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Merry Brynmas!
T’was the night before Saturalia and Riften was quiet. Not a creature was stirring, not even a skeever. Snow fell in a flimsy, already melting layer over the streets, making slick wooden walkways even more treacherous. Bitter winds stalked the streets, and no one was about. People remained in the tavern, drinking their coin away by the warm fire. Brynjolf was no exception, leaning on the wall and sipping his expensive whisky that had been brought into the city by Khajiit merchants. Its soothing burn eased the ache from his day spent calling out to traders.
The door opened suddenly, and a bitter blast entered the Bee and Barb. Many patrons turned to scowl at the cause before hastily looking away. They sought to avoid eye contact with the small group of bedraggled orphans and their headmistress’ assistant. Constance kept a hand on the orphans’ shoulders, guiding them closer to the fire. She hurried to Keerava and began a hushed conversation. Bryn didn’t want to overhear it, but somehow still ended up hearing most of it.
“Please, it’s a bitterly cold night. We’ve run out of firewood and given the season, I hoped you would have something to spare?”
Keerava tsked and shook her head. “We need our supply. I have actual paying customers who want to sit by the fire. I have nothing to offer.”
Bryn pursed his lips and took another sip, watching Constance’s shoulders droop. She steeled herself and made her way around the room asking anyone for help. She was rudely brushed off by most, a few offering a handful of coin, but the rest refused to even speak to her. By the time she reached Bryn, she was thoroughly dejected.
“Um, Brynjolf… I apologise for disturbing you, but Mistress Grelod left to visit Windhelm and didn’t leave us any firewood…”
“Aye, I heard. I don’t have much on me in the way of firewood. I made the mistake of leaving my spare pile uncovered. It’s soaked now.” He reached into his pocket as she sighed. “Here, to buy yourselves something warm to drink.”
Constance accepted the coin. “Thank you, this is still much appreciated.”
Bryn nodded and watched as she stood with the children by the fire until they retreated. The patrons breathed a sigh of relief as the pitiful group left. Some laughed in the direction of the door which unexpectedly set Bryn’s temper aflame. He made his way to Keerava who regarded him cautiously.
“Another whisky,” he grumbled, “make it a double.”
She nodded and poured out the drink. Bryn reached into his pocket, palming some coins and he paused when his fingers grazed one of the lockpicks he always kept on him. The thin strip of metal warmed as he curled his hand around it and a plan came to him.
Downing the whisky, Bryn hissed softly and studied the tavern.
“Looks like it’ll be a stormy night,” he muttered to Keerava.
She nodded and took away his glass. “Aye, we’ll be busy all night. You want anything else?”
He shook his head, staring around the tavern and making note of the faces he saw there. The louts were deeper in their cups with each passing moment, and they lounged lazily by the hearth, seeking as much warmth as possible. Bryn would have plenty of time for this plan.
There were a few muttered protests when he opened the door to leave but he was soon out onto the slushy streets of Riften. Despite his clothes being made of rich, thick fabric he still shivered and made a face. He knew exactly how cold it would be in the orphanage. That thought hurried him along, before making a hasty trip out of the city to buy something from the Khajiit traders.
~
Surprisingly, the little lockpick served Bryn well. Donned in black, he crept from house to house, sneaking in and filling sacks with logs left by the fire. He also filled a separate sack with sweet treats left on tables. The people he took from were wealthy enough, they could afford to buy more.
Eventually Bryn had several sacks of crisp firewood and treats, enough to make some cold children smile. He also had a little bundle of goodness purchased from the Khajiit traders which would definitely warm up the kids. Smiling to himself, Bryn made his way to the orphanage and picked the lock in the front door.
The tiny pick which had opened nearly every door in Riften chose that moment to snap. It tinkled into shards, landing on the slush. Bryn stared at it and ground his teeth in frustration. He looked around and spotted the chimney atop the orphanage… he remembered sneaking back in after nights out through that very chimney. There was no way in the short time since leaving he was too big to fit.
Scrambling to the roof, Bryn lowered the sacks onto the empty, cold hearth before sliding down himself. He winced and wriggled, pushing himself down a wee bit more at a time until his movement stopped.
“Damn. This is more nippit than I remember…”
The sounds from the chimney disturbed the sleeping children who started calling out for Constance. She came to investigate and shrieked at the sight of the sacks and two boots dangling. Bryn hurriedly hushed her.
“It’s just me, lass!” he shouted. “The door was locked, and I got stuck.”
“Why are you here?!” Constance demanded. “And what are those sacks?”
He wiggled some more, trying to escape the chimney. “Just something to warm the night for you all. I’m sorry but can someone help me? I don’t want to be in here when you light the fire.”
She went quiet for several minutes. “You brought this for us?”
“I remember how bitter these nights can be in here.”
After some minutes of tugging, Constance and some of the older children pulled Brynjolf free. They wasted no time in setting up the hearth and dishing out the treats from the sacks. Warmth filled the orphanage unlike any Bryn had felt before. The children’s tense faces relaxed, and they sat as close to the fire as was safe, munching on sweetrolls and honey nut treats.
Constance sat in a chair near Bryn, rocking a little girl, barely two years old. At her side was a little boy, who was slightly older but still tiny. His sad eyes regarded everyone warily. Bryn nodded at them.
“New arrivals?”
Constance smiled and rubbed the toddler's back. “This is Juliette and her brother Jack. They arrived a few weeks ago.”
“So young…” Bryn tutted and patted his pocket, suddenly remembering what he had. “Constance, do ye have any milk?”
“We should do, why?”
Bryn smirked. “Let me show you.”
He got to work brewing a special drink using a warm, brown powder that he bought from the Khajiit. “These are made from beans found in Elsewyr. They make the perfect drink for cold nights.”
Constance watched him warily. “And they’re legal?”
“Oh aye, you can make this using moon sugar to add sweetness, but honey’ll make do too.” He winked and wandered over to the hearth in the kitchen, not wanting to obstruct the fire in the dormitory.
A thick, sweet smell drifted from the pans over the fire. It added to the comfort of the roaring hearth and the children watched curiously. They waited patiently as Bryn ladled it into bowls for everyone to sip from. Their curious expressions melted into ones of joy as they tasted the drink. Even Constance beamed.
“What do they call this?”
“It’s cocoa,” Bryn answered, sipping from his own bowl, lamenting the absence of whisky. “They use it to remind them of home. Normally the Khajiit have it with water and spices, but on a night like tonight, we need it with warm milk.” He passed a bowl to Jack who stared at him, just as warily as he had done.
“No thanks,” the wee lad muttered.
Bryn smirked and took a quick drink. “It’s alright lad, you’ll like it.”
Jack saw the other children enjoying the steaming bowls of cocoa and took a tentative sip, then another, and another. Soon even his stern expression relaxed, much to Bryn’s delight. He ruffled the boy’s hair and wandered away.
“I don’t know how to thank you…” Constance eyed the sacks and smiled at him. “I’ll start by pretending I have no idea where this all came from.”
Bryn settled back into his chair by the fire and stretched. “How about you just enjoy this with the bairns? You’ve all been through a lot.”
Constance continued to hold Juliette and nodded. “Alright. That sounds good.”
A calm silence fell over the orphanage as the residents savoured this act of kindness, warming their aching, chilled bodies by the fire. It had never roared like this before, it had never been so comfortable. The snow outside got heavier but for the first time since Grelod started running the orphanage, no one noticed the chill.