blinked, startled. “Whoa! Sorry! Sorry, lass, I, uh, um…” Brynjolf stuttered, unsure of what to say. “I drifted off for a second there.” It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than I’m imagining you half-naked right now. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to play it off, his cheeks almost as red as his hair. “Long night. Still waking up.”

Nimre raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Distracted are you? I haven’t even started talking yet. Just tired. That’s all Brynjolf? Really?” The way she said it made it perfectly clear she didn’t believe a word of it. “I think,” she continued, her smile growing. “You’re distracted by something else entirely.” Brynjolf’s mouth opened, then closed. He wasn’t quite sure what to say. He glanced toward the window, then the books, then anywhere that wasn’t her. Nimre stepped closer again, and delicately put a hand on his arm. If it wasn’t for the long sleeves of his armour, she would have felt every one of his hairs stand up. She clearly was not buying it. “It’s okay,” she paused, leaning in closer to his face. “You can tell me anything,” she whispered in his ear, standing on the tip of her toes. She put her other hand on his chin, directing his face downwards, so his eyes went straight into hers. For a second, he forgot how to breathe. His heart was pounding out of his chest. 

“Seriously, it’s nothing lass,” Brynjolf said, rather unconvincingly. “I am thinking of literally nothing right now.” Stupidly, he glanced away from Nimre and across at that damn green dress. Nimre was quick to spot this. 

“Literally nothing, hey Brynjolf?” She smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, last time I checked,” she paused, shifting his face and gaze back to her. “My name’s Nimre, not ‘Literally Nothing,’” she whispered with a wink.

Chapter Text

Shit, Brynjolf thought, heart pounding in his chest. She’s cornered you, you stupid, horny bastard. He stood there, dead-still, blushing harder than he thought was physically possible. He couldn't string two thoughts together if his life depended on it. He tried to look anywhere else. The desk, the bookshelf, even the floor. But his eyes kept drifting back to Nimre. She finally let go of his arm, her fingertips trailing lightly off his armour. She took a small step back from him, and moved towards the cupboard, her eyes fixed on the trap she had expertly set the night before. She picked up the hanger, the sheer fabric flowing as she held it up. The light flickered through the soft lace. It looked almost magical. She held the hanger up in line with her shoulders, aligning the cups with her breasts. The hem sat at the top of her thighs. Brynjolf swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how tightly his trousers fit. He clenched his jaw, trying desperately to think of anything else. Anything other than what that dress would look like without any other clothes obstructing the view. But it was no use. Nimre was so close, her presence consuming him. Nimre looked down at the dress, then back up at him, her hazel eyes gleaming with amusement.

“You want to see this on me, don’t you?” she asked, her brow playfully arched. Brynjolf opened his mouth, but the words were stuck in a big lump in his throat. He couldn’t even tell if he’d made a sound. “Well?” Nimre said, stepping closer to him now, the dress still hanging in front of her. “I asked you a question, Brynjolf. I’d appreciate an answer.”

He was trapped. But there were no chains, no locked doors, no blades at his throat. Just Nimre. Standing there, with that damn dress, waiting for his answer. “Are you… are you a mind-reader, lass?” he finally managed to stammer, voice uneven as he tried desperately to claw back some composure.

Nimre laughed. “No. No I’m not, Bryn,” she said with a grin, “I’m just very, very good at pointing out the glaringly obvious.” She stepped closer again, close enough that Brynjolf’s hand lightly grazed the sheer green fabric. “Normally,” Nimre started. “I wouldn’t let anyone see me wearing something like this.” She held the dress up by the hanger, giving it a light shake. Her eyes stayed fixed on his.

Oh gods, he thought, his heart sinking. I’ve ruined it. A wave of guilt hit him. Hard. He could already picture it: the unbearable silence back in the Flagon. The awkward glances, the way she’d avoid looking at him. Why can’t I control myself? he thought bitterly. This is why I always walked away. This is why I kept my distance. Because I knew I’d find a way to stuff everything up.

But before he could open his mouth to apologize, Nimre slipped her hand around his waist. “But,” she paused, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m willing to make an exception for you.”

Brynjolf froze, blinking at her, trying to process what was happening. “You…” he started, voice cracking ever so slightly. “You mean that?”

Nimre smiled. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, Bryn. I’m a woman of my word.” Nimre pulled him in closer. That was when she felt it: something firm pressing lightly against her stomach. “I can fix that up for you,” she whispered with a sultry smile.

Brynjolf’s brain froze. He stood there, stunned, his breath caught in his throat. For someone who had blackmailed a significant number of people, he strangely had no idea what to say. His mouth opened, then closed again.

He managed a quiet, uncertain “Only if you want to, lass. I, uh, I’m not expecting anything.”

Nimre’s laughter sent a shiver down his spine. She tilted her head and gave him a seductive smile. “As I said earlier,” she said, running a hand gently along his chest. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” She stood on the tips of her toes and cupped his jaw. She craned her neck up, and pressed her lips to his. His knees went weak. Brynjolf’s hands hovered at her sides, unsure if he was allowed to touch her. If this was even real. When she pulled away, his heart was pounding harder than ever. His erection throbbed, aching in his pants. She let go of his jaw, but maintained eye contact. “Now Brynjolf, be a gentleman and look away while I get dressed,” she ordered with a wink. Brynjolf turned around quickly, half-smiling to himself as he tried to steady his breath.

Nimre laid the dress across the bed, then began stripping her gear off, piece by piece: hood, boots, gauntlets, all landed in a growing pile. She unfastened the buckles of her leather top, revealing her soft skin as she slid it off, followed by her pants. All that remained was her bra and underwear. “Well, this is a bit unnecessary,” she said to herself as she untied her bra. She picked up the dress. She slipped it off the hanger, and hung that back on the wardrobe door. She slid the dress over her head. It hugged her in all the right places - the only coverage coming from her underwear. She turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder toward the door, where Brynjolf had patiently waited. She crept up behind him, and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

“I take it you’re done lass,” he said softly, his eyes closing involuntarily at her touch. “Can I look?”

“Let’s make it a little more even first, hmmm?” Nimre suggested, brushing her hand down Brynjolf's side, to his upper thigh, giving it a soft squeeze. “It’s not exactly a fair trade if only I’m exposed, you know.” She slowly traced her way up his thigh, deliberately brushing her hand against his crotch as she felt her way up to his belt. Brynjolf let out a soft moan. “I can’t find your belt,” she teased, running her hand over his hard cock again, eliciting another moan.

“Just touch me Nimre,” Brynjolf groaned, imagining what she looked like behind him.

“That can be arranged,” she said softly, unbuckling his belt and letting it drop to the floor. “You don’t need these,” she said, giving his pants and underwear a tug, encouraging them to slide down his legs. “We’ll sort this out later,” she gently tugged the side of his top. Using her hands, she gently steered Brynjolf around to face her. He was awestruck. The dress looked even better than he had imagined on her. Her soft breasts filled out the top, the intricate lacework standing out against her skin. The sheer lower part of the dress flowed down her sides, drifting out around the curvature of her womanly hips. The long slit up the middle exposed her toned abdomen just enough to tease anyone who looked.

“Gods,” Brynjolf gasped. “I can’t find the words to describe how perfect you look lass.”

“Can’t you now?” Nimre smirked, as she pulled him in, closing the last bit of space between them. He gasped softly when his bare shaft pressed into her. Brynjolf’s hands hung with uncertainty at his sides. Nimre tilted her head, amused by his hesitation. “Don’t you want to feel my skin?” she asked, almost daring him. She reached down, gently guiding his hands up underneath her translucent dress until his palms were on her waist. Her skin was warm and soft beneath his calloused fingers, and he instinctively tightened his grip. “It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t bite,” she smiled, flashing her pointy white teeth. “Well, I can if you want me to though,” she said in a sultry whisper. Brynjolf couldn’t take it anymore. He gave in. He moaned as his lips met Nimre’s. She moaned softly against his mouth, the sound making Brynjolf shiver. Her fingers grazed his neck, and ran through his fiery hair. He squeezed her waist with a groan, as she took his bottom lip between her teeth. She held him there for a second, before setting his lip free. “This would look so much better on the floor, Brynjolf,” she said, as she gently pulled at his armour.

“Would it now, lass?” Brynjolf asked her, his lips curling up into a cheeky smile.

“That’s Nimre for ‘I want to see you naked,’” she replied bluntly as she sat down on the bed.

“Well…” Brynjolf’s voice lowered. “You are the boss, after all.” He let the words hang in the air for a moment. “And my job is to follow your orders.” His fingers slowly started working on the buckles of his boots. He slid them off with ease. His hands then moved to his gauntlets, unbuckling them with a deliberate slowness, drawing the whole process of undressing out. Brynjolf wasn’t going to give away too much too soon. Oh no. He was obedient, but Nimre had taunted him enough today. And if she wanted to see his body, he’d make her wait just a little longer. Nimre’s lips parted slightly as she watched him, hands in her lap as she resisted the urge to touch herself. Brynjolf’s smile widened, a cocky little grin. His gaze fell down to her hands. “What are those doing there lass?” he asked playfully, getting down on his knees in front of her.

“I’ve wanted to see this,” she gazed down at his naked body, “for so long,” she confessed. She ran her fingertips across his weathered cheek.

“I have as well Nimre,” he admitted. “I was avoiding you, because it felt awkward to have a crush on my boss.”

“Well Bryn,” she smiled. “Is it awkward if the feeling’s mutual?” she tucked a strand of hair behind the blushing Nord’s ear.

“I guess not,” Brynjolf said. “We can discuss that later.” Brynjolf put his hands gently on Nimre’s arms, his thumbs briefly brushing against her chest. “But, for now, I want you to tell me: what’s next, lass? You’re the one who gives the orders,” he asked, voice thick with a playful arrogance. “I just follow them,” he said in a cocky whisper.

“Well Bryn, that’s the part I need a little help from my second-in-command with,” she said, rubbing his cheek with her thumb. “It’s been quite a while since anyone has touched me like this.”

