Azalia // Skyrim Fanfiction

Chapter Eleven

The road to Markarth was lonely. Azalia had bought her own horse from the Riften stables, she hadn't named the mare yet though. She had a surplus of gold from all the jobs she had completed, and seeing as she was on the road so often, it seemed like a good idea. She couldn't help but think back to what Brynjolf had said, or lack there of. She knew he wanted to say something to her, but she refused to let him. She needed to put this one-sided-romance behind her and focus on her career in the Guild.

She slumped forward on her horse and rested her head on the soft mane. Mercer's declaration had caught her off-guard. She knew that he was quite friendly with her, but she wasn't expecting such a forward declaration of affection. After all, why would you purchase jewellery for a woman if not to woo her? Perhaps she had given him the wrong impression, but she had not meant to. She didn't want it to affect her life in the Guild, and she would clear things up with Mercer when she returned.

Truth being, she could not think of Mercer in that way because of her misplaced feelings in Brynjolf. Perhaps Mercer would even make her happy. She didn't know.

~•~

Brynjolf was frustrated, to say the least. He hadn't even got to tell her what he wanted to say, that her face was the image that kept him lying awake for hours each night. How the feeling of her skin lit a fire in his soul that he could not quench. He paced forward and back in the Cistern. A day had passed since Azalia had left and he imagined she was only making it to Markarth now. He wished she had let him come, he would have had days to bring himself to tell her that he cared for her too.

Should he leave and follow her?

"Brynjolf," Vex said as she passed. A frown on her face, "Stop pacing, it's making everyone nervous."

Brynjolf sighed aloud and stopped moving, turning to face the blonde thief, "Fine."

"If I may, Bryn," Vex raised an eyebrow, placing a hand on her hip, "Why don't you just tell her straight out. Everyone else knows, and frankly, it's quite annoying how you keep dancing around your feelings for eachother."

"I tried that, Vex," Brynjolf sighed again, scratching the stubble on his chin, "I couldn't get a word in with her!"

Vex laughed, a melodic sound. He could imagine Delvin's ears perking, "You're a strong and stubborn man, Brynjolf, and you're so easily crushed because she didn't listen to you? Go to her, Brynjolf. Before someone else does."

Brynjolf nodded and thanked Vex as moved for the ladder. He was stopped by the deep authoritive voice of Mercer Frey. He turned reluctantly, one hand on the rusted rung of the ladder.

"What are you doing, Brynjolf?"

Brynjolf began to climb the ladder again.
"What I should have done a long while ago."

"You rejected her, Brynjolf," Mercer stated blandly, looking up at the redheaded thief, "Why do you think she'll make the same mistake twice?"

"How about we let her choose?" Brynjolf said, "Because clearly she doesn't really want you either."

He could almost feel the fire of rage from Mercer. Perhaps he would regret that later, or maybe not.

"You are a fool, Brynjolf."

Brynjolf ignored his words and pulled himself up the ladder and out into the outside air. He would win her heart, if it was the last thing he did.

~•~

Azalia reached the great stone city as the dimmed evening light shone over the city. It had taken her a little over a day to get there, with a stop for rest included. She had always liked Markarth, more how it looks than the politics in the city. The meticulous architecture of the Dwarven city had always caught her eye when she visited. She wanted to buy a house there one day. She purchased an apple from the marketplace before the stalls closed and she headed for the Silver-Blood Inn.