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The shifting of slight weight on his chest startled him, nearly making him jump up in a fervour to assess his surroundings. Miraak could not initially make out much in the darkness, but after a moment of his eyes adjusting, he was surprisingly grateful for the small light that Odette had insisted on keeping on to sleep. Within the subtle pink lighting, he could see the room they stayed in, and did not need to squint into the darkness in a cold sweat to determine if he was back in Apocrypha. To further his surprise, it was the same weight which calmed him back to reality, to recognize the absence of danger and realize what the movement was. 

Odette had migrated to laying on him. 

Her thigh had been nestled between his legs, and he could feel the innermost part of her pelvis pressed to his hip. The shifting must have been her slipping from further on his chest, tucked half-against his side with her breasts pushed against his ribs. Her hand laid delicately on his sternum, and her head was using his axillary artery as a pillow. The arm in question was completely numb and tingly, but he didn’t dare move it or her. 

Miraak felt every crevice and curve of her body that was pressed to him, but nothing had felt more intimate than her breath. Every gentle inhale and exhale, the slightest brush of her air grazing his bare skin, touching his neck with the lightness of a feather. He could not keep himself from concentrating on her breathing; the feel of her ribcage expanding slightly and more apparently touching his, the few muted hums she exhaled while she dreamt, her cold breath against his slowly-warming skin. 

Her steady heartbeat had been one thing, thumping rhythmically in her chest like the steady flap of a bird’s wings, but the sound of her breathing and the feel of her body was completely new to him. She was so peaceful and calm, serene, and her lungs were only a showcase of that. 

It did not take long for Miraak to inhale when she did, to sync their breaths and truly feel connected with her. Their chests rose as one, fell together. He felt a sort of oneness that he never thought he would experience with another living soul. 

Inhale, exhale. Pause. Inhale, exhale. Pause. 

It became second nature to him, as if this was always the way he was meant to breathe. He could not remember how he existed before. 

Miraak wondered then, if when she awoke that she would be frightened, fearful of being so close to clawed hands and a mouth of sharp teeth. To be so peacefully asleep, completely at ease despite sleeping on something with claws and a tail—it felt like a fantasy. He was merely waiting for her to wake from her slumber and scramble away, to flee and put as much distance between them as possible. 

Until then, he did not move, and simply listened, experienced her breathing—basked in it, even. He could think of no greater glory. 

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The blood didn’t wash off fast enough. 

Her small hands shook with adrenaline as she dipped them into the flowing river again, trying to scrub as much as she could as quickly as possible, but it hardly muddied the cold water. Her own breath escaped her lips in a visible cloud, her vision blurred with hot tears that fell one by one into the river. Her clothes were soaked in heat, dark red blood slowly dyeing her white robe. 

Magnus was hidden from her. The moment the hunters had arrived, clouds filled the sky and blocked all light from reaching her. It was all cold and dark; the once golden rays of divine light now turned from her, and she felt more alone than ever. 

Odette couldn’t even remember what had happened. 

She recalled the hunters ignoring the rocks she tossed from the trees to lead them away, their arrows nocked on their bowstrings as they aimed at Elm, and the spriggan’s final attempts to lead them from the Chantry before her death. She should have listened to her Mother. She should have listened and not gone out past the river into the woods—she should have listened to Elm’s protests. 

What frightened her the most, however, had been the steadiness of her heart. Despite her rapid breathing, the guilt and anger that swelled within her, and the shaking of her fingers and body as she struggled to wash away so so so much blood—her heart was calm. 

It thumped heavily in her chest, orderly, as if to tell her that it had to be done. As if to say she was righteous. 

“Odette?”

The young Elf yelped and nearly fell into the river at the sudden voice behind her, feeling a hand yank her back by the scruff. She plopped unceremoniously into the snow.

“U-Uncle Vyrthur—”

He looked down at her, to the river, and to the Chantry far off on the other side. “I believe you are on the wrong side of my river, Child.”

“I know, I-I’m sorry.”

He knelt down before her, carefully looking her over for injuries and the source of all the blood. He took her bloodied hands, inspecting them thoroughly. “What happened, Child? You must know your Mother will never forgive me if—”

“It’s not mine,” Odette answered quietly, sniffling as tears ran down her cheeks. “It’s—there were hunters. In the woods.”

“Hunters?” He looked towards the trees, concern knitting his brows. “What were you doing in the woods?” 