“Well, lucky for you…” Brynjolf leaned forward. “I have had a bit of practice. And pleasuring my beautiful Guildmaster,” he trailed his hand down her neck, stopping just shy of her hard nipple, “Is something I would be honoured to do,” he said with a wink.

“Then get to work,” Nimre ordered, biting her lip. She didn’t have to tell him twice. He stood up, pushing her flat against the bed by her shoulders. Nimre reached up with a warm smile, inviting him into her arms. He didn’t hesitate, as he laid on top of her, the soft lace and sheer fabric of her dress rubbing against Brynjolf's bare chest. His weight and warmth on top of her made her want him even more. He nudged her head out of the way with his nose and moved a couple stray hairs with his hand.

“I’ve got to work my way down lass,” he whispered in her ear. “Make sure I do my job properly.” He took her earlobe between his teeth, and gently pulled downwards. He moaned as she bucked her hips up into his. “Oh, you really do enjoy this,” he said softly, before burying his lips into her neck. He kissed her, rhythmically breaking off now and again to work his way down. Once he reached her collarbone, he stopped for a moment. gently sucking on the Bosmer's soft skin. Nimre moaned, as Brynjolf grazed his teeth up against her. She groaned and twitched under him, but that didn't deter him. He wanted to leave a mark, and by the Divines, he was going to. He sucked for another few seconds, before breaking off, and admiring the little piece of red art he had left on her neck.

"Just keep going Bryn," she gasped, gripping into his back, urging him on. as he kept working his way down. He made it to her soft breasts. He admired them through the soft green lace. Without moving it aside, he gently ran his tongue across her nipple. He felt Nimre's back arch up underneath him. "You want me to keep going?" he asked, almost teasing her.

"Mmhmm," Nimre groaned, her eyelids fluttering from his touch. "Please."

Brynjolf gladly obliged. He gently swirled his tongue around her nipple on the lace, her other breast filling his broad hand. "How were you struggling to get laid, when you have these?" he asked, gently squeezing her breast. Nimre couldn’t reply. Brynjolf shifted the straps off of her shoulders, folding the lace down in the front. His heart stopped for a moment, as he looked down at her exposed chest. “Aren’t these a beautiful sight," he breathed. Brynjolf slowly and gently massaged them, one in each hand. He moved his fingers in closer, slowly, lightly drawing little circles around her areolas with his calloused fingers. Every arch of Nimre's back spurred him. He slowly moved his fingers in faster circles, taking in every little gasp and moan she made. He worked his way inwards, Nimre twitching more and more as he got closer to her nipples. Gently, he took her brown nipples between two fingers and rolled them back and forth with a gentle squeeze.

“Brynjolf,” she moaned, her back arching up. He was enjoying every second of this. Pleasuring a woman was one of life's simplest pleasures in his opinion.

"Are you enjoying this?” he asked her.

"It’s amazing," she mumbled. She gave him a small smile, as he planted a kiss on each nipple. “I just want you inside me,” she breathed, locking eyes with him.

“Aye lass, that I can do,” Brynjolf said with a sultry look. “But I have a few more things I’d like to do first.” Brynjolf got back up, standing over her as he parted her lace dress along the split in the middle, pushing the two bits of fabric to the side, exposing her chiseled abdomen. He traced down her sides, making her shiver when he reached her hips. Brynjolf looked at her underwear, studying her closely. More specifically, studying the little wet patch. I just want to taste her, Brynjolf thought, as he slid his fingers into the sides of her underwear. "You won't need these anymore," Brynjolf said softly in a low voice. He slid them down her thighs, as Nimre lifted her butt off the bed to make his job a little easier. "Oh, you are dripping wet. You must really want it," he whispered. He got back down to his rightful place: on his knees, eye level with her soaked vagina. He gently brushed his fingers over her lips. "I can't wait to taste that," he said, as he gently pushed her thighs apart a little more, opening her up. He leaned in, gently nibbling on her inner thighs.

“Bryn…” she moaned. He worked his tongue further inwards, running it up along the sides of her vagina. Nimre wrapped her legs around Brynjolf, pulling him in closer, framing his neck like it was an expensive painting.

"Oh, you really want me to get in there, don't you," he smirked, as he reached up and grabbed her hips. He pulled her closer to him, burying his face in her. She moaned, her hips bucking upwards as he drank deeply. He ran his tongue along the slit, from top to bottom. His chin glistened in the soft light of Honeyside, her wetness clinging to his stubble as he pulled back. "You taste amazing Nim," Brynjolf gasped, wiping his stubble with his hand, licking the excess off his lips. His hands wandered down to her thighs, gently squeezing them as he went back in. Flicking his tongue up and down, pointing it out, drawing along each lip with his tongue, gradually applying more pressure. Her moans were music to ears, he could listen all day. Slowly, he flattened his tongue out, and took it down to the skin below her entrance. Slowly, but surely, he made his way up to the most important part. Hiding away in her little hood, Brynjolf moved one of his hands, exposing the elf’s sensitive little clitoris. She moaned louder just at his hand touching her clit. “I bet that feels good, doesn’t it,” Brynjolf said, as he gently pressed his tongue on it, tracing out different letters. A little trick he had learnt in his years. Her hips jerked in his face as he played with her. He reached up, firmly grabbing her hips, pinning them down, stifling their movement.

"Mhmm, Brynjolf," she moaned, barely able to keep her eyes open. “I need you inside me.” He pulled his head back, looking up.

“Do you now, lass?” he asked, tracing his finger downwards, from her throbbing clit to the bottom of her saturated entrance, holding it there.

“That’s… an order… Bryn,” she gasped.

“Roger that,” Brynjolf said in a suggestive voice. Using his other hand, he gently opened her up, spreading her lips out. He slowly pushed the tip of his finger that was waiting there in, careful not to hurt her. He felt her walls clench around his finger as he worked his way in. Nimre clutched at the blanket underneath as her hips jerked upwards a little. Brynjolf flicked his finger up, tantalizing his Guildmaster, greatly enjoying her wetness and warmth. “I can’t wait to feel you with something else,” he fantasized, leaning in to kiss her clit.

“And I… can’t wait… for you to fill me up,” she moaned. “That’s Nimre… for ‘just hurry up… and fuck me.’”

“Gladly,” Brynjolf said in a low voice as he pulled his finger out. He stood up, his green eyes meeting Nimre’s. He bent over and gently picked her up, moving her from the edge of the bed. He laid her flat down in the middle, putting her head onto the soft pillow, and he pulled off her dress, gently putting it off to the side.

“I don’t want you to worry about doing anything, okay?” Brynjolf said, his voice soothing as he climbed onto the bed beside her. His gaze never left hers. His red hair tumbled forward as he leaned in, brushing against her skin as he dipped his head to kiss her. “I just want you to enjoy this, lass,” he said softly. His hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb gently tracing her cheekbone. “Let me take care of you,” he said. “I want to make you feel things no one ever has. I want to make you come so hard you forget your own name.” He kissed her again, gently tracing her lip with his tongue. He sat back up, and adjusted himself so he was kneeling in between her thighs. He brushed a few wayward strands of red hair from his face. His hands, calloused yet gentle, returned to her chest, sliding them slowly down her sides, working their way down to Nimre’s thighs. With an effortless strength, he pulled her legs, one in each hand, placing them carefully over his broad shoulders. Nimre let out a surprised giggle. From this angle, she had a fantastic view of Brynjolf: his broad shoulders and his chiseled pecs and abs were a sight to behold.

“Alright,” he said, his voice low. His eyes met hers. “You ready, lass?”

Nimre nodded, her entire body seeming to vibrate with anticipation. “Yeah,” she breathed, excitedly. He guided himself into position, steadying his cock with one hand. He pressed closer, lining up the tip, gently pushing it into her.

“How does that feel?” he asked, already a little breathless from the sensation of her wrapped around his tip.

“Deeper,” she said in a low voice. She didn’t have to tell him twice. With a quiet moan, he eased in further, slowly but firmly until he was fully buried, deep inside of her wet pussy. Brynjolf exhaled sharply, overwhelmed by how good it felt - how she felt. There was no way to describe it. Nothing else had ever compared. Holding her waist steady, he began to move: slow and deep. He was testing the pace, thrusting in and out, in and out. He watched her face and listened for every noise, making sure that she felt amazing. “Bryn…” she moaned again, her voice trailing off into breathless gasps. Her breathing got heavier, her heart raced faster as he kept fucking her. She could only moan and clench the blanket underneath her. This position was nothing like she had ever done before, but she wasn't complaining. It was perfect. Each of his deep thrusts hit a spot deep inside her that made her legs twitch and a moan escape from her lips.

“Keep going, Bryn,” she pleaded between breaths. “I’m… I’m close…”
His grip on her tightened slightly, as he went in and out, in and out. He knew that what he was doing was perfect, and he kept going at the same rhythm, same pace, desperate to bring her to climax. He watched her, completely entranced by the way her body moved beneath him, how her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted just enough for a gasp or a moan. Her muscles tensed around him, drawing him in even deeper as she cried out his name, her body shaking with release. Brynjolf slowed only when her contractions began to weaken. Feeling her climax around him - the way her body tensed, the way her vagina pulsed and clung to him with every trembling wave - was enough to drive him right over the edge. Her moans, the way she gasped his name, the look of utter bliss etched into her face. Brynjolf let out a low moan, his eyes closing, mouth slightly agape as the pleasure surged through him. He pressed deeper into her, holding her tightly, his hands gripping her waist as he buried himself all the way in. His body shuddered with release, muscles tightening as he gave himself completely to the moment, to her.

“I just came,” Nimre gasped, blinking up at him in a daze.

