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Brynjolf awoke in a comfortable darkness. While he could not deny the appeal of a warm beam of sunlight, he'd spent enough time underground that a bit of damp and pitch blackness were just fine. Sleepily, he reached out to the other side of the bed, seeking the warmth he knew would lie there. When, however, he found nothing but cold blankets, he snapped from drowsiness to awakened clarity. He bolted upright, quickly looking around to confirm that the bed was empty apart from him.
"Lass?" Brynjolf called softly. Hearing no answer, he swung his legs out of bed. He grabbed a shirt from the floor and hurriedly pulled it over his head before shoving his feet into his boots and heading into the hallway beyond the door. He was relieved to see it unlit and to hear no conversations from its other end, meaning he hadn't overslept or otherwise missed some major commotion.
He headed down the hallway at a brisk pace. Along the way, he paused as he caught a whiff of cold air. He glanced up and peered through the grate above his head. Through the slats in the metal could just barely make out the stars twinkling in the distant sky. It was still nighttime, then, as he'd suspected. So why had his bed been empty?
He turned a corner. He was nearly to the cistern; hopefully he'd find some answers there. He was just about to take the final turn needed to reach his destination when he realized one of the rooms he'd just passed was illuminated from within.
Brynjolf turned around and approached the door. This was the Guildmaster's office. The light poking out from underneath the door was faint, but it was there. With a lingering sense of anxiety he couldn't quite place, he reached out and pushed open the door.
The office was lit by a single candle sitting on the desk. A few neat stacks of books and paper littered its surface, and the heavy metal strongbox still sat in the far corner of the room. In that sense, the room seemed undisturbed. But just behind the desk, a woman crouched on the floor, back turned to the door as she rifled through a bag.
"Mailie," Brynjolf said quietly.
The woman jumped, startled, then let out a string of curses as her bag toppled over. "Gods' sake, Bryn, you scared me have to death," she said, scooping up the spilled contents.
Brynjolf looked at the items as Mailie deposited them back in her bag. Rope. A whetstone. A pair of knitted stockings. A small paper package tied with string. His eyes moved to the sword buckled to Mailie's waist, and the bow and quiver resting on the chair next to her.
"You're going somewhere," he said. It wasn't a question.
Mailie straightened. "I am." She looked at Brynjolf without quite meeting his eyes. Something-- guilt, maybe?-- seemed to cloud her vision.
Brynjolf closed the door and stepped further into the room. Mailie's arms crossed in front of her as he approached, but she did not back away. Her face was set like stone. Brynjolf recognized that look; It was one of grim determination, and only came out when things had gone very, very wrong.
"What's happened?" he asked.
"Dragon attack." For the first time, Brynjolf noticed the small folded parchment near the edge of the desk. "So far it's only hit a fort, but it's been spotted circling a village. I have to deal with it."
"When did you find out about this?" Brynjolf wracked his brain, but he couldn't think of anything from the previous day that suggested Mailie had been preoccupied. She was a much better liar than she once had been, but she wasn't that good. At least, he didn't think she was.
"Just hours ago." She leaned against the edge of the desk. "The messenger didn't arrive in the city until nightfall. Apparently he was quite insistent that he needed to speak with me as soon as possible. Sapphire had to come wake me."
Brynjolf furrowed his brow. "I didn't hear anyone come in."
"That's because you sleep like a cave bear," Mailie replied. "And snore twice as loud. She never did come in, anyway. I woke up at the knock on the door."
"Even through my snoring?"
An eyeroll broke through Mailie's grave expression, and Brynjolf smiled. It always worried him to see her this serious, especially since these things usually ended with Mailie throwing herself onto one sword or another.
"Somehow, I managed," she said dryly. "Regardless, from the jarl's letter it seems to be quite urgent."
Brynjolf put his hand on the edge of the desk, the tips of his fingers a hair's breadth away from Mailie's. He couldn't say he was thrilled by this turn of events. If it were up to him, the jarls of Skyrim would find another hero to come crawling to every time they needed another giant or cave full of bandits dispatched. Unfortunately, dragons were a different matter. He could only hope that Laila wasn't sending Mailie too far. "Which tower was attacked? I'm surprised we didn't hear there's been trouble."
Mailie's breath hitched. "It's in Falkreath."
Brynjolf's hand tightened around the table. "Tell me Siddgeir's sending guards."
