Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with the Elder Scrolls series. All I own is this version of the Dragonborn, based on my own character in the game.

Arrows

Brynjolf was late getting back from the Bee and Barb. Very late. Talen-Jei it seemed had asked Keerava to marry him, finally. As such, the mead was far more free-flowing than usual and for longer. And Brynjolf was by no means the last to leave. Inside the Bee and Barb, life was bright, colourful and relaxed. Outside of the inn, things were tense. Word had reached Riften that Whiterun had been attacked by the Stormcloaks and taken under their control. Citizens that were loyal to Balgruuf and the Empire had fled, seeking asylum in the other Holds. None had come as far as Riften but there was time yet. Many members of the Thieves Guild had flooded back in the last few days, seeking refuge in the cisterns under the city. This sudden influx made the city guards nervous. With the civil war gathering pace and the numbers of dragons soaring, everyone just wanted to go home, to go where they felt safe. But there had been no word on the lass for almost a week.

The lass, that auburn-haired slight, little thing he'd picked up on a whim in the marketplace. Who could have known she'd have found a natural knack for thievery? Last he'd heard she'd been on her way to Solitude to deal with Gulum-Ei. If that Argonian prick had hurt her…no, the lass was smarter than that, stronger and quicker too. No doubt if Gulum-Ei pulled a knife on her, she'd already have one of her own at his scaly throat. Perhaps she had got caught up in some other trouble. All it would take is being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe she'd been caught out by a dragon. No, the dragon one was the least likely. He remembered the day she had gone to Goldenglow. A few hours later, the ground had shook and so had the Flagon. The thieves had rushed over ground to see what had happened. Brynjolf and Mercer had slipped out through the entrance in the graveyard only to see a dragon skeleton lain out on the grass in front of them and the lass, slightly out of breath, stood next to it. She claimed it had spotted her on her way to Goldenglow. She had turned back and it had followed her. Thankfully, the aim of all of Riften's guards had been true and the dragon had been brought down quickly with only a few minor burns to show for it.

A few days later, Brynjolf had overheard odd rumours about the lass. Stories of her shouting strange words at the dragon, of her raiding the skeleton for bones and scales and of light flying out of the dragon and into her. That had sparked stories of the Dragonborn returning. No, it was silly. His lass wasn't the Dragonborn. She was just a little Nord girl who had got lost on the back roads and wound up in Riften by mistake. With all the coin she had been carrying, she was undoubtedly some lord's daughter who had run away from home to look for some adventure. Well, she'd found it in Riften. He'd spotted her first of all coming out of the Temple of Mara and then perusing the market stalls. He'd decided to tease her and been quite surprised when she had responded with a warrior's tongue. It had taken her a while after getting caught by the guards to pluck up the courage to come find him but she had come and he'd been glad. After that first mistake, she had never gotten caught again.

He nudged the button to open the entrance to the cistern, rubbing his eyes. All he wanted right now, was to fall asleep on his soft bed. He would have preferred it if he hadn't been alone but all the women in the Bee and Barb had been far too drunk. It would have been like fucking a corpse and he'd have felt bad about taking advantage the next day. He didn't want to deal with that and a hangover. The cisterns were deserted. As he entered the Flagon, he found even Vekel and Tonilia had retreated to bed for a few hours. There was no sound and all but one of the lanterns were out. Except Brynjolf was sure he could hear breathing. There was a groan and a loud smash. He grabbed the only lit lantern and looked around. Then he saw the horned iron helmet and quiver of arrows that he had spotted that day in the market and that hair, the beautiful auburn hair that had been braided. Now it was loose and knotted. Her helmet wasn't clean; it had scratches and scuffs of mud and grass. Her armour had scorch marks too.
"Lass!" Brynjolf said, rushing to her side. He set the lantern down and rolled her over. She had knocked a plate and several tankards off the bar when she had collapsed and now he saw why. Blood seeped through the gaps in her armour. Arrows. Brynjolf lifted her head up.
"Lass? Can you hear me, lass?" he said. She groaned, her eyes still closed. He slid one arm under her neck before grabbing the lantern with the other and lifting her knees with it. She was hurt and needed help. But not here. He couldn't let the other thieves see her like this. He felt the need to protect her.