“I know,” Brynjolf smiled proudly as he looked down at her. He brushed his fingers along her thigh, tender and proud. “Trust me lass, I felt every bit of it.” He pulled out of her, a few drops of his semen landing on the blanket. Neither of them cared though. He gently lowered her legs back down onto the bed, careful not to jostle her around too much. Then, with a satisfied exhale, he laid himself down on top of her for a moment, savoring the feeling of her body underneath his. He kissed her cheek once, lazily, before he wrapped his arms snugly around her waist as he rolled, bringing her with him so they faced each other, Nimre’s forehead pressed into his chest. She was still floating in a happy trance, her muscles relaxed. She gave Brynjolf a sleepy smile, her usually sharp eyes now half-closed, as she gazed at him softly. Her white warpaint was slightly smudged, her long hair strewn across the pillow, and Brynjolf couldn’t stop staring. He blushed as he reached up, brushing a few wild strands of hair from her forehead and tucking them behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a moment on her cheek. Normally she looked quite intimidating, with a stony expression and stiff posture. But here, in the quiet of her bed, with her face nestled against his chest and her breath warm against his collarbone, Brynjolf couldn’t help but think she looked totally adorable. He smiled softly, tracing his fingertips around her spine.

“Well, we didn’t end up doing much planning, lass,” Brynjolf said softly, yet mildly amused as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

“Mhmm, doesn’t matter,” Nimre mumbled, half asleep, as she nuzzled her face into his chest. “Can sort that out later…” She shuffled in closer, her bare leg sliding over his as she nestled into him, skin-to-skin, her body completely relaxed against his.

“I’ve got to say… this might just be the best friends-with-benefits arrangement I’ve ever had,” Brynjolf murmured, as his eyelids grew heavy and he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

“I’m going up there!” Anja whispered defiantly, already creeping towards the door from the wall.

“No you aren’t!” Aela hissed, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back with a scowl.

“It’s dead quiet up there! I haven’t heard a peep out of them for the last ten minutes,” Anja said, arms folded, eyebrows raised in challenge. She did have a point there, Aela thought, begrudgingly.

“Anja, they’re probably cuddled up and having a nap or something,” Aela said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her voice low but firm. “Just leave them be. We stay put until Nim comes down and gets us. End of story.”

“Well, guess what, Aela?” Anja shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “I’m an adult. With free will. And an insatiable curiosity. Ten septims says they’ve cleared off and gone somewhere else.”

Aela narrowed her eyes. “Alright then,” she said coolly. “Bet. Ten septims says they’re up there, all cuddled up, tits and bits out.”

“You’re on, wifey,” Anja smirked. “I’m going to be so quiet, nobody will hear a thing.” Just as the words left her mouth, she knocked a metal plate off the bedside table, sending it clattering down onto the stone floor.

Aela pinched the bridge of her nose. “So quiet, nobody will hear a thing,” she mimicked her in a high pitched voice. “Brilliant start, Little Miss Stealthy.”

Anja held up her hands, but her grin didn’t falter. “It was a warm-up stumble. I had to get it out of my system.”

“You know what?” Aela said, folding her arms, and shaking her head. “If you go creeping up there and see more of poor Nimre than you ever wanted to, that’s on you. And if you get caught and Nimre decides to tickle you into submission with those terrifyingly fast fingers of hers, don’t come crying to me-”

“Because all I’ll get is ‘I told you so,’” Anja finished for her, rolling her eyes.

“Exactly,” Aela sighed.

Anja turned dramatically and opened up the heavy door. She took a few theatrical tip-toe steps toward the stairs. “Aww, thanks for your support, honey. Love you too.” She blew Aela a cheeky kiss, before she made her way over to the staircase.

Aela just shook her head and muttered, “Moron,” under her breath. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but smile a little bit.

Anja tiptoed up the stairs much slower than she usually would. She did not really fancy the idea of Nimre assaulting her with her worst enemy: the tickle monster. Maybe this is a bad idea, she thought, a little too sensibly. But, as always, her curiosity won. She just had to know what they were up to. Reaching the top step, Anja leaned carefully toward the corner, poking her head around it just enough to get a glimpse of the bed. There they were, exactly as Aela had predicted. Cuddled up. She noticed a red-headed Nord lying on his side with his back to her. His hair spilled across the pillow. It was only then that she noticed the distinct lack of blanket or clothing.

Anja hurriedly retreated down the stairs, nearly tripping over her own feet as she dashed back into the safety of the guest bedroom. Her pulse was racing, and she couldn't help but feel a slight wave of embarrassment creep over her.

“Well, that was quick,” Aela giggled, amused. “I take it you owe me 10 septims?”

Anja nodded, her face screwed up in disgust. “Yeah, um... I owe you 10 septims.”

Aela raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. “Did Nimre’s little butt end up traumatizing you?” she teased, cocking her head to the side. She was trying desperately not to laugh at her wife.

“Um, no actually.” She gave Aela a sheepish look. “His whole butt was out on full display.” Aela couldn't hold it together any longer. She burst into laughter, doubling over with one hand clutching her stomach and the other clamped over her mouth to stifle the sound.

“Seriously though, I thought that if they were up there, they would at least pull a blanket over themselves!”

Aela just shook her head between fits of giggles. “I told you not to go up there. It’s what you get for not listening, you silly goose,” she teased, wiping a tear from her eye, still unable to stop laughing.

Anja leaned against the wall, crossing her arms and letting out an exasperated sigh. “I think I need those extra 10 septims to go towards a shrink.”

“Nope!” Aela said with a grin. “You lost fair and square. Ten septims please.” She held out her hand expectantly.

Anja groaned and reached into her coin purse, pulling out the ten gold septims. She tossed them at Aela. “Fine. Here’s your payment for traumatizing me.”

Aela laughed as she picked the coins up off the floor, and put them in her own purse. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before sneaking around, eh?”

“Bitch,” Anja muttered.

The sun was setting when Brynjolf and Nimre finally stirred from their sleep. The warm light of the sun’s last rays came in through the western window by the back door. Brynjolf blinked a few times, then turned to look at Nimre, who was slowly beginning to rouse beside him. Okay... I definitely did just sleep with the Guildmaster, Brynjolf thought, swallowing hard. That wasn’t a dream. The weight of the situation hit him fully as he looked at the very real, very much naked Bosmer woman curled up in his arms.

Nimre yawned, stretching an arm up above her head. "Hey Brynjolf," she mumbled groggily. "Want something to eat?"

He blinked, startled. "What time is it?" he asked, suddenly alert, concerned.

"Does it matter?" she said, still half-asleep, brushing her hair out of her face with one hand.

"Um, yes? I’ve been out of the Flagon all day!" he said, pushing himself up, his mind racing. “And I just slept with my boss!”

"So?" Nimre replied without a hint of shame. "That doesn’t bother me whatsoever. I’ve wanted to bed your fine self ever since I met you."

Brynjolf blushed. "Lass, that’s sweet and all, but I really have got to go," he said, collecting his armor from the floor. "I did enjoy that though. A lot," he added, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. "And I wouldn’t mind if we had a little mutually beneficial arrangement going forward." He winked as he pulled on his pants and cinched the buckles of his armor. Nimre sat up groggily, running a hand through her hair and blinking against the afternoon light.

"Yeah… that’s fine," she replied, her voice slow and drowsy. But as the words left her mouth, she froze. Wait. What did I just agree to? She thought. "Let’s just keep this between us though, yeah?" she added.

"Yes, of course, lass," Brynjolf nodded, tightening his gauntlets. "I don’t exactly feel like dealing with the Ragged Flagon rumour mill either. I have got to go though," he said with a sense of urgency.

"Can I have a kiss goodbye first please?” she asked, just wanting to feel his lips pressed against hers again.

"Yep. Sure," Brynjolf said, leaning in a little too unenthusiastically for her liking. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. Brief, transactional, before he made his way to the door.

Nimre sat there, as naked as the day she was born, staring, as the door shut behind him. Her brows slowly furrowed. What the hell did I just agree to? she thought, a pang of regret in her stomach. I don’t want to be friends with benefits. I want someone to actually date! She thought. She let out a soft, frustrated groan and looked back at the room. Her delicate dress still hung off the side of the bed, the hanger hooked onto the cupboard door. Her usual armor sat in a rumpled pile on the floor. And then it hit her like a slap in the face.
Shit. Anja and Aela are still downstairs. In my basement, she thought. Her eyes widened as she scrambled off the bed, hastily pulling on a simple dress, neglecting the pile of her normal gear on the floor. She hung her little dress back up, then rushed down the stairs and into the guest bedroom.

“Hey, I am so sorry,” Nimre said as she rushed into the room. “I didn’t realise the-”

“Yeah, you’d better be sorry!” Anja cut in, her arms crossed dramatically. “I’m traumatised now!”

Nimre blinked, confused. “Wait, what?” she asked, just as Aela burst into a fit of laughter, nearly doubling over on the edge of the bed. “What happened down here?” Nimre asked, eyebrows raised. “I thought you,” she pointed at Aela, “were going to make sure that she behaved herself!”

“I tried, Nim, I promise!” Aela said between giggles. “But don’t worry, Anja’s been dealing with all the fun things that come along with, what’s the term? Oh yeah: natural consequences.”

Nimre groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. “Okay, what happened? Wait - do I actually want to know?”

“I need compensation for what happened,” Anja interjected grumpily, arms still folded.

“Nim does not owe you anything,” Aela snapped. “She just wants to recover the 10 septims that she lost in a bet,” she said, looking up at Nimre.

“Hey!” Anja protested. “No I don’t! I had to see all that with my own two eyes! I need some emotional support and a stiff drink!”

“Well,” Aela said flatly, raising a brow. “I told you not to go up there, and you still snuck off for a peek! That’s a you problem, Anja. Not a Nim problem.”

Nimre narrowed her eyes. “Wait. Anja… did you watch us fuck?”

“No!” Anja squeaked, her face turning a bright shade of red.

“When you two were having your cute little post-sex cuddly nap,” Aela chimed in, taking a breath in to keep from laughing again, “Anja snuck upstairs. And you know the age old saying: ‘curiosity killed the cat. And Anja’s will to live.’ Anyways, what did she end up finding, you may ask? Well, I’ll tell you. Brynjolf’s very naked butt. Just out. Right there. Full view.”

Nimre’s eyes went wide. Then she lost it, laughing so hard she had to lean against the doorframe for support. “Really?!” she gasped through her laughter. “Oh, come on, he’s got a very nice arse for a forty-something-year-old man.”

