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Chapter Text

Velidas hated the Rift. It spooked him a little, if not just because he was frightened of thieves and the like. No matter how many times he’d had people tell him the Thieves Guild in Skyrim was a mess and nothing to fear, he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t his fault that he had multiple run-ins with the Thieves Guild in Cyrodiil, and their presence never failed to shake him to the bone. However, he knew that Skyrim wasn’t nearly as cushy as the Imperial province was, and with the civil war he was hard pressed to find anyone who could offer him a helping hand with protection while travelling. It was complete nonsense, according to the wood elf, such was the reason he needed to go to Riften. All he needed was the enchanted bow which had been shipped to Balimund. His paint horse, Wendlyn, trotted along steadily, much more lithe than the heavy horses that have been known to be sold in Skyrim. Velidas was too busy looking around and behind himself whenever he heard even the slightest noise, and didn’t notice the guard stopping him just a few feet from the gates to Riften, until Wendlyn reared up slightly and whinnied. Velidas yanked on her reigns, and calmed her down quickly before hopping off of her and eyeing the guard with suspicious burgundy eyes. The look had an extra threatening oomph with his darker crimson scleras surrounding them. The guard hooked his fingers into his belt as the Bosmer went and tied his horse to a tree.

“You looking to enter Riften?” The guard asked, his voice thick with that guttural accent most of the Nords seemed to carry. “Two hundred gold.”

Velidas tilted his ears back a little bit and looked the man in front of him up and down. Although he was a good six inches taller than him, Velidas wasn’t intimidated by much. In fact, he stood straight and crossed his arms. “I’m sorry?”

“Two hundred gold for entering the city, elf. You going to pay, or walk back to where you came from?”

“I’m afraid I won’t be paying this fee. What is the fee for, anyway?”

“The privilege of entering the city! What does it matter to you? Just pay up, and you can be on your way.”

Velidas narrowed his eyes and tilted his pointed ears back. “You must believe I’m dumber than I look. This is quite evidently a shakedown!”

The guard jumped up and waved his arms, pointing an accusing finger at the short elf. “Shut your trap! Do you want everyone to hear you? I’ll open the gate! Come with me.”

So Velidas came along, shuddering as he wasn’t sure what came over him. Usually he was a little more timid than that, but he hated being pushed around. A relieved sigh passed his lips when the guard let him enter the city, and he inhaled. Weugh. What on earth was that smell? It was a horrible mixture of harbour, Skooma, and crime. Velidas shook his head a little and walked in further, glancing over to the side slightly and catching a glimpse of a tall man with dark hair sizing him up. Nonetheless he continued, walking along until he got to the market. While he was looking around at the different stalls, he bumped into a tall, red-haired man who seemed very neutral towards the mistak, judging by how he just turned and raised a brow at the him. Velidas sort of recoiled and put his hands up, making his leather bracers slide down his arms a little.

“M-My apologies, sir, I didn’t mean...”

“No worries. Say, lad...” The man leaned in a little, sizing him up just like the man before did. His eyes flicked to Velidas’ bulging coin purse. “You haven’t done an honest day’s work for all that coin, have you?”

“I’m sorry? I don’t think that’s any-”

“Of my business?” He laughed. “That’s where you’re wrong, lad. Wealth is my business. Come with me.”

Despite his mind yelling at him to stay put and go the other way, Velidas found his legs subconsciously walking along behind this man. This guy didn’t know where he came from, what he wanted, or why he was here, so what did he care if he carried a lot of coin? It was for that enchanted bow he so desperately wanted, it’s not like he was a thief. This guy, however, seemed to think he was. Velidas jumped when the red-haired man introduced himself.

“Brynjolf. You could call me an expert in finacial affairs of others, I suppose.”

“Uh... Velidas. I’m not... From around here.”

“That’s not something you should tell someone you hardly know, lad.” Brynjolf chuckled, making Velidas shrink a little. He continued nonetheless as he took his place in his wooden stall. “Valenwood?”

“N-No. Cyrodiil.”

“Ohh, you’re from the Imperial province, eh? Maybe you’re more adept for this sort of thing than I thought, lad.” Brynjolf scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Now, I can tell you what you need to do, if you’re up to the challenge.”