Brynjolf took her back to a little part of the cisterns that he called home. An alcove that had been bricked off save for a wooden door. It wasn't huge, but he had a king-sized bed, an end table, chest, half-empty bookcase, a table and two chairs. This was Brynjolf's space. This is where he slept, his private little sanctum. Only Mercer and Vex had ever been in here. And now the lass. He put the lantern on the end table before laying her down on the bed, trying not to jar her as he did so. He lit the other lanterns in the room, so he had enough light to examine her wounds.
"Alright, lass," he said, "I'm going to take a look at you, get you sorted out, ok?" The lass just whimpered. Now she was lying on his bed, she looked even smaller. For the first time, Brynjolf found himself wondering how old she was. Then more questions came unbidden into his mind. Where was she from? Why had she come to Riften in the first place? Did she have any family? What was her first name? She'd always been 'Lass' to him, everyone else had just called her 'Newbie' or his protégé. Could it have been that no one had bothered to ask her name? Then again, she hadn't exactly offered up the information. Brynjolf blinked and tried to focus on the task at hand. He had to remove her armour to treat her wounds.
"Alright lass, I need to remove your armour," he said to her, though he wasn't sure how much she understood at this point. He stood up straight before removing her helmet. Her eyes were scrunched shut and there was sweat on her brow. He reached over her and unfastened the buckles on her armour before slowly removing it. It came off easily enough until he reached the side where the wounds were. She screamed when he gave it a firm tug to finally remove it. Brynjolf fought to keep his eyes on her wounds. She wore nothing underneath her armour. He reached over her and pulled over one of the smaller pelts that covered his bed to cover her before focussing on her wounds. There was dried blood all over her side along with fresh blood from when he'd removed her armour. She had three arrows embedded in her side, the shafts still sticking out.
"I know, lass," Brynjolf said, reaching up and placing his hand on her brow, "I know it hurts, I'm going to help you." He took another look at her side. He needed to clean it up first. He left to go fetch some water and some clean rags. When he came back, she had moved. She was half way to being sat up, leaning against the cold stone, one arm clutching the pelt to her chest.
"It's going to be alright, lass," he said, setting the water and rags on the floor next to the bed. She nodded a little.

Brynjolf fetched a few items from the chest at the bottom of his bed. A knife, needle, thread and a piece of leather. He dipped a rag into the water and began to clean up the dried blood. She winced and her breaths turned to pants.
"I know, lass, I know," Brynjolf said, trying to soothe her. Once cleared, he could see the arrows more clearly. It was as he had feared, the arrowheads were completely sunken into her flesh. He'd have to cut her to get them out.
"I'm going to have to cut you, lass," he said gently. He looked up at her, expecting to see fear. Instead she just looked him in the eye and said, "Do it." Her voice shook a little but that was probably from her injuries rather than fear.
"Right," Brynjolf said. He took the scrap of leather and put it in her mouth, for her to bite down on. He decided to go for the top one first.
"Alright," he said, "Here we go." He didn't hesitate; he just cut a slit in her flesh. She screamed, biting down on the leather to muffle it. Her fists clenched into the pelt and her eyes shut. Brynjolf eased the arrow out and quickly pressed a clean, dry rag to it to stem the bleeding. Her breaths were shallow and the sweat had returned. She was trembling and Brynjolf felt a pang of guilt.
"Just two left to go," he said. She nodded. He quickly repeated the steps with the second one but when he cut for the third one, she dropped the leather, screamed and slumped as she passed out. Brynjolf cauterised her wounds by heating the knife before sewing them shut to encourage healing, then he wrapped a bandage around her to keep them clean. Not an easy task when he was trying to avert his gaze from her naked flesh.

She whimpered a little as he finished tying the bandage and lay her down. He pulled the big bear pelt over her. It was the comfiest and the warmest one he had. He'd sleep in a chair tonight, to keep an eye on her. He tucked her hair behind her ear. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully at least. The thought reassured him as he sat in one chair and propped his feet up on the other. He'd ask her all those questions tomorrow. Like how old she was, where she had come from, why she had come to Riften, where her family was, what her name was and most importantly, where she had gone to be pierced by the Imperial arrows that were now scattered across his table.