“I’m not into forty-something-year-olds!” Anja shouted, clearly mortified. “Or men, for that matter!”

“Oh gods, this is priceless,” Nimre giggled, wiping tears from her eyes. “Honestly, I should tickle you for peeking, but I feel like the universe has already punished you enough.” Anja sulked in the corner, glaring at Nimre. “Oh come on Anja, don’t look at me like that,” she sighed, walking over to her scowling friend, arms outstretched. “Count your lucky stars, sister. This time, I’ll give you a pass, no tickling.” Nimre hugged Anja, though she did not exactly reciprocate. Anja groaned and muttered something under her breath about never being curious again, while Aela just cackled from the bed.

“Well,” Aela said, stretching her arms up. “I think it’s high time for a drink and a little catch-up on what exactly Nim got up to with Brynjolf.”

“Ooh, yes,” Nimre replied. “I have some things that I’d very much like to unpack.” Her voice was light, but her eyes sent a different message.

Anja was still sulking in the corner with her arms crossed. She gave them both the side-eye.

“Come on, Anja,” Nimre said, trying not to laugh, tilting her head with an exaggerated pout. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Fine,” Anja grumbled, dragging her feet as she walked over. “I guess I do have a few questions.”

“We’ll pick up a few bottles of mead at the inn, then I think it’d be nice to go sit by the docks for our chat. Less ears around, and if Anja ends up puking - from drunkenness or disgust, we will find that out soon - it’s not on my property,” Nimere said.

“Sounds like a plan,” Aela giggled, standing up from the bed.

“Come on, Sulky,” Nimre said to Anja, her lip slightly curled upwards. “Let’s go get you that drink.”

Anja groaned dramatically. “You are the worst,” she muttered, as she followed them out the door.

Nimre was glad she had planned to head down to the docks. The Bee and Barb was packed, full of prying ears and drunken idiots. After a short wait to grab the drinks and a quick walk under the night’s early stars, the three of them were tucked away at the edge of the docks, blessedly alone. As usual, Anja chugged her bottle of mead like it was water.

“So, I’m not going to beat around the bush,” Anja began, already tipsy, like usual. “Was it good sex? Would you have a little love-making session again?”

“Oh, my dear Anja, just as blunt as ever,” Aela laughed, giving her wife a playful nudge.

“Yes, Anja, it was good sex,” Nimre replied with a little smile. “And I abso- hang on, what was that?” She whipped her head around, spilling a bit of her mead down her front as she turned sharply. She could have sworn she heard something move behind one of the old crates lining the dock.

“It’s nothing, sister,” Aela said gently, eyes scanning the shadows. “Probably just an animal of some description. Rats would love it down here.” She took a sip of her drink. “Anyways, what were you saying?”

Brynjolf, crouched in the darkness behind some old barrels, his hand pressed over his mouth to quieten his breath. He was about to head back to the Ragged Flagon after “borrowing” a few things from the Riften Fishery. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but once again, Nimre had him trapped - she just didn’t know it this time. If he moved, she would get up and look for the noise, almost certainly finding him. Who were these two women she was with? They weren’t Guild members. I’ve never seen them in the Flagon before, Brynjolf thought.

“Oh, yeah, as I was saying,” Nimre continued, frowning slightly towards the barrels. “Yeah, it was great sex. He was really caring, which was a shock. I’ve never slept with a guy who actually cared about me finishing before.”

Brynjolf blinked. Her words caught him off guard - he hadn't known how much that meant to her.

“By the Gods, that’s a very rare occurrence,” Aela said, surprised.

“Yeah, that is a shock,” Anja added. “Did he make you come?” she asked a little too excitedly.

Brynjolf’s eyes widened slightly. Well, that’s a bold question, he thought, momentarily taken aback by the bluntness of the conversation. Nimre always seemed quite reserved - this relaxed, rather explicit version of her was something he had never seen before.

“Best orgasm of my life,” Nimre said, raising her bottle.

A grin crept across his face. He felt an unexpected surge of pride. Well done, lad, he thought, mentally patting himself on the back.

“Cheers to Nimre having an orgasm! Come on Aela!” Anja declared, raising her empty bottle high. Aela chuckled and clinked hers against Anja and Nimre’s. Aela and Nimre took a quick sip of mead, giggling as they looked out over the water.

“You did look a bit sad though earlier, Nim,” Aela said more gently, her tone shifting as she turned toward her friend. “Tell us, why’s that?”

Nimre took a long drink, bracing herself. “Well,” she paused. “When he left - or, before he left, I should say, he was like, ‘oh, I wouldn’t mind if we had a little mutually beneficial arrangement going forward,’” she said, mimicking Brynjolf’s voice with a slight scowl. “And I was an idiot. I was half-asleep and didn’t think about what I was agreeing to.”

Aela frowned as Nimre paused again.

“And then,” Nimre continued, more quietly this time, “when he was getting ready to leave, it was like… he didn’t even want to kiss me goodbye. He hesitated. Like he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

“Oh, Nim, that is so shit,” Anja said, trying to comfort her.

Behind the crates, Brynjolf’s heart dropped. That wasn’t what he’d meant. He hadn’t meant to seem distant or cold - he was just flustered, overwhelmed. He was terrified that he would get bombarded with questions the second he stepped back into the Ragged Flagon. The fact that she thought he didn’t care made him nauseous.

“He said he enjoyed it a lot,” Nimre continued, voice tight. She took another long sip of mead, but it didn’t stop the knot growing in her throat. “But then…” she swallowed hard, trying her hardest not to cry. “What if he only wants me for my body?” A tear rolled down her cheek.

Brynjolf winced. The knot of guilt in his chest grew tighter. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t the case at all. But she thought it was. And it was his fault that she did think that.

“I don’t know…” her voice wobbled as it trailed off. “I should be so lucky in love, just like you two.” She took a shaky breath in. “I don’t want to be with someone who just looks at me and sees me as just my body.” Her voice kept on breaking up. “I just want to be with someone who loves me for me,” she sobbed loudly into her hands, dropping her bottle of mead.

“Oh honey, that’s rough,” Aela said, putting a comforting arm around her. Anja scooted in too, as she rubbed Nimre’s back gently. Her shoulders shook as cried on the docks, her warpaint leaving white streaks down her face.

Brynjolf was frozen in the shadows. His chest tightened, as the guilt just got worse. He hadn’t realised that she felt like that. He had not meant to make her feel that way. Not at all. Gods… what have I done? He thought. I am the most awful person in all of Skyrim right now.

Chapter Text

Brynjolf sat in silence behind the barrels long after Nimre’s friends had escorted her from the docks, back into the city. The cool breeze from the lake rustled in his hair as he sat on the damp wooden dock, staring blankly into the darkness. As a master thief and hardened criminal, he normally felt very little remorse. But this? This wasn’t the usual remorse after a job gone wrong. This felt like someone had swung a warhammer straight into his gut. He knew it was no good moping around the docks though, and decided to make for the shelter of the Ragged Flagon.

The walk back felt like it took an eternity. Her sobs replayed over and over in his mind. “I don’t want to be with someone who just looks at me and sees me as just my body. I just want to be with someone who loves me for me,” repeated itself over and over in his head, tormenting him. This was worse than returning from a botched job. Honestly, he would’ve preferred showing up empty-handed and facing Vex’s mockery and Delvin’s sighs of disappointment. That was the kind of shame and guilt he could deal with. But this? It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. By the time he reached the cistern entrance, he paused, inhaling deeply. Please don’t be there, he thought, heart pounding. Please, just give me time to think of what to say next.

Thankfully, the Cistern was dead quiet. He made a beeline for the Guild vault, the doors still wide open. After the whole Mercer debacle, Nimre insisted on leaving the doors open and doing a weekly inventory count, to make sure that nobody was taking more than their fair share. No more skimming behind closed doors. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin purse he’d lifted from the Fishery earlier that evening. The gold coins jingled softly as he poured them into one of the chests. As he shoved the empty pouch back into his pocket, his fingers brushed against something cool and solid. Carefully, he drew it out of his pocket and held it aloft. A small, golden locket glinted in the low candlelight. The little pendant housed a tiny, uniquely cut emerald. He had forgotten that he had even picked it up. He went to put it in the Guild chest, but hesitated. That would look much prettier hanging around Nimre’s neck, he thought, as he slipped it back in his pocket with a little smile.

The Ragged Flagon was nearly deserted when he entered. Only one other person sat in a chair, drinking deeply from a flagon.

“Brynjolf!” Delvin called out, standing up from his chair. “Where’ve you been all day?” he asked, striding over and clapping a firm hand on Brynjolf’s shoulder.

"I was in a meeting today, Delvin," Brynjolf replied. Well, at least that was partially true.

“With who? Nimre?” Delvin asked, despite the fact that he was absolutely certain of that being the case.

“Yeah,” Brynjolf said, keeping his tone level. “She came and grabbed me this morning.”

"Ahh, I see,” Delvin smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Did she finally get sick of you ignoring her?" Delvin pulled his hood over his face. "Ooh, sorry lass, I can't talk right now, I'm scared of pretty girls with big boobies," he mocked in a high-pitched voice.

“Shut up,” Brynjolf hissed, flushing slightly as he playfully shoved Delvin.

Delvin was trying not to laugh, as he asked Brynjolf, "So, what was this meeting about?"

“Nimre wants to start organizing heists again,” Brynjolf said, folding his arms. “She’s never planned one herself, so she asked for some help.”

Delvin perked up at this. “Now, that’s more like it. Would be good to tackle some bigger jobs again.”

“My thoughts exactly, old friend,” Brynjolf nodded.

“So, what are we stealing first?”

Brynjolf froze, blushing a little bit at the thought of their ‘meeting.’ “We haven’t… exactly figured that out yet,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. He felt himself getting a little hard as the image of his beautiful Guildmaster in nothing but that lacy little slip replayed in his mind.

