Azalia // Skyrim Fanfiction

Chapter Eight

When Azalia returned to Riften with Brynjolf in tow, it was like the events of the nights before had not happened. They both fell back into the people they played, the masks they wore. She could still remember what the touch of his lips on her skin felt like, and the warmth of his hands on her bare body. She ignored the burning in her heart, she knew better.

Mercer sat at his desk as he usually did, his eyes scanning the ink-sodden pages infront of him. She wondered what kind of thief he was, or what kind of swordsman. He never seemed to be in action, but she knew better than to think he wasn't dangerous when he was.

"We retrieved the pendant," She said, her eyes following the dark metal as Brynjolf handed it to Mercer. Briefly, the redhead Nord's eyes met hers, a flash of understanding passed through them. The secret they both shared.

"I trust you had no trouble in the Embassy with those horrid Thalmor," Mercer asked, his eyes flashing between the pair.

"None at all," Was all Brynjolf said, a slight smile on his lips that Azalia caught before it melted back into his usual expression of nonchalance.

"I'll get this to Maven," Mercer said, looking down at Azalia, "I'm sure you're tired and hungry, so I'll deliver this. Rest up, I'm sure Maven isn't done with us yet."

Azalia nodded and turned to leave when Mercer called her back. Brynjolf was already at the door of the Ragged Flagon.
"Azalia?"

"Yes, Mercer," She turned around, her bright eyes questioning.

"I like you much better when your hair is white."

Azalia smiled and nodded, stepping from Mercer's desk to her bed. She grabbed her armour and her weapons and ascended the ladder, leaving the Cistern and the eyes of Mercer Frey. The air outside was crisp and cool and beyond the gates of Riften there was hardly a soul to be seen. Azalia stopped at a small stream and undressed, scrubbing her body of all the dirt, oil and blood. She cleaned her hair, feeling much more comfortable she combed her fingers through the silky snow-coloured strands. She tied up her wet hair into a neat bun with a strand of leather from her sachel. She chose not to put on her chestpiece and stayed in her undershirt, knowing she wouldn't be in any battles for the rest of the evening.

The markets in Riften were still open, but the customers dwindled as the sun began to fall into evening light. Azalia bought an apple from the lady outside the Bee and Barb and bit into the juicy fruit as she skirted through the Ratway and into the Ragged Flagon. She wanted to find Brynjolf, to ask him if he'd come with her to find Aranea, the Dark Elf that raised her, in a few weeks time.  The smell of stew hit her nose as she approaced the Flagon. Tonila smiled over at her as she approached, and she waved.

"Want a bowl, Azalia?" Vekel asked as she approached the bar. She nodded eagerly and he chuckled, placing a rather large portion infront of her.

"Hey Vekel?" Azalia said as she took a mouthful of the surprisingly tasty stew, "Do you know where I can find Brynjolf?"

As the words left her mouth, Delvin and Vekel both chuckled to themselves and Vex rolled her eyes, muttering something to herself. Azalia looked around, confused.

"Did I miss something?" She asked and Vekel shook his head.

"Justine is in town," Delvin said from behind her, and Azalia raised an eyebrow, "So if you're looking for Brynjolf, I'd check one of the rooms in the Bee and Barb."

"Justine?" Azalia questioned. She felt her heart clench, but she ignored the pang of pain. She wasn't attached to Brynjolf. Of course he was attractive, but she had to know better.

"She's the wife of a wealthy merchant," Vekel explained, his eyes searching Azalia's for any kind of reaction. She remained emotionless, even though she felt a little part of herself die. It was ridiculous, she had known him less than a month. She had a crush, that was all it was. She just needed a bottle of mead and the eye of a handsome fellow to forget all about Brynjolf. "Brynjolf likes to charm her knickers off when she comes to town, not that he really has to put much effort in."

"Oh, I see," Azalia feigned a laugh, feeling a sudden emptiness in her chest. She couldn't help but feel a little betrayed, but she should have known better. All Nord men are the same. "I'll leave it till later then."

She finished her stew beside Vex and Delvin in relative silence, laughing when she needed to at the stories that Delvin regailed of his favourite heists.

As darkness fell over the streets of Riften, Azalia found herself standing outside the door of the Bee and Barb. She knew she shouldn't have been there, she just needed to know for herself that he felt nothing for her in return. If he was inside with that woman, she would know for sure. With a sigh, she pushed open the door. The drunkards chanted songs of Skyrim and the smell of ale and mead floated in the warm air. Her eyes scanned the room, desperately trying to find the redhead that sat opposite her in the same tavern less than a month previous, critiquing her thievery.

She heard a giggle to her left and she looked up the wooden stairs where the rooms were and she saw him. Brynjolf was dressed in only his leather pants and his undershirt. He was about to descend the steps when an attractive young dark-haired Imperial woman ran to him, planting a lingering kiss on his soft lips. She only wore a nightgown, and suddenly Azalia felt quite nauseous. Her eyes had met his but she tore them away and turned back and left the way she came.

Azalia felt quite naïve. She knew what she was going to see when she walked into that tavern, but it still hurt her heart. She foolishly let herself feel something for Brynjolf, unlike any other man she had ever laid with. She couldn't understand why he was any different. Perhaps it was that glint in his eye; The same glint she had when she stole something of value. She felt a reflection of herself in him, but the more she thought about it, she realised just how foolish she had been.

"Azalia!" He called from behind her. She inhaled a deep breath and turned around, plastering a smile on her face.

"Sorry," She said with a laugh she knew he could see right through, "I just wanted to ask you something, but it looked like you were busy."

"I.. I.." Brynjolf started, but stopped himself, "...What did you want to ask me?"

"I was going to ask you to come with me to see Aranea in a few weeks," Azalia said, her heart pounding viciously in her chest, "But I actually think it'll probably be best if I go it alone. You're probably going to be busy anyway."

"No I'll.." He started once more but stopped himself, his eyes not meeting Azalia's, "Perhaps it will be better, you will have much catching up to do. I'll just get in the way."

"Yeah probably," Azalia laughed again, her eyes becoming glassy, "I'll let you know how it goes anyway. See you later, Bryn."

With that said, Azalia turned away from the Nord. She began to walk towards the graveyard, feeling the warm tears that had welled up in her eyes fall down her cold cheeks. She heard the tavern door open and close once more and she let the pain wash over her heart. She leaned against one of the headstones in the small graveyard and wiped the moisture from her eyes.

"Strong women don't cry," She told herself, sucking in a deep breath, pushing back all of the painful emotions she felt until they were locked inside her heart, never to be shown again.

Azalia wore her heart on her sleeve, but noone could ever tell by speaking with her. She was a toughened woman, constantly fighting for herself and she earned the scars that were etched into her skin. She learned her lesson in love, it wasn't worth the hassle.

~•~

Poor girlie got her heart hurt

Gotta love Brynjolf tho, he loves charming the knickers off those poor unsuspecting wives 😉