Claimed: A Thieves Guild Fanfiction [Revised&Edited]

Chapter 32

The dawn saw Brynjolf stirring slowly from his sleep. The red-haired Nightingale blinked his eyes a few times before the blurriness cleared. When it finally did, Brynjolf looked down only to find that Arsha was no longer asleep in his arms. For a moment, he wondered if history had been repeated and Arsha had left him alone in the woods once again. Then he saw the woman sitting near the road. Her hood was down for once and she held her hands out in front of her, golden light that Brynjolf recognized to be a healing spell in her hands. The sight stirred something in Brynjolf, but he ignored the feeling and began to disassemble the small camp he had made.

Arsha must have heard him move, for she rose from her place by the road and walked over to help him. Her steps were as silent as ever, despite the wounds she bore. They worked in a silence that Brynjolf wasn't willing to break, although Arsha didn't seem to mind the quiet. As soon as everything was packed away, they started down the path that would lead them to the Sepulchre.

As they walked, Brynjolf's mind tumbled between his memories, fears, and the new information Arsha had revealed. He wasn't ready to forgive the woman for the pain that she had caused him. But he wasn't angry anymore. He looked over at the woman who was causing him so much turmoil, only to find that Arsha had fallen slightly behind.

A glance told Brynjolf that Arsha was nowhere near as healed as she had let on. Her step was more forceful as if she had to put in more effort each time her foot hit the hard earth. She carried a large bag on her back that couldn't be helping the wounds that covered her shoulders. Without a word Brynjolf took the pack from her, sliding it carefully off of her shoulders and then swinging it onto his own. Arsha tilted her head like she was about to argue with him, but Brynjolf walked off before she could.

They walked in silence for a while, Brynjolf's mind swirling with questions he hadn't asked the night before; deeper, darker questions. Before he could stop himself, one of those questions slipped out of his mouth and into the still air. "When did you find out that I was the one you had-" he cut off the sentence, unwilling to say the word.

Arsha could obviously sense his pain, and although he couldn't see her, walking behind him as she was, he could imagine the sorrow in her golden eyes. It was an emotion he had seen the most often from her recently. There was a long silence before she replied, saying, "I didn't know until that day on the way back from the Markarth job. You almost caught me without my mask on, and when you turned around I saw," her voice dropped to little more than a pained whisper, "I saw the dragon."

Slowly, some of Arsha's actions began to make sense to Brynjolf. "That's why you ran away, isn't it? You realized who I was."

"Yes."

Brynjolf nodded to himself, but then another question popped into his mind. "Why ask me to tell you about my capture then? You knew what had happened." Had that just been another sick game? But no, Brynjolf still remembered the fear and pain he had seen in Arsha's eyes as he had recounted the tale. It could have been an act, but why? Why would she go through all that trouble just to fool him?

Arsha's soft voice drew him from his thoughts. "I had to hear you tell it." Brynjolf could practically hear the woman shake her head. "I can't explain, but hearing you confirm it made what I had done more real. It made me truly believe that you were the one who, the one I-" Her voice broke then and Brynjolf could hear her take a deep breath before she said, "I thought about telling you who I was that night, you know? You could have had your justice then. I was injured; it would have been easy to get rid of me."

"You think I would have killed you?" Brynjolf asked, surprise coloring his voice as he turned around to look at Arsha.

The woman only shrugged and averted her eyes. "It's what I would have deserved. What I still do deserve."

Brynjolf stared at her in amazement. He couldn't believe that this was an act any longer, not when he could hear the pain and resignation in Arsha's voice. She truly believed that she deserved to die at his hand. Not long ago, Brynjolf would have agreed. Now, however, he wasn't sure what to think. He shook his head and turned back around.

After a few more hours of walking, the entrance to the Sepulcher became visible in the distance. Brynjolf's feet quickened at the sight, his body gaining fresh energy now that their goal was close at hand. Glancing back at Arsha, he saw that the woman seemed to be feeling the same way.

Before long, they reached the entrance, which looked similar to the door to the Nightingale Hall. Arsha stepped forward to enter, but Brynjolf stopped her by placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch but didn't move away from him.

"Arsha," he asked, "are you sure you want to do this? You aren't fully healed yet, and we don't know what we'll be facing in there." A genuine note of concern found its way into Brynjolf's voice, and he didn't bother trying to disguise it. He might not know what to think about Arsha and all she had done, but he did know that there was no reason for her to throw her life away.

Arsha shook her head, and Brynjolf could almost picture the sad smile that he knew adorned her face. "Thank you, Brynjolf, but I'm fine. The Key needs to be returned as quickly as possible now that Mercer has been dealt with. It isn't wise to keep Daedric Princes waiting." She spoke as if she had some experience with the matter, and Brynjolf made a mental note to ask her about it later if he had the chance.

"Very well," he said, "Let's go return the blasted thing and get the Guild back to the way things used to be when our luck was good." Arsha's eyes sparkled and she nodded, opening the door to the Sepulchre and stepping inside with Brynjolf right behind her.