Delvin narrowed his eyes at Brynjolf suspiciously. “So what did you figure out then?” he asked. “Because I would say, judging from the look on your face, the only thing you figured out was how to get in her pants.” He was joking, but as Brynjolf blushed and pursed his lips, trying not to smile, Delvin’s eyes widened. “You didn't, did you?” Delvin asked, cracking a devilish grin.

“I think we should stop this conversation here,” Brynjolf said firmly, but that didn’t deter Delvin.

“I ain’t daft, Bryn,” Delvin chuckled, nudging him. “You do know that I can see your face, and you’ve gone ruby red.” Brynjolf furrowed his brow at Delvin. “Come on, pull up a seat, tell me all about your day,” he said, sitting back down in his chair.

“A gentleman never tells, Delvin,” Brynjolf told him, as he sat down opposite his friend. Brynjolf sighed. “It doesn’t matter anymore though.”

“What’s the matter, Bryn?” Delvin asked, cocking his head to the side, a flicker of concern briefly crossing his face. “If something’s troubling you, I’ll listen.”

“I massively screwed everything up with the lass,” Brynjolf said, his eyes cast downward. “I’ve ripped her heart in two. I’ll be shocked if she ever wants to speak to me again.”

Delvin froze. “Now wait just a blessed moment, Bryn,” Delvin said. “What makes you say that? You can’t say that for certain.”

“Actually, Delvin, I can,” Brynjolf sighed. He recounted the story of how he’d accidentally ended up eavesdropping from behind the barrels down at the docks, how he’d heard her crying to her friends. “She said she felt used,” he finished. “She felt like I only wanted her body. Like I didn’t care about her at all.”

Delvin sucked his teeth, drawing in a sharp breath. “Well well, that is a sticky situation you’ve got yourself in,” Delvin agreed.

“You’ve got no idea how thankful I am that she’s not here tonight,” Brynjolf went on, as he slumped down in his chair. “I can’t even bring myself to look her in the eye after what I’ve done. I am the worst man in all of Skyrim.” He looked back down at the stony, wet floor again. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, Delvin. Not just in looks. She’s fierce and clever and brave, but she’s got this warm, kind heart, the kind that you very rarely see in someone in our line of work.” He let out a bitter laugh. “She deserves someone better. Someone who wouldn’t make her feel like a common tavern wench. Not me.”

Delvin watched him for a moment, arms folded, studying his face. “So what’s your plan, then?” he asked. “Avoid her forever? Go back to sulking in the corner and running away from her? Tell me Bryn: how is that going to fix anything between you?”

“Well,” Brynjolf muttered, “it means I don’t have to deal with that awkward conversation.”

“That’s not answering my question, Bryn,” Delvin said sharply with a stern look. “You slipping back into your old habits isn’t going to fix anything. In fact, it’ll make it a thousand times worse. You'll avoid that tough conversation, but all you're really doing is confirming her worst fear.”

Brynjolf sighed, putting his head in his hands. “You’re right, Delvin,” he mumbled after a moment.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Delvin said. “Now, d’you want her to feel better? You want her to feel like she’s not just an easy lay?”

“Is that not obvious?” Brynjolf snapped in frustration.

“Then you’ve got to tell her,” Delvin said flatly. “Tell her everything you feel.”

“You know I’m no good at speeches, Delvin,” Brynjolf groaned. “And that I really don’t talk about feelings. That’s not my thing.”

“Well, do you think I like playing relationship counsellor? I’m a thief, that’s not my thing,” Delvin shot back. “She trusts you, Bryn. You’ve already broken that. Now it’s on you to fix it. You just need to go and talk to her, and tell her exactly how you feel.”

Brynjolf stared at the stony, wet floor. “It’s not that easy, Delvin.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong. Again,” Delvin said. “But tell you what - I can make it significantly easier for you.”

Brynjolf narrowed his eyes. “How? You don’t have to talk to her.”

Delvin smirked. “Well, I know both of you would want to keep this little thing quiet. No whispers in the Flagon. No sideways glances. Am I right?”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Brynjolf muttered.

“So,” Delvin went on, ignoring him, “you’ve got two choices. One: you grow a pair, go talk to her like a man and make it right. Or two: you slink around with your tail between your legs, hood over your face like a coward, and I tell everyone.”

“Delvin, come on,” Brynjolf groaned. “That’s not fair to poor Nimre. She didn’t ask for any of this. Don’t make her pay for my mistakes,” he pleaded.

“Then go and talk to her,” Delvin said, as he stood up and stretched. “I’m going to bed now, and when I wake up, you’re going over to her house, knocking on her door, and having a good talk with her. "Otherwise…” He smirked. “Well, you know what’ll happen.”

Brynjolf glared at him. “Delvin, just for the record - I want you to know that you’re the biggest arsehole in this entire Guild,” he called behind him angrily.

Delvin paused and looked back at him. “Second biggest, actually. Right after you. Goodnight!”

Brynjolf watched Delvin as he trudged off to bed, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “bloody coward.”

He let out a long, weary sigh and leaned forward, banging his head softly against the wooden table with a quiet thud. Delvin was right. Painfully right. He would have to go and talk to her. He sat up slowly and reached into his pocket, pulling out the necklace he’d “borrowed” earlier. The soft flicker of the torches caught on the polished gold, the emerald in the center gleaming in the light. He held it there in the palm of his hand, looking down at it. That would look perfect on her, he thought, imagining how it would look clasped around her slender neck. The beautiful emerald would go perfectly with that little lacy dress of hers. The one that had made him forget how to speak. The one that he would most likely never see her in again. He let out a groan and ran both hands down his face. What was he supposed to say? He wasn’t good at this whole vulnerability thing. He could break into any manor in Skyrim, lie and bribe his way through any situation, smooth talk his way out of any jail cell. But this? This was harder. That night, he just sat in the Flagon with his thoughts and the necklace, trying to string together the words to show her that he did care. A lot. That she wasn’t just someone he greatly enjoyed sleeping with, but someone who he wanted significantly more with. But one thought kept coming back to his mind. He ran his thumb around the edges of the gold locket, feeling the little hinge on the side. He opened up the locket, and to his great surprise, there was nothing inside. He got up, and found a piece of parchment, a quill and inkpot, then returned to his seat. He carefully tore off a small piece, small enough that it would fit inside of the locket when folded up. Brynjolf’s handwriting wasn’t exactly neat, but he tried his hardest to make sure that the letters looked perfect. My Little Nightingale. He let the ink dry, admiring his surprisingly neat handiwork. Once the ink had dried, he folded it up, and sealed it in its new golden case.

By the time morning arrived, Brynjolf hadn’t gotten so much as a wink of sleep. He was still sitting in the same spot where Delvin had left him the night before, elbows on the table, head in his hands. Delvin was the first to awaken, stretching with a grunt as he wandered out from his bed.

“Morning, Bryn,” he said, clapping a heavy hand on his back. “Ready to go and have a little heart-to-heart with our lovely Guildmaster?”

“No,” Brynjolf replied flatly.

“Well, I am very much ready to get the rumour mill up and running,” Delvin said with far too much cheer. “So if I were you, I’d get a wiggle on before things get very interesting around here.”

Brynjolf scowled at Delvin. If looks could kill, Delvin would be nothing more than a fine red mist. “Delvin,” he grumbled as he stood up. “I cannot put into words how much I hate you right now.”

“Aww,” Delvin cooed mockingly. “So you can confess how you feel about people. That’s progress! But since I already know how much you adore me, why don’t you go and confess your feelings to someone who doesn’t?”

Brynjolf just scowled deeper. All he could muster was an irritable “Get fucked Delvin.”

“Love you too Bryn,” Delvin called after him with a smirk.

Chapter Text

Nimre woke up later than usual the next morning, long after both Aela and even the habitual late-riser, Anja, had already stirred. Her head was still foggy from the restless night. She dragged herself upstairs and into the kitchen, where her two friends were already seated, deep in a heated debate.

“Well, I think he owes me for the trauma of seeing his naked butt,” Anja was saying, her arms folded stubbornly over her chest.

Aela was refusing to give her so much as an inch. “No, he doesn’t, Anja. Besides, he doesn’t even know you saw him, and honestly - do you really want him knowing that you’ve seen his bare arse?”

“Morning, sisters,” Nimre mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She looked soft without her usual warpaint, her hair a tangled, wild mess from a night of tossing and turning. She was still in her nightgown, and a faint redness lingered around her puffy eyes.

“Morning, Nim!” Anja chirped, patting the empty space at the table. “Come join us. Have something to eat, you look like you need it.”

“Thanks, Anja.” Nimre gave a feeble smile as she slid into the chair, pulling an apple from the bowl. She turned it over slowly in her hands, as if stalling. Half-joking, half-hopeful she asked, “Do you reckon it’s too early for a mead?”

Aela and Anja answered in unison.

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Well that was helpful,” Nimre giggled, taking a small bite from the apple. “I haven’t day drunk in a long time, to be honest.”

Anja leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms behind her head. “Well, it’s not daytime somewhere, so technically, you’re good,” she suggested.

Aela gave her wife a look of disdain, preparing to give her a lecture, but was interrupted by a sharp knock at the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Nimre started, making a move to rise, but Anja had bolted out of her chair and beat her to it.

When she flung the door open, she was greeted by a man whose face she could not recognise.

“Hello!” Anja greeted him brightly. “If you’re here to convert me to your weird cult or religion, please save us both some time and kindly piss off.”

The man chuckled, giving her a smile.

“No, lass,” Brynjolf replied. “Not here to proselytize. I was just wondering if Nimre’s around?”

At the sound of his voice, Nimre froze, her heart lurching in her chest. She shrank back into her seat, trying to become as small as possible. Her stomach twisted at the sound of his voice. Aela glanced over at her, eyes flicking between a tense and pale Nimre and Anja, who, as usual, had not read the room before opening her mouth.

“Yeah sure, she’s here! Come on in!” Anja said cheerfully, stepping aside to let Brynjolf in without a second thought. Aela groaned. Nimre panicked.

“She should be right—” Anja turned toward the kitchen table, but blinked when she saw Nimre’s chair empty. “Huh. Well, she was just here, I don’t know where she’s gone.” Under the table, Nimre jabbed Anja hard in the shin, trying to get her to take the hint.

