Claimed: A Thieves Guild Fanfiction [Revised&Edited]

Chapter 25

A/N Another chapter for you all! I hope you enjoy it, it gives a slightly deeper look at what both Arsha and Brynjolf are feeling through all of this.

 Brynjolf stared after Arsha as she rode off. She had just spoken to a dragon, shouted at a dragon, and absorbed its soul. As she had absorbed the dragon's essence he had seen the Dragonborn. As the gold white wind had swirled around her, her hood had slipped off. Brynjolf doubted that Arsha noticed, but he had. Her golden hair had floated in the wind behind her and she had looked like some kind of goddess. Then she had looked over at him, and Brynjolf had seen the raw power in Arsha's amber eyes. This was the Dragonborn. This was the woman he and all of Tamriel feared. He had turned away from her terrible beauty. He wouldn't allow himself to fall victim to her spell. Hate was his most powerful tool against her.

Brynjolf had stared at the bones of the fallen dragon, in awe of the majesty that the creature had, even as it lay dead. He hadn't noticed that Arsha had approached him until he felt the weight of his daggers in his hands once again. Turning to look at Arsha, he had asked a question that had been swirling in his mind. She responded, and Brynjolf had laughed bitterly on the inside. Of course, she had commanded the dragon, a beast so deadly men would refuse to leave the safety of their homes, to fear her. She was the mighty Dragonborn after all. She could do whatever she wanted and never worry about the consequences.

Arsha had whispered his name softly, and Brynjolf had to forcibly subdue the shudder that wanted to go through him at the sound. How could a voice he had once thought beautiful now sound so harsh in his ears, even when all she did was whisper? Arsha didn't continue though, and Brynjolf had sent her a look of contempt before walking away.

Brynjolf had walked over to where the horses were tied up, absentmindedly rubbing his steed's nose as he watched Arsha heal herself using the very same magic she had used on him when he had been trapped in her basement. The very thought had made the scars on his arms itch and burn. He scratched at his arms uselessly and watched Arsha ride off on her own horse, looking as tall and proud as any war hero.

He and Karliah started after Arsha and made it to their rest stop for the night after a few hours of riding. The moon was rising and Brynjolf's hunger made itself known, loudly. He decided to do some hunting as soon as he had finished setting up his tent. He got his tent up and turned to head into the woods to hunt when something on a nearby stump caught his eye. A plate full of food, still steaming hot. A glance around told him that Karliah was still setting up her tent. That meant the food must have come from Arsha. Why? Whatever game she was trying to play with him, he would not go along willingly. With a determined look in his eyes, he set off to find himself his own food.


Arsha watched Brynjolf stalk into the forest without touching the food she had left for him. The look of anger and mistrust on his face was almost too much for her to bare. His hatred ran deep. It had been planted long ago and nourished by her own hand. Now, she was doing nothing more than reaping the bitter seeds she had sown.

A faint sigh escaped her lips. The sound must have alerted Karliah to her presence because she turned toward her. Arsha dropped down from the tree she was in and walked toward Karliah on silent feet.

"Why does he refuse my aid, Karliah?" Arsha asked the elf, desolate.

Karliah responded after pausing to think. "He's confused. You are the creature from his darkest nightmares," Arsha flinched when she said those words, unable to deny their truth, "but he also has a history of companionship with you. He doesn't know who you are anymore.".

"I don't know who I am anymore, Karliah. I had adjusted to being Arsha, the thief with the mask. Now, what am I? Am I back to being the Dragonborn, infamous hero feared by all? That is not who I want to be," Arsha murmured in a lost tone.

"You are not different people, Arsha. You cannot separate the actions of one from the actions of another. You are Arsha, Dragonborn, thief, mage, hunter, and so much more. You have to be confident in who you are. How can Brynjolf believe in you if you don't believe in yourself?"

Arsha hung her head sorrowfully. "Even if I could become the person that Brynjolf needs, I wouldn't. Somehow I will end up hurting him. That is something I can't let happen, so as soon as Mercer is dead and the Key has been returned, I will leave. I am trying to do what I can to ensure that Brynjolf has something good to remember me by when I'm gone," Arsha explained in a soft voice. There was no way that she would be able to stay, constantly seeing the look of pure disgust on Brynjolf's face.

Karliah stared at her in silence for a moment before asking quietly, "You're in love, aren't you?" Arsha didn't even have to think about her answer as she nodded yes. Love was the only name for these swirling feelings inside of her, for this painful longing.

"I cannot hurt the man I love again. Perhaps I should be cruel and evil these last few days so that he will feel no pain when I am gone, but I can't. I am a selfish person, Karliah. I cannot bear to see the hatred in his eyes when he looks at me, and I cannot stand the idea of that look crossing his face whenever he thinks of me or hears my name. I want him to have at least a few good memories of me." Arsha turned away from Karliah and towards the woods. "Please make sure he eats, he might accept your help." With that, she fled into the woods, back to her own camp.