She stared at him intently, not giving a real reply. Vyrthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Your Mother is going to kill me,” he muttered, letting out a strained breath as he produced a rag from a pouch on his side. He dipped it into the water, warming it in his hand with a gentle flames spell. “She truly should have known you would have run off here eventually. Why did you not get me? Where was that spriggan of yours? Elm?”

“I don’t know where you are here,” Odette replied, sniffling as he gently cleaned the blood off her hands. “E-Elm was with me, but she…she tried to get rid of them for me. I just wanted to know what was here, I promise I didn’t—”

“Quiet,” he said softly, rinsing the rag before continuing. “There is no need to explain yourself to me. I can see you’ve punished yourself enough. Though I must say, I am thoroughly impressed by your work! I haven’t seen such carnage by a young Snow Elf in ages. Look at you, you’ve been painted like a canvas!” He gently wiped her face, revealing her worried brows and concerned expression. “A glorious display indeed. What a fine warrior you make—we’ve certainly taught you well.”

It was then that it dawned on her that her Uncle may have very well been insane. 

“Now, what have you learned?” Vyrthur asked, wiping his own hands with the rag. 

“Don’t g-go to the woods.”

“Good. Though, between you and I, I believe you are more than ready. Two hunters dealt with even before I could get them—you may take over my job one day.”

Odette blinked at him, feeling her head spin. His job hadn’t just been hunting animals, had it? 

“You…you won’t tell Mama about this?”

“No, no. Absolutely not.” He waved her off, pushing on his knees to stand. “She’ll have my head on a pike. You can help me hunt today, and this…incident can be our little secret. How does that sound?”

She nodded feebly, taking the hand he offered as he helped her up. “Okay.”

He patted her shoulder as they walked to the water. “A horker will be nothing compared to two hunters, I assure you. Especially with a weapon this time around.”

“Okay.” Odette tucked herself to his side. 

“We speak nothing about your carnage to your Mother or Gelebor, got it?”

“Our little secret.” She nodded, and he briefly side-hugged her tighter. 

and art for the prompt 'golden' as well!

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A cool Autumn breeze swept by the Riften marketplace, the scent of turning leaves barely masking the stench of fish. It briefly reminded her of home, and Odette opened her coinpurse in the hopes that any amount of septims had miraculously appeared within the leather bag. 

As expected, there had been nothing. 

With a sigh, the bag was crumpled and stuffed back into her pocket. If she wanted to eat that afternoon, she would need to get a little creative if she wanted to settle the pangs in her stomach. With a swift cracking of her knuckles, Odette walked through the marketplace, all without a second glance shot in her direction. She eyed precious jewelry and small trinkets, circling round until she was met with the stand of produce. Without breaking stride her hand swiped an apple, and just as smoothly, she bit into it.  

Odette continued her round through the marketplace, taking rings and necklaces on display, salted meats and a small roll of bread. The jewels would get her dinner that night, and maybe even breakfast in the morning if she bartered well enough. Unless the Temple of Mara had another night of dinner, in which case she would be able to save the price of the trinkets for the next day or so to stock up on her travelling food—or finally invest in a bedroll. 

She was swift to leave the marketplace, delighting in her new apple and the sour tang compared to the usual sweetness. Darting through alleyways, she grabbed the silver and amethyst ring from her pocket, trying to fit it onto her index finger. 

“Running a little light in the pockets, lad?” A hand hooked the scruff of her hooded tunic, and she quickly swung around with a dagger in hand. The man put his hands up, but she did not lower her blade. 

“Easy, kid.” He lowered the dagger with two fingers. “You shouldn’t just pull a knife on someone.”

“Well, you shouldn’t grab a kid in an alley,” she replied, not yet sheathing. 

The man shrugged. “Fair enough. But you shouldn’t be stealing.”

Odette eyed him suspiciously, fidgeting with her blade. “I thought you weren’t a guard.”

“Honest, I’m not.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the building to his left. “My name is Brynjolf.”

“Your name doesn’t make you any less of a guard.” She squinted at him, but he kept his gaze. She slipped her dagger back into the sheath on her lower back. “Odette.”

“Why were you stealing?”

“You try getting food with no coin.” She brushed off her apple, biting into it with an unimpressed gaze and a loud crunch.

“Where are your parents?”

“I’m on my own.”