“Ow! What was that for?!” Anja yelped, as she bent over to look under the table. “Nimre! That hurt!” Aela buried her face in her hands, letting out an exasperated sigh. Brynjolf stood frozen, greatly confused by what was unfolding in front of him. A rather embarrassed Nimre crawled out from underneath the table. 

“Hi Brynjolf,” she mumbled, as she stood up, smoothing over the front of her nightgown. Her eyes darted between him and the stony floor. Brynjolf gave her a little smile. “Can you- can you just give me a moment to get ready?” she asked.

“Of course lass,” Brynjolf replied softly. “Take as much time as you need.”

“Thanks,” Nimre replied. She gave Anja a pointed look, her patience already spread thin. “No funny business Anja. Be nice to Brynjolf please,” she warned with an exasperated sigh. She walked over to her wardrobe and took out some fresh clothes.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Sorry!” she shrugged her shoulders. Nimre rolled her eyes.

“Bitch,” she mumbled, as she walked downstairs.

Left in the kitchen, Brynjolf rocked back and forth on his heels, glancing around the room. Well, this is thoroughly awkward, he thought, scratching the back of his neck.

The allure of being a menace towards Brynjolf was too strong for her to resist. “So, what are you here for? Already coming back for seconds?” she asked casually, as she took a bite of bread.

“Anja!” Aela reprimanded her with a glare. “What happened to ‘hello, how’s your day going?’ You know, like a normal person asks!” 

“Oops, sorry,” Anja giggled, trying to look at Aela as innocently as she possibly could. “Hello Brynjolf. How’s your day going? Already coming back for seconds?” Aela put her face in her hands with a groan. Anja grinned from ear to ear. 

Brynjolf let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “No no, not at all, lass. Nothing like that,” he said. “I just wanted to talk to Nimre, that’s all.” His smile faded a little. “Is she feeling alright this morning? I’ve never seen her do, well, anything quite like that,” he added, his voice tinged with genuine worry.

Aela softened, sensing the shift in his tone. She offered him a sympathetic smile. “Honestly, I’m not too sure what was going through her head either, Brynjolf. She’s usually not one for hiding under tables, I can tell you that.” She glanced towards the stairs that Nimre had disappeared down a few moments before. 

She stood up, and walked over to Brynjolf, extending a hand toward him. “I’m Aela, by the way. Should’ve introduced myself properly the moment you walked in.” She shot a sideways glance at Anja, who was leaning on the back of the chair, a cheeky grin still painted across her face. “And this troublemaker over here is my wife, Anja.” Anja waved cheerfully, completely unbothered by the mild scolding from her wife. “She has no filter and says whatever the blazes she wants, don’t pay too much attention to her.” 

“Hey! Aela! That’s not true!” she protested. “Anyways. Brynjolf, did you know that Nim’s really into pegging?” Anja blurted out without missing a beat, her grin widening as if she’d just dropped the juiciest gossip in all of Skyrim. 

Brynjolf nearly choked on the air he was breathing, caught completely off guard. 

“Point in case,” Aela groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Anja! Why? Just why? You know that isn’t true!”

“What? You mean you also didn’t know that?” Anja replied innocently. “Besides, it’s good for him to know! Saves a conversation later.” 

Brynjolf rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin pulling at the corner of his mouth despite his embarrassment. “Well... I’ll, um, keep that in mind,” he managed, shaking his head in disbelief at the woman’s bluntness. 

Aela lifted her head, giving Brynjolf a look of practiced patience. “I did warn you,” she sighed. 

“Fair enough,” Brynjolf chuckled, though the sound came out a little thinner than usual. The conversation, as short as it had been, had left him feeling more awkward than he cared to admit. His gaze drifted toward the stairs once more, as if staring hard enough might somehow summon Nimre faster.

Aela followed his glance, noticing the subtle shift in his posture. “Nimre’s taking longer than usual,” she remarked quietly, her brow creasing ever so slightly. After a beat, she stood up from her chair and motioned toward him. “Brynjolf, do you want to come downstairs with me?” 

“Sure, lass,” he replied, straightening up. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say, but felt it would be rude to turn Aela down. He followed her as she led the way down, his boots making soft thuds against each step. 

When they reached the bottom step, Aela turned to him, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Just wait here for a second, alright?” she said, before crossing the room. Brynjolf nodded and stayed put, hands resting in his pockets as he watched her approach the closed bedroom door. He fidgeted with the delicate chain, and ran his thumb around the locket. 

Aela raised her hand and knocked on the door. “Nim? Are you alright in there?” she asked.

A few seconds passed before Nimre’s voice came back through the door, slightly muffled but clear enough. “Yeah, I’m alright, thanks Aela. I’m nearly finished getting ready.” Brynjolf breathed a sigh of relief from his spot over on the stairs. 

Aela leaned lightly against the doorframe, lowering her voice just a notch. “I’ve just brought Brynjolf down, okay? Anja was being more feral than usual and I didn’t want her scaring him off before you two had the chance to talk.”

“That little shit!” Nimre groaned, frustrated. “I hope she hasn’t scared the poor thing too much.” She raised her voice slightly, calling out past Aela. “Bryn? Are you there? You can come in if you want. You’ll be safer in here, trust me.”

Aela turned her head, offering Brynjolf a small, knowing smile before she beckoned him over. As he walked over, she placed a light, comforting pat on his back, before turning and heading back upstairs, already preparing the scolding that Anja absolutely had coming. The door creaked open as Nimre stepped aside to let him in. The sight of her standing there, still not fully put together, her hair loosely brushed and her face bare was a relief, even though he was anxious about the upcoming conversation. Without saying a word, Brynjolf opened his arms slightly, leaving the invitation unspoken. Nimre hesitated for only a second before stepping into his embrace. She buried her face into his chest. They pulled apart slowly, though neither seemed eager to let go. Nimre let out a sigh, rubbing the back of her neck as her eyes flicked up to meet his. 

“Now,” she said, a hint of dread in her voice. “I don’t know if I want to know the answer to this question, but, what exactly did she say to you?” Brynjolf scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks. 

“Well… uh.” He cleared his throat, glancing toward the floor for a moment. “She said you were really into pegging.” There was an awkward silence. “Just for the record lass, that’s not something I’m really ok-” 

“Bitch!” she snapped, crossing her arms and shaking her head. “I am not into pegging. Never have been, never said I was. She’s just stirring the pot like the menace she is.”

Brynjolf let out a sheepish laugh, the tension starting to ease just slightly. “Well,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Good to know. I’m not exactly keen on the idea either.” Nimre snorted, the tension in the air thinning just a little more. She brushed her hair out of her face as her expression softened. 

“Anyways,” she said, letting the conversation drift back towards something a bit more grounded. “Why are you here, Brynjolf?” she asked. “Yesterday you were worried sick about leaving the Flagon!” Brynjolf’s smile faltered, his gaze flicking away from her as he worked his jaw, trying to gather his thoughts. He slipped his hands back into the safety of his pockets, and fiddled with the little necklace.

“I-” he started, pausing to clear his throat. “I feel like I messed up yesterday, lass.” His voice dropped slightly, tinged with a mix of guilt and sincerity. “I shouldn’t have left so quickly. I should’ve stayed. I- I really regret leaving in such a hurry like I did.” He shifted awkwardly on his feet, the words sticking slightly as he carefully tiptoed around the truth and made sure not to let slip that he’d overheard far more than he should have the night before. “And I’ve been thinking about it all night, and,” he paused. “I- I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry, Nimre. Truly. You deserved better than me bolting out of here like that, and better than how I handled things.” He took a deep breath in as his gaze met hers, earnest and unguarded. “And I need you to know... I think really highly of you. I care about you, Nimre. More than you probably realise.” Brynjolf kept fumbling with the necklace, as he braced himself for whatever answer might come next. Nimre stood there for a moment, blinking up at him, her heart twisting in her chest at the sight of him looking so unsure. This side of Brynjolf was so unlike the smooth, confident thief she was used to seeing. The Brynjolf standing in front of her now was completely terrified. He looked like he’d rather take on the entire city guard than open up like he had.

Her own nerves softened and she let out a quiet sigh. “You big idiot,” she murmured with a soft smile, her voice laced with relief. 

Brynjolf gave her a sheepish shrug, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Aye, I won’t argue with you on that one lass.”

Nimre crossed the small space between them, reaching out to gently take his hands. “I was upset yesterday,” she admitted softly, her thumb brushing across the backs of them. “I thought... I thought you didn’t care. That you were just happy to sleep with me and that’s it.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she held his gaze. “I didn’t want to believe that, but my head was all over the place.”

Brynjolf’s throat tightened at her words, and he gave her hands the lightest squeeze. “That was absolutely not the case for me lass. Not at all.” He paused, exhaling hard through his nose. “You’re not just another pretty face or a good time. You’re clever, you’re brave, and you’ve got this way of making a man forget he’s a hardened criminal, even just for a minute.” He chuckled, a little self-deprecatingly. “You’ve got me wound up worse than Mercer had Nocturnal wound up.”

Nimre let out a small laugh at that, her beautiful smile flashing across her face. “You’ve got a terrible way with words, you know that?”

“I know,” Brynjolf smiled, finally starting to feel a little more like himself. “But I meant every single one.” A comfortable silence settled between them before Nimre stepped a little closer, resting her forehead lightly against his chest. 

“And I’m sorry that I hid under the table, I don’t know why I did that,” she added with a little giggle.

“Aye,” Brynjolf murmured, wrapping his arms around her gently. “I don’t blame you though. I basically did that to you for however many months.” 

“But,” she added, tilting her head up to meet his eyes again, “I’m glad you came.” 