—

Some challenge it turned out to be. Picking the lock and lifting the ring from Madesi's strongbox was easy enough, but little did Velidas know, Brand-Shei seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. He was pinched almost immediately after he dropped the ring before slipping it into his pocket, with weapons of all sorts pulled on him. He had a blade to his back, one to his face, and others that he probably didn’t notice. Oh, that Brynjolf guy was going to hear it from him when he got out of jail in a few months. Was he ever. Thankfully, though, Velidas didn’t get a look at Brynjolf’s face, because he was sure it would be lined with disappointment. Hey, what did it matter? The big Nord decided to stick his nose in his business, and as far as he was concerned they were perfect strangers. This is what the Bosmer convinced himself of as he sat on the furs that served as a bed in his cell. He eyed this idiot across from him, a Black-Briar from the looks of things, and tried to figure out why he was in here. However, he found himself standing to attention when a man came in dressed in dark leather armour, along with a hood which concealed most of his face from this angle. Velidas, with his curiosity piqued, came closer to the door as the man was able to tuck and roll right past the snoozing guard. No wonder the Thieves Guild had it easy in Riften, the elf thought to himself, before noticing the guy across from him getting progressively angrier at the new player in the situation.

“What? What do you mean you’re not here to get me? Do you have any idea who I am? Do you have...!”

The leather-clad man gave a dangerous glare and a threatening step towards him, hissing something to him lowly. “You shut your trap, Sibbi, you know why you’re in here. If you wake that guard up, we’ll ensure you’ll be in here for twice as long. Understand? Now can it.”

This Sibbi fellow seemed quite put down by this, and narrowed his eyes before returning to the back of his cell. The imposing presence of this other man was now undeniable. Who was he? It seemed as if Velidas’ questions would be answered now, as he came over and quickly began picking the lock. Hid fingers were nimble and skilled, which nearly made Velidas jealous. However, when the door was opened, he wasted no time in questioning his mystery jailbreaker.

“What’s this about? Who are you? What do you want?” The mer interrogated without thinking.

“I’m here on Brynjolf’s behalf. He wanted you out, wanted to talk to you.” The Breton answered, seeming very calm considering the situation. “Cynric. I’m only getting you out of this mess because Bryn seems to think you have some kind of potential. However, considering the shakedown they gave you in the market, they’ll probably be a little suspicious of you just walking free. I’m supposed to escort you through the Ratway. Come on.”

For some reason, without questioning it, Velidas followed Cynric without interrogating him any further. He didn’t like to have his hand held and walked through things, but the other seemed to have a point. So they went, disappearing into the shadows as they left Sibbi fuming and the guard snoring.

—

For the most part, the two of them managed to skulk through the Ratway without a hitch. There was the odd straggler and unassociated thief, but they were swiftly dealt with. Velidas felt shaky the whole time the were in the tunnels, but once they reached the Ragged Flagon, he felt more than mildly panicked. If only Cynric had been so kind as to tell him that this was the hideout of the goddamn Thieves Guild! His heart was beating in his throat, and his ears were tilted back with worry. However, there was some sense of family inside of this place, despite the fact that he was in a den of incredibly organized thieves. Cynric pointed him to Brynjolf before taking his leave through the door to the cistern, and Velidas just followed his direction. When Velidas approached, Brynjolf turned around and looked him over as if he were impressed.

“So. You made it, lad. After you got pinched, I had a hunch it wasn’t your fault. We’ve been having a run of bad luck, lately. So it’s really just another bit of an example for us.” Brynjolf explained, overall neutral towards the fact that he mucked up the job.

The small elf seemed surprised at the theif’s kindness. This certainly wasn’t the impression he expected to recieve from a notorious faction known for wielding fear like a dagger. Still, Velidas found himself laughing nervously despite the warmth of his apparent welcome.

“Oh. I didn’t know that, um, you... Were... Uh.”

“What, lad? Don’t tell me you were honestly surprised when you came in here.”

Velidas nodded sheepishly.

“Well. Isn’t that something else? You mean to tell me you had no idea? Not even slightly?”

“No, sir.”

“Drop the formalities, lad. It doesn't matter. Here’s what I want to know...” Brynjolf leaned back against the counter of the bar casually, arms crossed over the breastplate of his armour. The black leather made a creaking noise. “How would you like to make more coin than you already got stuffed into that little coinpurse of yours?”

Velidas looked to his side, a hand instinctively reaching down to hold it. “What? You’re asking me... If I want to join the guild? After the incident at the market?”

“Of course. You have potential, I can see it deep in you. We just have to tap into it, and really make you shine. What do you say? Unless you have prior commitments to another group, then I understand.”

“Uh... W-Well, I’m not really in another-”

“Excellent! Then it’s settled. Welcome to the Guild.” The Nord patted his shoulder with a heavy hand, making him stumble a little. “Your armour is with Tonilia. After you get suited up, come find me in the cistern.”

