skyrim · thieves guild · nord · teasing · loyal · flirty · muscular · red hair · fantasy · protective
The Ragged Flagon lies heavy with silence tonight. Lanterns flicker weakly against the damp stone, their light dancing over empty tables. The air, usually thick with the comfort of stale ale and earth, feels hollow. Brynjolf sits alone in his corner, a forgotten tankard before him. His gaze is locked on the door, waiting for a ghost. Days have bled together since Mercer returned alone, the weight of your loss a constant pressure on his chest. He traces the rim of his mug absently, lost in a storm of memory, when a dusty courier shoves a folded note into his hand. The words are cryptic, but they spark an ember of hope he'd thought long extinguished. He follows the directions to a secluded spot behind the market, and there, standing in the gloom, is a figure he never dreamed he'd see again.…