Chapter Text
There’s something we need to discuss. Meet me on the back deck of Honeyside tonight. I'll be waiting.
- Mera
A nip in the air bit at Mera’s nose as she sat on her deck. She'd kill for a warm cup of… anything right about now. Even the comfort of holding something warm in her hands would be a welcome. Her eyes moved to the darkening sky as the moons brightened over the Rift. The night was still young, there was plenty of time for Brynjolf to arrive.
And if he didn't…
She exhaled through her nose.
If he didn't, there would be no other chance. This was the only day she could afford to spend in the Rift before… before…
She'd tell him tonight, or not at all.
Eyes closed, she hissed to herself, “Hurry up you ass,”
“Hope you aren't talking about me, lass,”
The sudden voice was almost enough to startle her. Almost. In her time training with thieves and assassins, she'd learned to expect sneaks creeping up behind her unannounced.
“Took you long enough,” Mera spoke without raising her eyes from where they were fixed out on the water. It was a clear night. In the distance, she could see Golden Glow, a small fortress in the center of the lake.
There was mirth in Brynjolf’s voice when he spoke, and she could practically hear his lopsided grin. “Sun’s only just set. Your note did say “night”, didn't it, lass?”
Mera bit down on her lip to prevent herself from falling into this trap of a petty argument. She wanted to bicker with him over the time of day and punctuality, badly, but she knew it was her desperation to stall that was talking.
“Sit, Bryn. Please.”
There was a long beat of silence, a creak from the worn wood, and finally the sound of a weight settling down across the table from her.
Finally, she turned her head to look at him. He was in his guild leathers, as always. Curiosity lurked behind his gaze as it settled on her firmly.
“Alright, I'm here,” he started, “So what is this about?”
A million thoughts filled her mind. Where to start? She opened her mouth, closed it again, before speaking. “How fares the guild?”
Annoyance crossed over Brynjolf's expression. “The guild fares fine, las, better than ever. The new recruits bring in more gold every day. We're swimming in it.” Brynjolf reached for a bottle of mead on the table, shooting her a questioning glance before she gave a slight nod of approval. He popped it open and took a long drink.
Good, she couldn't help but think. This would be easier with alcohol.
“Mera,” he said firmly, causing her eyes to jump back towards his face. “If you were going to simply ask about the guild, we could have talked in the Flagon. Why did you-”
“Could we?” She cut him off, reaching forward to grab her own bottle from the table. She opened it with a harsh moment and took a long swing. In a tone that mocked his accent, she said “Sorry lass, I’ve got important things to do, we'll speak another time.”
An edge seeped into Brynjolf’s tone that matched the irritation in his eyes. “Aye, I’ve been busy. Busy running the Guild while you disappear for weeks at a time. So forgive me if I don’t have much time for conversation.”
Mera opened her mouth, a heated retort on the tip of her tongue, only to let it fall flat, shutting her lips with a sigh. She told herself she wasn’t going to argue this, not tonight. And here she was, starting the fight anyway. “I know,” she said, and her easy surrender of the fight had Brynjolf’s eyes widening,“I’m sorry.”
He leveled his gaze with her, a hard look in his eyes that nearly had her squirming, before he took another long drink. She mimicked his movement, allowing the Black-Briar mead to wash over her tongue and burn it’s way down her throat.
“Mera,” Brynjolf said her name again, softer this time than before, “what is this about?”
Mera closed her eyes, facing down towards the old wooden table that occupied her slice of the Riften docks. It was hard for her to find the words. She’d imagined this conversation so many times, with so many different responses on his part, as well as the others she’d always wanted to tell. Finally, she swallowed thickly, and looked back towards him.
“Brynjolf,” she started, saying his name slowly. She could see the impatience brewing in his eyes once again, but this time it was capped as he tried to restrain himself from pushing her. She appreciated the gesture. “Bryn, I know that our relationship has been… complicated,”
“Aye, that’s certainly a word for it,” he interrupted her, a look in his eyes that throws her back with an intensity that she wasn’t expecting.
“How did you get in here?” She asks, fire in her tone.
“Through the front door, lass.” Brynjolf replies, holding the troll skull she kept as decoration up, like he was appraising an item before buying it. Or, in his case, steal.
“I figured that,” she says dryly. “But that doesn’t explain how . I’ve got the best locks that money can buy on this place.”
“Aye, but clearly they aren’t better than me,” He turns to her, a smirk pulling at his lips, “These hands are very talented, you know.”
She hates herself for blushing. “Alright, fine. What do you want?”
“Something expensive,” he speaks casually, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handful of gemstone. “You certainly keep a lot of valuables in a city full of thieves, lass. Perhaps not your brightest idea.”
She strides towards him with hurried steps, extending a hand. “Give those back.”
He lets them fall into her palm. “Fine, I suppose I could find something else.” He reaches up, taking advantage of her closeness to grasp at the golden emerald pendant that hangs around her neck. He fingers the chain, pulling gently to lure her in closer.
She steams, exhausted by his games, “Why are you here Brynjolf.”
He leans in, like what he’s about to say is an intimate secret. “The cistern is cold tonight, lass. I’ve been up top, looking for a warm bed to steal away in.”