With that, Brynjolf left Velidas. In the Flagon. By himself. With a bunch of people he didn’t know from a hole in the ground. But Vekel was kind enough to point him to Tonilia, who after some harsh talk, handed over his armour. It was a pain in the arse to put on, he found. Casting an invisibility spell for that long in the corner of the room was certainly difficult. Belts here, buckles over there, it was cumbersome. Eventually, however, he managed to get comfortable in his new armour. He enjoyed how snug it was to his curves and the gloves didn’t slide down his arms constantly, they were almost like his normal leathers but thicker. It felt like a second skin, which was good if he was now going to live the life of a thief. The battered old hood, though, he left to gather around his neck; the way it rubbed his ears didn’t feel right. Afterwards he meandered his way into the cistern, earning glances and comments kept purposefully out of his earshot by hands covering mouths. Again, as he wandered about and let his eyes wander along the many different things happening in the place, he bumped into someone. Thankfully it was only Brynjolf once again.

“You seem to have some kind of ‘thing’ for my back, lad.” Brynjolf implied smugly, his lips turning to offer a smirk. “You’re a little late, I was going to offer you a simple job... All you had to do was hassle a couple of sobs who owe us some coin, and get paid. But...”

Velidas looked at him patiently, his wide eyes asking the innocent question of why.

“Another new recruit came through here and snapped it up. Sorry, lad. I probably won’t have another job for you until tomorrow, so why don’t you go ask around? Maybe someone is in need of a footpad.”

“Right,” The mer answered quickly, nodding and rubbing his arms. He tried to look confident, but in an unfamiliar and seemingly unfriendly environment like this, it was hard. “Right. I’ll go ask around... Thank you.”

After such a disappointing initiation, he doubted that anyone would even want to talk to him. A muck-up of a thief, that’s all he was. He’d never even stolen a thing in his life! Well, looting gold and valuables off of corpses didn’t really count as stealing, did it? Considering they were in fact dead, and had really no say in the matter, he supposed not. Now here he was, caught in the thick of things. A guild having bad luck recruits a thief who isn’t actually a thief, and is instead a very, very nervous Bosmer. Velidas was certain the Gray Fox was rolling in his grave at all of this. He pulled his hood up, despite his ears, and made his way to a spot at the edge of the water in the middle of the cistern. He stood there, looked out across the water, and frowned to himself. The smell of the cistern was a unique one, now that he’d noticed. It wasn't bad, like one would assume it to be, and instead was somewhat homey. It smelled of leather, wood smoke, and sea air. In fact, he found himself getting quite tired. It was late after all, around ten in the evening, and that prison bed gave him anything but a good night’s sleep. After ambling over to the bed Brynjolf said was his, he flopped onto it and grunted. Tomorrow was another day, he reminded himself grimly.

Tomorrow was another day.

Chapter Text

It had only been three days since he joined this guild, and he’d not left the Ratway. Not that he was unable, or being forced to stay down there, but he just couldn’t find it in himself to do anything of importance. A couple of the guild members asked for his help in figuring something out, and he’d been more than happy to oblige, but nothing otherwise. Despite this, he did find his eyes opening to how the Guild was very similar to a dysfunctional family, of sorts. Although he had yet to meet the guildmaster, Mercer, from what he heard that man was far from any sort of patriarch figure. But he kept these thoughts to himself, not wanting to risk being run out of the weirdest yet best thing to happen to him in a long time.

Velidas couldn’t help but wonder, though. Was this indeed what he was meant to do? In all his days wandering around Cyrodiil, he never would’ve guessed the Thieve’s Guild of places was where he’d end up. It left a dry, uncertain taste in his mouth, similar to his first time drinking sujamma; it felt good, and everyone seemed to be proud of him, but would it lead to terrible situations later in life? Then again, he supposed that unlike sujamma, the Guild wouldn’t leave him to wake up outside of an Ayleid ruin without his pants. Maybe they would though- they were thieves, who’s to say they wouldn’t get at one of their own? He thought again, though, that it was one of the three rules of the guild. They weren’t allowed to do that, but who’s to say there isn’t some informant or rat tucked away amongst their numbers? Everything raced to his head at once, but the smell of hot steel on stone, and the feeling of steel slicing into flesh, snapped him out of his thoughts. Velidas hissed and hopped off the grindstone when his fingers got scuffed on the stone, the dagger he was apparently sharpening fumbling and then clattering to the ground. The large curved dent in one side of it taunted him for not being more careful, and his injured hand did much of the same. Instead of punting the now-useless dagger across the cistern like he wanted to do, he groaned and coddled his hurt hand. His fingertips were now raw and scunned to almost halfway down his digits, bleeding a little where the dagger had slipped and sliced him. It was all the mer could do to hiss and groan, unsure if anyone would be even willing to help him. Velidas didn’t want to be a bother, and in is frustration he ended up kicking the dagger into the water of the cistern anyway. His ears were set at a downward angle, his brows knit with worry. The coppery, sick smell of blood was strong to his nose, and tears began to sting behind his eyes. He tried to wipe his cheeks with his hand, just to make sure he wasn’t crying over here like an idiot, but only succeeded in getting blood smeared across his face.