"You know he isn't."
"Go through Whiterun and take Lydia."
"There's no time for that." Mailie met his eyes, defeated. "Bryn, you know that I--"
"Don't say you have to go." His voice sounded angrier than he'd expected, but he couldn't find it in him to care. "You don't have to do any of this. You choose to run headlong into danger at the first distress call without the slightest thought as to your own safety."
"I didn't choose this," Mailie bit back. "I didn't choose to be dragonborn any more than I chose to be born. This is my lot, whether I like it or not. I'm the only one who can protect the people of Skyrim from this, and I have a responsibility to do so."
"You have a responsibility to the Guild as well." The words fell out of Brynjolf's mouth before he could think about them. "When we made you Guildmaster, you swore to protect this place and these people. You'll have a hard time doing that on the other side of the bloody country." Without even realizing it, he'd edged closer and closer to Mailie with every word, until he was inches from her face.
Mailie didn't flinch. "I beg your pardon?"
There were times that Brynjolf found Mailie's stubbornness endearing, attractive even. Other times it made him swell with pride. Time like these, however, it only made his heart lurch in his throat. Mailie's face was close enough now that he could feel every breath as it left her lungs. "A Guildmaster doesn't fuck off to go on another adventure every other week."
Mailie's eyes narrowed. "I don't think I appreciate your implication, Brynjolf. I'll remind you of who you have to thank for the Guild's success." She turned away. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a dragon to kill."
Brynjolf was fast running out of ideas. "You can't," he said desperately. Mailie ignored him as she picked up her bow and quiver. "Lass."
Mailie picked her pack up from the floor. With a sigh, she turned back and looked at Brynjolf. "Bryn, when have I ever let you tell me what to do?"
Brynjolf didn't really know why he did it. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe he was finally out of ideas. But without thinking, before Mailie could reach the door, he pulled her in and kissed her.
Mailie's hand landed on his shoulder, and for a moment he was certain she was about to push him away. But then her fingers curled around his upper arm and she pulled him in, deeper into the kiss. He let one arm slip around her waist and another up to her shoulders, fingers tangling in her hair. She was so close, Brynjolf was sure she could feel his heart beating.
Their lips separated, though just barely. Brynjolf tilted his head forward and touched it to Mailie's. "You don't have to do this," he whispered.
She closed her eyes. "You know that I do," she said quietly, voice resigned. "I don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice." His thumb rubbed circles into her side. "You can stay, lass."
"Not if I want to sleep at night." For the first time that night, Brynjolf realized just how tired Mailie looked. She'd likely only slept a couple of hours before being woken. "Those people are undefended, Bryn. The jarl won't send men to save them, and even if he did, it wouldn't be enough. I'm their only hope. I've done this before, and I'll do it again."
"And what if you can't?" Brynjolf asked. He swallowed, trying to ignore the burning in his throat. "What if you don't make it back? The Guild is depending on you, Mailes. We can't lose you."
She pulled back. "We?"
He sighed. "I. I can't lose you." He tried to blink away the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but when they closed, he couldn't bring himself to open them again. He was just about to pull away completely when he felt Mailie's hand on his face.
Her thumb wiped away the tear that had escaped down his cheek. "I don't like this any more than you do." She brought their foreheads back together. "But it's necessary."
"What if I came with you?" Brynjolf offered in a scratchy voice. "I'm not too shabby with a blade and bow."
"No." Mailie's voice was soft, but firm. "I need you here, with the Guild." She pulled his head down into another kiss.
Brynjolf forced his eyes back open when they parted. He watched Mailie blink away the welling in the corners of her eyes and shake her head, as if ridding herself of any remaining doubt. He wracked his brain for something even remotely clever or profound to say, but found himself coming up blank. "I love you," he finally managed.
"I love you, too." Mailie kissed him on the nose and stepped back. "I should go."
He watched as she swung her pack over her shoulders and picked up her bow. "If you decide to rob anyone along the way, try not to get caught."
Mailie rolled her eyes. "Only if you promise to keep the Guild somewhat organized while I'm gone."
"Deal." Brynjolf smiled, despite himself. "Be careful."
"I'm always careful," Mailie said dryly. "Take care, Bryn. Don't steal anything too interesting without me."
"No promises there," he replied, and with that, she was gone.