“Me too lass,” he said. “Me too. Also, to help make it up to you, I’ve got a little present,” he smiled, as he let go of her and reached into his pocket. “Close your eyes for me.” Nimre did as she was told, her cheeks flushing in anticipation. He pulled out the locket, and undid the clasp with ease. Nimre felt something cold touch the skin just underneath her collarbone, then Brynjolf's warm calloused hands brushing her hair away, occasionally touching the back of her neck. Even though Brynjolf’s hands were broad, years of picking locks and lifting things out of pockets had greatly improved his fine motor skills, as he did up the small clasp effortlessly. “There we go lass,” he said softly, planting a small kiss on her forehead. “You can open your eyes now.” Nimre opened her eyes and looked downwards, her fingers instinctively drifted to the new weight at her throat. She let them trace over the smooth gold, her breath catching when her fingertips met the emerald glinting in the center. Brynjolf blushed at her reaction. “It looks perfect on you Nimre. Also goes really nicely with your love bite,” he grinned, giving her a cheeky wink.

“Awww, Brynjolf…” she smiled, blushing harder than she ever had. “It’s beautiful,” she looked up at him. “You didn’t have to-”

But before she could finish, she was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of raised voices. Anja’s voice rang clear through the floorboards.

“You’re no fun, Aela!” She groaned loudly. 

“Want to watch the fireworks Bryn?” Nimre raised her eyebrows, tilting her head towards the door. 

“Sure. Why not,” he replied with a smile. The two of them made for the stairs, and stood at the bottom, not wanting to be seen, but wanting to catch every single word of their heated debate.

“Anja, why did you say such a thing?” Aela groaned. “Nim literally told you to be nice to him! And that’s your idea of no funny business?”

“He started it!” she shot back, in an unapologetic, cheeky tone that made it very clear she wasn’t even remotely sorry. Brynjolf, still standing beside Nimre, tilted his head slightly and gave her a confused glance, one brow raised, half-curious, half concerned. What in Oblivion had he done? He leaned in closer. “What does she mean, I started it?” he whispered to Nimre.

Nimre felt her stomach twist. Great, she thought. Anja, will you ever learn to keep that big mouth of yours shut? She gave Brynjolf the faintest, tight-lipped smile, trying to brush it off like it was nothing. But in her head she was cursing Anja. Please Anja, shut up, she thought. Please.

But of course, Anja did not stop there.

“Oh, come on!” they heard her continue. “After being traumatised by Brynjolf yesterday, I think I’ve earned the right to mess with him a little!”

He turned to Nimre again, utterly dumbfounded. “What ? ” he asked.

Nimre let out a strangled groan and buried her burning face in her hands. “I’ll explain later,” she mumbled, wanting to sink into the floor.

From above, Aela groaned again. “Anja! Do you have to act on every intrusive thought that pops into your head? And, I warned you not to go up there, but you couldn’t help yourself!”

“Well, it’s not like I wanted to see Brynjolf’s bare arse!” Anja shouted. “But I walked in and there it was! Right there! Right cheek, left cheek. Full moons in Honeyside! What was I supposed to do?”

Brynjolf’s eyes widened in horror. His whole body went stiff, his cheeks a deep crimson. Nimre had sunk deeply into the floor, hoping that maybe this was all just a dream. But Aela’s voice rang out, clear as day.

“Not go up in the first place, like I told you!” Aela said, exasperated.

“Well it wasn’t my fault!” Anja tried to defend herself. “They should have pulled the blanket over themselves!”

“Is this the part where I crawl back to the Flagon and never show my face again?” he asked Nimre, trying to force a smile, though his face was still glowing red. Nimre knew she had to at least try and do something to make him feel a bit better about the situation.

“No Bryn, this is the part where we go upstairs, and make Anja feel incredibly stupid,” Nimre giggled quietly. “Come on, I have a plan.” Brynjolf raised a brow as Nimre whispered her scheme into his ear, the corners of his mouth twitching despite his lingering embarrassment. 

“Well, you sure have got a devious streak, lass,” he murmured, as the two of them quietly climbed the stairs. They slipped into the kitchen as Anja continued her rant, hands animatedly illustrating the apparent trauma of Brynjolf’s backside.

“Everything alright up here?” Nimre asked, Brynjolf standing at her side. 

Anja froze in her seat. Aela didn’t know what to say, her cheeks going red.

“Ummm, Brynjolf…” Anja trailed off. “How are you?” She asked. Suddenly, her big mouth was struggling to figure out what to say.  

“You don’t have to stop now that I’m here,” Brynjolf grinned. “I was just wondering how many more compliments you had in you.” 

Anja blinked, momentarily disarmed. “Compliments?” 

“Aye,” he continued smoothly, crossing the room toward her. “You make it sound like the sight left quite the impression.” He smirked, cocking his head slightly. “Would you like me to pose for a portrait some time?” 

Anja opened her mouth, but Brynjolf didn’t give her the chance. He stroked his chin, pretending he was deep in thought. 

“Maybe I should try a few different positions, see what really tickles your fancy,” he said, his voice trailing off with a cheeky smile. 

Aela tried and failed to stifle a laugh. Nimre stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching a very flustered Anja, who was as pale as a ghost. 

Anja opened her mouth, ready to fire back with some witty retort, but all that came out was a faint, strangled sound. She threw her hands up and shook her head. “You all suck,” she muttered. “I make one comment and it’s the end of the fucking world.” 

Brynjolf raised his eyebrows. “One comment, lass? From what I heard, you could write a novel about my arse.” Everyone in the room laughed at Anja, as she slumped in her seat, defeated and sulking. 

Aela snorted. “You earned every second of that, Anja.” Anja could only poke her tongue out at Aela. 

Brynjolf shot a sidelong glance at Nimre, his grin softening slightly. “I’ll admit, lass,” he said softly. “That was strangely satisfying.” 

Nimre chuckled, nudging his arm. “See? Told you it’d work.” Brynjolf smiled and pulled her into a warm hug. All the tension from the earlier melted away. “Tell you what, lass,” he said softly, his hands rubbing her back. “If you've got a bit of time, I had something in mind.” 

Nimre leaned back slightly to look at his face. His cheeks were still tinged with pink, but the nervousness from earlier was gone, replaced by his normal, charming and confident smile. 

“Of course,” she said without thinking twice. “Honestly, I could do with a break from Sulky over there.” She flicked her gaze toward Anja, who was still slumped in her chair, arms crossed and scowling.

Brynjolf reached for the door and held it open for Nimre, waiting until she stepped outside to follow her out. They strolled side by side down the familiar streets. 

“So... where exactly are we going?” she asked him. 

Brynjolf glanced down at her playfully. “You’ll see soon enough, lass.”

Chapter Text

“Y’know what I haven’t had in a while lass?” Brynjolf asked Nimre as they made their way towards the bustling marketplace.

She looked up at him. “What?”

“A nice bottle of wine,” he said, rubbing a hand absent-mindedly along her back. “Don’t get me wrong lass, I love my mead - gods know it’s kept me going more than once - but I wouldn’t mind sharing a bottle of something proper. With a beautiful lass, no less.”

Nimre smiled, her cheeks flushing as she laughed softly. “That’s not a bad idea. Can’t say I object to that.”

They stepped into the marketplace, amongst the people shopping. Merchants hawked wares, guards shuffled past on patrol, the smell of honey from the meadery filling the air. Nimre froze mid-step. “Shit - Brynjolf!”

“What is it, lass?” he asked, brows furrowing.

“Morndas! Guild meeting! I completely forgot!”

Brynjolf’s face dropped. “Ah shit,” His pace quickened. “Guess the wine’ll have to wait.”

“Yep,” Nimre said, already darting through the crowd. “Delvin and Vex are going to kill us.”

They hurried down The Ratway and into the Ragged Flagon. Thankfully, when they pushed open the Flagon doors, no blades came flying their way. Yet.

Vex sat with her arms crossed, legs stretched across the table, wearing her signature scowl. Though this time, it seemed more unimpressed than usual. Delvin lounged in his usual seat with a tankard in hand.

“Well well,” Vex said coolly. “Look who decided to show up. You’re late.”

“No I'm not,” Nimre replied. “You’re just early. Meeting starts when the Guildmaster arrives.”

Delvin let out a chuckle. “Boss, you owe me. I bet Vex ten septims you’d strut in late. And is that a love bite?”

Nimre sank into a chair with an eye roll. “Fine. You’ll get your mead later.” She deliberately ignored that last comment.

“That should be more than sufficient,” Delvin grinned, raising his tankard.

Brynjolf dragged over a chair and sat at the empty space at the table. “Alright lass. Ready to get this started?”

“Absolutely.” Nimre straightened, surveying the other senior Guild members. “Now, I know we’ve talked before about going after something bigger. Being a bit more ambitious. So - has anyone come up with any heist ideas? Places worth our time?”

A long, awkward pause followed. Only the clinking of tankards as Vekel and Tonilia cleaned and put them away could be heard.

“Brilliant,” Nimre muttered. “A table full of professional thieves and not a single one of us knows what to steal.”

“Well,” Delvin piped up, “maybe we approach it different. Pick a city first. Scope it out. Work backwards.”

“Alright,” Nimre said. “Pitch me a city then.”

“Windhelm?” Delvin suggested.

Nimre grimaced. “Ugh, not a chance. We are not going anywhere near that frozen shithole of a city. Pick again.”

“Solitude,” Vex said firmly, arms still crossed. “It’s the obvious choice. Wealthy nobles. Foreign dignitaries. The court has to have a small town's worth of septims in jewellery alone.”

Delvin nodded. “That's a good idea Vex. It’s got the coin, got the prestige.”

Nimre hesitated. “I’m not sure. Solitude’s crawling with guards. Imperial presence is strong there - lots of eyes.”

“You worry too much,” Delvin scoffed, stifling a laugh. “If the guards don’t see you, you don't end up in a prison cell. Simple as that.”

“Still,” Nimre said, tapping her fingers on the table. “We’d need to be careful. If we go in, it has to be clean and smart. I want something that turns heads without us all getting thrown in a dungeon.”

“The Blue Palace,” Vex said. “That’d be the best spot. I bet the Jarl’s sitting on a few heirlooms that no one’s looked at in a few decades.”

“Could be worth it,” Delvin added. “If we get someone on the inside - Erikur or maybe even Gulum-Ei-”

“No,” Nimre said flatly, cutting him off. “Last thing I want is to deal with either of those slimeballs.”