Brynjolf returned to the camp, two dead rabbits in hand, to find Karliah sitting on a stump staring at nothing. "What is it lass?" he questioned as he began to skin the rabbits.

Karliah started as if she hadn't noticed his presence. "Brynjolf..." she stopped as if she wanted to say something but wasn't sure if she should.

"What is it?" Brynjolf asked again, curious at Karliah's behavior.

"It's nothing. Let me see those rabbits, you Nords don't know how to properly cook food," she responded, but Brynjolf could tell there was something else on her mind. He let the topic drop though and smiled faintly as Karliah took the rabbits from him and went about preparing them.

He ate the meal Karliah had made with gusto, enjoying the chance to relax a little bit. The atmosphere seemed wrong though; he missed the witty quips and sarcastic remarks from Arsha. It was strange how quickly she had become a constant part of his life. He never got too attached to recruits, seeing as the often got caught or killed, but he had liked her from the start. Now, he didn't know what to think. A part of him saw the old Arsha when he looked at the woman, the thief who was almost one with the shadows, and yet seemed to brighten any room she entered with her wit and sharp mind. The larger part of him, however, saw the Dragonborn. He heard her chilling laugh as she cut into his skin, felt the blinding pain as she branded him as her own. A fierce hate filled him once again and he had to forcibly subdue it.

Brynjolf climbed into his tent, but he couldn't sleep. Eventually, he gave up trying entirely and crawled out of the tent to sit beneath the stars. The air hummed with the noise of forest nightlife and was stirred only by the occasional gentle breeze. The stars cast a soft glow over the leaves that had fallen to the forest floor. It was the perfect image of peace, but he was anything but peaceful.

His thoughts turned in turmoil. Memories of laughs with Arsha turned into torture and pain which bled into anger and hate that faded to regret and a sense of loss. He didn't know what to do, so he decided to do the only thing he could. He had to ignore Arsha, alienate her, force her away. Maybe then he would be able to stop feeling, stop hurting. As he came to his decision he didn't know that not far away Arsha was sitting under the stars reaching her own.


How could she keep from hurting Brynjolf? The question had tumbled around her mind since she had left Karliah. Now, as the moon sunk lower in the sky, she reached her decision. She would do as Brynjolf wished. If he did not want to see her than he would not. If he did not want her aid, then she would not interfere unless she had to. It would be hard to see the cold anger on his face, but she owed this, and so much more, to him. With her decision made she slipped her mask and hood back on and set about breaking her camp.

The dawn saw the three Nightingales on the road again. By the end of the day, they would make it to Irkngthand. Arsha rode ahead of the group like she had done before, eliminating any threats in their path. When they stopped for lunch not a single word was uttered and they were back on their horses in almost no time. By the time it was around 3 o'clock they had reached the base of the mountain where the Dwarven ruin was located. They let their horses go there. They couldn't take them inside the ruin and there was no point in leaving them stranded on the mountain. Arsha whispered a few words in each of the horse's ears before turning them loose.

"I told them to head to Windhelm. I know the elf who runs the stables there. He will take care of them." she said by way of explanation. Karliah nodded gratefully. Brynjolf said nothing, not even looking at her. It hurt her almost as much as his scorn did, but she didn't say anything about it.

The mountain was steep and covered by a foot of freezing snow. Arsha's elven body was not built for the harsh cold of Skyrim, so when they stopped for a few moments to rest, she summoned flickering flames in her palms. The heat coursed through her and warmed her frozen limbs. She closed her eyes in satisfaction. When she opened them again she saw Brynjolf staring at the flames with a look of pain on his face. Arsha shut off her magic immediately. Shivers wracked her body as she turned away from Brynjolf and began to climb again.

The trip to where Irkngthand sat, nestled in the snow, seemed to take ages. It had been years since Arsha had made a climb like this, and the last time she had she had been wearing her dragon scale armor that kept her sensitive elven skin warm. Now, her leathers offered her little insulation, but she would rather freeze to death than see the lines of pain that had etched themselves onto Brynjolf's face when she had summoned her flames. And so her body was numb with the cold, to the point that she couldn't even feel the pain anymore.

A glance at Karliah told Arsha that the other elf felt similarly. A harsh wind swept up the mountainside and Arsha shivered despite herself and Karliah did the same. Brynjolf though looked completely unaffected. The only signs he bore of the fact that he was climbing a frigid mountain through a foot of snow were the powdery flakes that clung to his dark armor. He seemed to notice the fact that Karliah was freezing, for he stopped climbing to dig in the small bag he had slung on his back, pulling out a fur blanket. "Here you are, lass," he said as he handed the blanket to Karliah, who hesitantly accepted it. Brynjolf never even glanced Arsha's way. Angry at herself, Arsha pushed down any self-pity she was feeling. She was a monster, and this was what she deserved.

Half an hour of numbed climbing later, they had made it to the doors of Irkngthand. The large bronze doors towered before them, and they seemed to Arsha to glint with an evil light. But that didn't matter, because Mercer was somewhere on the other side of those doors, and Arsha swore to the Divines, all nine of them, that she was going to kill him.