Claimed: A Thieves Guild Fanfiction [Revised&Edited]

Chapter 15

The rain was coming down hard on the branches of the tree where Brynjolf sat watching and waiting for Arsha to return. He had returned to Riften two days after Arsha had left him and had spun a tale for the rest of the guild about Arsha having to go partake in an honor ceremony for a dead distant relative. They seemed to have bought the story. He had spent the last four days as a bundle of nerves and mixed emotions.

Now, he was sitting watch in a tree about forty-five minutes outside of Riften. He figured that if Arsha followed her typical pattern she would arrive today so that she could case the city and get a feel for things. Why he was sitting out in the rain waiting for her was a question he was still trying to figure out.

The lass had abandoned him in the wilderness with no explanation as to why. Obviously, he had done something, but he couldn't figure out what. He figured it had something to do with his scars, but only people who had experienced the cruelty of the Dragonborn could know what they meant. Brynjolf gasped, the quiet sound drowned out by the rain. Could she... no... that was ridiculous... wasn't it?

Out of nowhere, a shrill scream of pain split the air, interrupting his thoughts. Before he knew it, Brynjolf found himself on the ground and running toward the sound. As suddenly as the cry had started, it stopped and the forest became eerily quiet. Swiftly Brynjolf ran and still, it took him twenty minutes to reach the spot where the scream had sounded from. The rain had stopped, allowing him to hear the stream that ran through the woods here, too loud in comparison to the deathly quiet of the air around him.

There was a bandit lying near a tree obviously dead, but bearing no marks as to how he died. Two more bandits lay dead, one impaled on his own sword and the other looked as if he had been choked. At the base of the tree, something black lay discarded. Brynjolf's stomach clenched and turned as he recognized the black mask. It belonged to Arsha. He picked it up, his fingers running reverently over the dark cloth. A mix of emotions turned in his head, but one thought prevailed. He had to find Arsha, and if those bandits had hurt her...

Following the drag marks on the ground, Brynjolf's anger mounted. Arsha had obviously been dragged by her feet, leaving her uncovered head to bang against jagged rocks and branches. The tracks led to a small crack in the hills. A single bandit stood guard, and Brynjolf took care of him with a quick slice of his daggers. Glancing at the fallen corpse he wished he could have given the bandit an end more fitting to his deplorable crimes, but he had better things to do.

He quickly crept through the cave which proved to be quite large. Every bandit met his end, and Brynjolf made sure they saw his face as they died. Burning anger coursed through his bloodstream and his daggers were soaked with the blood of the unworthy bandits.

As he crept into the main chamber, he heard the crack of a whip followed by a soft cry of pain. For a few seconds, Brynjolf saw nothing but red. He ran through the room no longer bothering to hide. He almost burst into the final room, but then he remembered the mask tucked carefully into his pocket. Arsha had tried to keep her identity secret for so long and she deserved to be the one to reveal it if she chose to, despite his current doubts.

Another crack of the whip sounded but this time no noise followed. It took all of the willpower Brynjolf had not to run into that room and kill the offending bandit. Instead, he yelled loudly to draw the bandit out into the chamber where he stood. As he had expected, a tall High Elf appeared with a blood-stained whip in one hand and his other hand sparkling with magic.

Brynjolf ran at the elf with both daggers slicing through the air. The elf cracked his whip and Brynjolf danced away nimbly. A ball of electricity struck him in the back, but he barely felt it in his anger. He leapt at the elf again and scored a hit on his arm. The Altmer growled in pain and lashed out with his whip again which struck Brynjolf's uncovered hands. Pain shot through Brynjolf, and he quickly realized that the whip was poisoned. He could feel himself slowing down ever so slightly as he spun past the elf's next attack. The longer this battle went on, the more likely it was that the Altmer would win. With a roar, Brynjolf spun past another of the elf's attacks and rammed both of his daggers into the mage's chest. The Altmer stumbled backward, eyes wide in horror and surprise before collapsing.

Brynjolf left the now dead elf and ran to the room where Arsha was being kept. Before he entered the room he tied a piece of the Altmer's robe around his head so that his eyes were covered. Once it was secure and he could see nothing, he stepped carefully into the room.

"Arsha," he called softly, concern filling his voice, "I need you to say something so that I can find you. I can't see."

There was no response.

"Lass! Please say something!" he called again, a note of panic edging into his voice. This time he heard a small sigh from one side of the room. He moved toward the sound, feeling his way with his hands and feet. His foot hit something and Arsha let out a soft moan. Brynjolf dropped to his knees.

"Lass, I need you to put on your mask so that I can see what I'm doing. Can you move?" he asked softly.

Faintly he heard her whisper, "Yes." He gave her her mask and felt her move ever so slowly and put it on. After giving her plenty of time to make sure the mask was secure, Brynjolf reached up and took off his blindfold. Arsha lay before him weak and shivering. Her golden eyes were filled with pain but also hope. Brynjolf prayed that her hope wasn't in vain.

"That whip was poisoned, lass. Do you know where the antidote is?" he whispered to her. She looked so fragile as if speaking too loudly could cause her to break.

"Table..." she coughed weakly before doubling over in pain.

Brynjolf slapped himself mentally. He hadn't even bothered to look and there it was. A small red bottle of cure poison. Quickly, he uncorked it and handed it to her. He closed his eyes as she drank almost all of it and replaced her mask; it was obvious she didn't have enough strength to cast that spell of hers right now.