“Then do it the old-fashioned way,” Vex shrugged. “Get in. Grab the shiniest thing. Get out.”

Nimre sighed. “That’s just a glorified burglary. I want something... more. Something memorable. Something that says: the Guild is back. That we’re better than ever.”

The room went quiet again. Then:

“What about daedric artifacts?” Vex offered.

Delvin nearly choked on his mead. “Are you out of your bloody mind?! Look where that got us before!”

Nimre held up a hand. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m not looking to piss off any Daedra.”

“What about some big gemstones?” Delvin asked.

"How creative. Nobody has ever done that before," Nimre said sarcastically. "Brynjolf - you've been rather quiet. Any ideas from you?"

Brynjolf looked straight at Nimre. "Uhmmmm," he cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. Pick a city Brynjolf, any city. Meetings weren't exactly his strong suit. It wasn't exactly easy for him to focus on their conversation, especially considering it wasn't exactly going anywhere. Brynjolf, just pick a city lad! He thought to himself, wracking his brain. "Um, Winterhold?" Immediately, he regretted his choice. Half the town's buildings are ruined on the seabed! "I mean, the town is rubbish, but the College might have some things worth stealing? And Enthir might be able to give us some ideas?" To his surprise though, Delvin and Vex nodded.

"Anywhere a bit more temperate?" Nimre asked.

"How about you suck it up princess?" Vex shot back without missing a beat. "You've lived in Skyrim for how long and you still can't handle the cold?"

"Correct! I can't handle the cold," Nimre replied, almost pridefully.

"Well, sorry boss, I'm with Vex," Delvin chimed in. "And seeing as you're so picky about what we can and can't steal, and what would make a good heist, it's only fair that you go," Delvin added. Nimre sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, dropping her head. He's right, she thought.

"All in favour?" Delvin asked. Everyone raised their hands, except for Nimre. Even Vekel and Tonilia, who had been eavesdropping from behind the bar raised their hands.

Nimre groaned, making sure she was loud enough for everyone to hear. "Fine. Let me get organised. I'll head off tomorrow." She stood up while she pushed her chair back. She drew her coinpurse out of her pocket and gave Delvin a handful of septims. "For the mead. Now, before I go and freeze my arse off, is there anything else that warrants further discussion?"

"Not that I can think of," said Vex, taking her feet off the table, and putting them flat on the ground.

"Have we done the count of the treasure room? Everything in order there?" Nimre asked, glancing between Delvin and Vex.

"All bang in order," said Delvin. "Nothing's missing, nobody's been skimmin' off the top."

"Great. I'll see you around. Meeting's done. And be nice to each other while I'm gone, alright?" Nimre narrowed her eyes at Vex. Delvin pushed his chair back, and made a beeline for Vekel, eager to refill his now empty tankard. Vex had walked over to the bar as well, where her and Tonilia made idle small talk, probably talking about how trade was going with the Khajiit caravans.

Brynjolf lingered behind for a moment before he followed Nimre toward the Ratway exit. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows on the damp stone walls as they walked in silence, until they were out of earshot.

“Lass,” Brynjolf said gently, catching her arm from behind. She turned to face him. “You don’t have to go to Winterhold alone.”

Nimre paused, and looked at him, a little confused. “I’ll be alright Brynjolf,” she said, smiling softly. “I’m not made of glass you know? Just don’t like being cold, that’s all. Anja and Aela will tell you the same thing - I swear, I nearly froze to death that one time we went to Windhelm," she chuckled. "That trip was definitely an experience."

Brynjolf laughed. “Aye, I don’t doubt that. But as you’ve said before lass, you’ve never planned a proper heist before. Wouldn’t it be better to have someone with you? Someone who’s done it more times than they can count?”

Nimre tilted her head “You volunteering?”

“Well,” he began. "I know what things are worth a pretty amount of coin and not to blow my own horn, but I'm pretty good at planning. Besides - Winterhold’s miserable. If you have to suffer, might as well have someone to complain with.”

Nimre laughed softly, her lips curling into a smile. "Tempting."

Brynjolf pulled her in a little closer. "So? What do you say lass? You, me, one snowy, miserable, College?"

Nimre shook her head with a smile. “Alright, fine. You can come."

"We'd better get organized for tomorrow then lass," he said, as the two of them made their way back out into the city.

"We sure do - it'll be easier if you stay the night at mine - are you alright with that?"

"That's fine by me lass."

"Aela! Anja!" Nimre called, as her and Brynjolf walked into Honeyside.

"You're back sooner than expected," Aela said, as she gave Nimre a hug. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," Nimre replied as they broke apart. "Brynjolf and I are going away on a quick trip."

"Oooh, where are you two off to?" Anja asked, poking her head out from the kitchen - though she very deliberately avoided even glancing at Brynjolf.

"Winterhold," Nimre said glumly.

Anja's face screwed up instantly. "Brynjolf! That's not very romantic of you! Oh Nim, come on, you can do so much better than a man who thinks Winter-"

"It's a business trip Anja," Nimre interrupted. "Strictly work. Definitely not for pleasure. No frostbitten nips for me thank you," she finished with a laugh.

Anja's face shifted, looking more puzzled now as she stared back at Nimre. "I don't understand what business you'd have up there though," Anja scoffed. "Bunch of stuck up, big-headed mages, thinking they're better because they can cast a few spells."

"You can also cast a few spells Anja," Aela said.

"I mean, I can, but not particularly well," she retorted, as she held up the scarred palms of her hands.

"Don't worry about us, it'll be fine. We'll only be gone for a few days," Nimre interrupted. Even though he knew that Nimre was only talking business, Brynjolf felt a small flutter in his chest, with Nimre's casual use of the word "us."

"Anyways, let's get packing Bryn," Nimre said, beckoning him into her room. She opened up her wardrobe, and pulled out two packs from the bottom, putting them on the bed. Anja and Aela went back downstairs, their voices drifting up through the floorboards. Nimre was bent over an open chest next to her bed. Brynjolf looked into her wardrobe. He saw that little green slip hanging up, and couldn't resist.

"This'd be perfect for you to take lass," he smirked, holding it out in front of him. Nimre looked up at him and shook her head with a smile.

"I was thinking of something a bit more like this," she said, as she heaved out a thick bundle of furs. "Heads!" She threw them over to Brynjolf, who caught them with a grunt.

He dropped them onto the bed, and started untangling the pile. "Gee lass, you weren't joking about not being good with the cold," he laughed, as he started stuffing a thick fur shawl into one of the packs. Nimre kept tossing gear from the chest onto the bed, and Brynjolf packed it away. Gloves, a woolen hood, several woolen scarves. If she's cold under all this, I have no clue what'll keep her warm, thought Brynjolf. But still, they both packed, almost rhythmically. Nimre already had a few full water skins, which got added to the packs, alongside some small loaves bread, wrapped in scraps of cloth. Together, they packed a number of lockpicks into the front pockets, enough for each of them. And most importantly, a map. Brynjolf hastily rolled it up and stuffed it neatly down the side of one of the packs.

After a simple dinner and a final check of their packs, they decided to turn in early for the night. It would be a long, cold ride to Winterhold in the morning. They laid, curled up in a tangle together beneath the thick green blanket. Brynjolf fell asleep almost instantly, his eyes fluttering shut as soon as his head hit the pillow. Nimre lay awake a little longer though, absent-mindedly staring at the ceiling. She shifted once, twice, eventually slipping free from his embrace, before getting a little more comfortable on her side, and before she knew it-

She was home. The air was thick and humid, and tall green trees stretched upwards, their leaves forming a thick canopy. Slivers of filtered light illuminated the ground in golden patches, the bits of the afternoon sun that was strong enough to penetrate the canopy. She moved silently, slipping through the undergrowth with ease. The route was familiar. The terrain, unchanged. But times had changed, and not necessarily for the better. She quickened, making her way closer and closer to home. She clambered through the undergrowth as quickly as she could. The smell of blood hit her first. Metallic, fresh. She kept running. Then she saw the bodies. Twisted, distorted into all sorts of unnatural positions. Clansmen she had known since childhood, now motionless. Silent. Nimre froze, looking at the mangled bodies around her. She bent down, trying to figure out who was who. A tall shadowy figure stepped out from behind the trees, and closed in on Nimre. It got closer, before it kicked her in the back. Nimre fell forward, and turned to look up at her attacker. He was clad in a dark robe, his golden face obscured by his hood. "Come little beast," he said, in an oily, almost mocking voice. "I don't bite. Unlike your filthy Clansmen."

Nimre woke up, cold beads of sweat running down her face. The trees had turned to timber planks, and the bodies were gone. Her leather armour had turned to a soft nightgown. Her heart pounded in her chest. Brynjolf stirred slightly beside her, but didn’t wake. She sat up slowly and wiped her face with a trembling hand. It's just a dream, she told herself silently. Like you always have. It's a big day tomorrow, go back to sleep. She breathed deeply, trying to suppress the thoughts, the images. It happened almost 70 years ago. But the memories were as fresh as the blood spilt that day. She slipped out of bed silently, and made for the balcony door. She opened it quietly, and crept out onto the balcony. She pulled up a chair and sat, breathing in the cool night air, watching the reflection of the stars dance across Lake Honrich. She felt for the small gold locket around her neck, and gently fidgeted with it. Behind her, Brynjolf stirred again. This time, he awoke, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He shifted slightly beneath the blanket, before climbing out of Nimre's bed and walking onto the balcony through the open door.

"Lass?” he mumbled, putting his broad hands on Nimre's tense shoulders. “You alright?"

“Yeah,” Nimre croaked, looking up at him, letting go of the locket. “I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep.”

"You sure you're fine?" he said. Please, don't worry about me, Nimre thought, as she studied his worried face.

"Oh, it's just a weird dream, it's seriously nothing," she said.

"I can stay up with you lass," Brynjolf offered. "Make you some-"

"It's fine Brynjolf. I’m alright now. I just needed a minute," Nimre snapped, standing up. "Come on, we have a big day ahead, let's get some sleep."