He nodded slowly, seemingly understanding now why she had no coin. “Nobody noticed you swipe all those jewels stuffed in your pocket.”

“People don’t usually notice.” She looked him up and down, munching on the green apple. “What’s your deal?”

“Wealth is my business,” he answered easily. “I have a little task that you might be perfect for—help me out, and I can add to your wealth.”

She chewed audibly, staring up at him. “Mhm.”

“See, I’ve got an errand that needs an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well-paid.”

“This doesn’t sound like somethin’ a kid should get into.” She bit into her apple. “What’s the errand?”

“Simple: I’m going to cause a distraction and you’re going to steal Madesi’s silver ring from a strongbox under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei’s pocket without him noticing.”

Odette nodded, inspecting where to bite her apple next. “And what am I getting out of this?”

“A bag of coin, and, if you do well, perhaps some more errands in the future.”

“Hm. Alright.” She turned to the end of the alley, looking towards the marketplace. “Steal the ring, plant it on Brand-Shei. Go make your distraction.” 

She walked calmly towards the market stalls, and for a moment, Brynjolf didn’t realize that she had already begun his plan. Riften had been busier than usual, with more of a crowd localizing directly where she needed to be. With her dark green hood over her head, she blended in seamlessly, weaving through bodies and the hustle and bustle of the city. 

As Odette made her way through the crowd, the man got to a stall surrounded by healing potions, standing on a short crate to rile up an audience. He fed them some drivel about a miracle cure made of genuine Falmer blood. She rolled her eyes at his wild claims, and just as she did, stumbled into the back of a dark green Argonian. He quickly turned around to catch and stand her back upright. 

“Sorry,” Odette mumbled. 

“Don’t worry, milord. It’s a busy day.”

She offered him a smile in agreement, and they continued on in separate ways. His keys jangled briefly in her hand before she hid them in her fist, walking around the back of the crowd to his stall. 

“—Mystical beings who live in legends and were masters of great magic. Imagine the power that coursed through their veins!”

She felt her ears droop, thankful to have been wearing her hood. Shaking off the moment of discomfort and unease, Odette knelt down beneath the short stone wall that made the circle of the marketplace. Holding her apple between her teeth, she slid the panel housing the safe to the side. With a randomly picked key, she slid it into the lock, turning it with a soft click. 

Odette opened the safe, plucking the only ring and closing it, pushing the sliding door back into place. She stood and worked her way back into the crowd, biting down into her apple as she spotted Brand-Shei, front and centre to Brynjolf’s scheme. 

“Make love like a sabre cat! Grow back that missing limb!”

With a careful finger, Odette tugged the tie open on his belt-pocket and plopped the ring inside. She calmly stood enough to sit on the stone wall beside her, pretending to have been listening to the lies of the red-haired man as she continued eating. 

After his speech, a few people from the crowd gathered to buy his elixirs, seemingly content with their purchase. Odette would have been concerned by the prospect of selling blood of the Betrayed, given its newfound toxicity from thousands of years of mutations in Blackreach and the mushrooms ingested, but she had been entirely certain that the man lied about everything. 

With the crowd resuming their daily lives and rituals, he approached her again, a large bag of gold in hand. 

“Looks like I chose the right person for the job. Here you go—your payment, as promised.” He dropped it into her palm, the weight bowing her hand. 

She eagerly opened the pouch, eyes widening at the sight of it all. It was enough for nearly two weeks of meals.

“With the way things have been going around here, I’m surprised our plan went off without a hitch.”

Odette looked up at him, silently inquiring further. He waved it off. 

“Bah, my organization’s run into a bit of bad luck, but I supposed that’s just how it goes. Never mind that—you did the job, and you did it well. And there’s plenty more gold where that came from, if you’re interested.”

She weighed the bag in her hand, and then the half-eaten apple in her other. “I’m more than interested.”

Brynjolf smiled. “I think you’ll be a fine, prosperous addition to my organization. Our home is in the Ratway beneath Riften, a tavern called The Ragged Flagon. Get there in one piece and we’ll see if you’ve really got what it takes, kid.”

He would later regret such a line, when Odette would calmly enter The Flagon soaked red with blood that was not hers, while he had been mid-detail about her work in the marketplace. Convincing the others that she would make a good thief—especially with a few years of training and guidance—had been hard enough; convincing them that she wouldn't grow to be a murderer or kill their clients would be even harder.

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