Involuntarily, her eyes flicker to that of her own bed, so much bigger than what one person needs. “So you came here.”
“Mhm,” he hummed, still playing with the chain around her neck.
She tosses the idea around in her head for a long moment. For some reason, all she can think of is Aela and Skjor. Except this is worse. She and Brynjolf aren’t equals. He’s her superior. For a moment, she wonders what Mercer would think.
“Fuck it,” She says aloud, reaching up with both her hands and grasping his face, pulling him into a quick and eager kiss. The hand that’s tangled in her necklace tightens its grip, keeping her close, while his other hand grasps her hip. Brynjolf seems to think that he’s in charge here, like he is in the sewers, the ratway and the Cistern, if his pressing tongue is anything to go by. She bites at his lip to keep him at bay.
Breathless, she breaks the kiss, but his grip on her necklace holds her close. She searches his eyes for a moment, looking for any malicious intent, before leaning back in. He goes to meet her, expecting another kiss, but she moves one hand, holding a finger in front of his lips, preventing him from moving forward.
“Break into my house again, and I’ll break your arm,” she breathes the words in their closeness.
The smirk is back on his face with a new found vigour. “Of course, lass. Never again.”
“Mera.” Brynjolf’s voice shook her out of the memory. “Continue.”
“Right,” she cleared her throat, hoping that he couldn’t see the heat in her cheeks in the dark. “Even though things have been, well, complicated…” She breathed out through her nose, pausing, “I hope you know I consider you a dear friend. Even with… these past few months.”
Mera wasn’t an idiot. Brynjolf had only started to be so short with her after she started disappearing for longer and longer periods of time. Their distance was her fault, not his.
The conflict was clear in Brynjolf’s expression. “Aye, and I consider you one as well.”
Her chest tightened at his words, “I care about you. A lot.”
“Lass, where is this-”
“Brynjolf, please, this is hard enough without you interrupting me.”
He looked annoyed, but he closed his mouth. She waited a beat to ensure his silence.
“Thank you,” she sighed, allowing silence to swallow them both again. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts as she grasped for the bottle of mead again.
“Brynjolf I'm leaving for a while and I don't know if I'm going to make it back.” She said in one breath, closing her eyes and only opening them to see the after shocks of her words.
“What do you mean by make it back?” Brynjolf pried. She cursed him in her mind. He had a thief's attention to detail.
“I…” she struggled to find the words, eyes burning with something. Tears? It was hard to say.
“I won't lie to you, Bryn, I have to do something. Something dangerous. And I don't know if I'm going to make it back.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Mera thought she could drown in it.
“You want to square away business in case you don't make it back.” Brynjolf stated, like he was piecing together the puzzle. “Why would you-”
“Yes but-- You were Mercer's right hand. And you're mine. I just want to make sure-”
“Don’t”
“What?” She asked.
“Don’t do whatever dangerous thing it is you think you need to do.”
“Brynjolf I can't-”
“Mera I'm serious. I've seen you fight. You're a terror. If this… whatever this is, is dangerous enough to make you think you won't make it back, then don't .”
“You don't understand-”
“What am I not understanding, lass? What's got you so ready to die?”
“Brynjolf please !” She begged, voice strained. “This isn't all I have to tell you.”
Brynjolf leveled a glare across the table at her. “I'm listening.”
“...How familiar are you with the Dragonborn?”
Confusion, shock, disbelief, and an emotion Mera couldn’t quiet place all flashed across Brynjolf’s face before it finally settled on a cool acceptance and understanding. “You’re the Dragonborn,” he stated, voice even.
Mera’s chest ached at his tone of voice. “Yes, I am.”
“Does this dangerous deed have to do with the dragons?” He asked her, but she was sure he already knew the answer.
“Yeah, Bryn, it does. It’s…. If I don’t go, everything - everyone - is doomed. It’s, I don’t expect you to understand this, but it’s the World Eater. He’s come to destroy our world, swallow everything up and bring about the end. I… it’s my destiny, my duty , to stop him. No one else can.”
Brynjolf settled back in his seat, one hand still firmly grasping the bottle of mead. He swirled it for a moment, before taking a swig.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
The implied question of why she didn’t tell him before didn’t go over her head.
Mera hesitated for a moment, opening and then closing her mouth again while she thought out her words. “I… there are very few people outside of Whiterun who know that I’m Dragonborn. If I, well, if I don’t make it back, I didn’t want to go without telling you. It didn’t feel right.” She paused for a moment, staring back down at the table. Absently, she scratched at the wood, drumming her nails against the surface. The tips of her fingers were starting to feel numb in this cold, but she didn’t mind. “I’d wanted to tell you about this, about everything, for a long time. I just never knew how.”
Brynjolf finished what was left in his bottle with a quick motion, before bringing it back down onto the table with an empty clunk. “Well, I’m here now, so go on.”
“Huh?” She asked, biting down hard on her lip as she looked back up at him.
“I’m listening, lass,” he repeated, standing to grab another bottle that was left on a barrel. He opened it in a quick movement and took drink. “You’ve got my full attention. You can tell me, now, but you look cold. Inside?” He asked with a nod towards the door.
A small, sad smile pulled at Mera’s lips as she stood on tired legs, moving to stand beside him. “Yeah, let's go.”