The Bosmer now looked like a proper wreck, but was at least thankful for the fact that no one could see the blood against the dark leather of his gloves. Only then, however, did he notice someone coming towards him. It was a the same man who’d gotten him out of that dank prison cell, Cynric. He couldn’t really see his face still, due to his hood, so he was mostly going off of his short stature and lower half of his face. Velidas swiftly buried his hand in the crook of his arm as he approached, even though it stung so, so badly. Cynric stopped when he noted how the elf seemed so on edge, judging by his frantic expression, and put his hands up in a defenceless way as if to reassure him that nothing was going to happen. The Breton even spoke in a very relaxed tone, which suited that lovely voice he possessed well.

“What happened here?” Cynric questioned quietly, as not to spook Velidas any further, “Your face... Is that blood?”

“No, no... Uh...” The mer struggled to think of a response. “I... I don’t know. There’s nothing on my face, I don't think...”

“You don’t need to lie. We already do enough of that on the job, don’t we? Show me your hand.”

Velidas uncertainly offered his injured hand to the man, his ears never perking back up. Cynric investigated his hand, pursing his lips as he turned it over and saw the blood stained, blade-cut leather on his palm, and the other damage the grindstone had done. He made a “tsk tsk” sound, which made the mer lower his brows. Was this guy honestly treating him like a baby? Would he have to make clear that even though he’d only lived a sliver of the lifespan of an elf, he was seasoned in his own right? Would he have to—

“Come with me.”

“What?” Velidas’ thoughts were interrupted once again. “Go with you?”

“Yes,” Cynric replied plainly. “In my chest, I have a few spare bandages and a potion. Come on.”

With that, the slightly taller man tugged the Bosmer along by his uninjured hand, heading across to the other side of the cistern. Everyone stared, and Velidas could’ve sworn he saw a snicker. He cared, but the pain from his hand made it seem like less of an issue in comparison. Cynric was damn good at giving patch jobs, though, the mer concluded. He wrapped up his hand well enough that it almost didn’t hurt anymore. Almost. After giving him what seemed like endless thanks and promises to pay him back, Velidas went his own direction, rolling his shoulders and still cradling his hand. The smell of blood had made him woozy, and he figured it’d be best for the other members and himself to lay down before someone ended up getting sick all over the cistern floor (that someone, being himself). However he was caught off guard when someone grabbed his shoulder, making him stumble and turn around with wide, alert, burgundy eyes. It was only Brynjolf, thank goodness. But, there was someone behind him... Someone he’d never seen before, but someone he’d be interested in knowing. Not drop-dead handsome, but right up there.

“Glad I caught you, lad. I figured it was about time you were introduced,” Brynjolf stepped aside to show the mysery stranger he was talking about, “To the guildmaster, Mercer Frey. He’d been out on personal business for the past few days, but he’s finally back. And, better yet, he has a job for you.”

Oh, by the nine, Velidas felt as if he were going to combust into flames.

“This guy looks like a nervous wreck, not a thief.” Mercer pointedly accused, making Velidas shudder. “This isn’t some kind of sick, prolonged joke, is it, Brynjolf?”

Brynjolf gave a laugh and slapped Velidas’ shoulder. “I can assure you, it isn’t. He has some kind of untapped potential, we just have to find it. Tell him about that job you were told about, Mercer. I'm excited to hear it myself.”

Velidas could only find himself shivering as he was looked over by Mercer, his glare almost piercing his skin. It almost felt like he was his prey, pinned to this theoretical chopping block. He had to look away, just to avoid staring a little too long. Something about this guildmaster gave him a bad feeling, almost as if he were hiding something. Certainly, he was no Gray Fox, but Mercer had this threatening aura about him. As Velidas mulled over this with his eyes off in another direction, he could hear Mercer chuckle.

“This job is only for those who are highly qualified,” The guildmaster began, “But considering Brynjolf is so sure about you, I’m sure it’ll be no trouble. We’ve been tasked with something big. Something bigger than old Gallus could’ve ever managed to have pulled up. Come over here.”

Mercer lead the two of them over to his desk, which remained tucked between shelves in its own corner of the cistern, and took his place behind it. He leaned forward on it, pointing at a letter he’d recently opened. Velidas shivered again with worry, and Brynjolf merely listened.

“We have been asked to kill this 'Dragonborn'.”