Note: Still don't own them. This was originally going to be a another one-shot, but took on a life of its own. I was reluctant to have another part about Stephen's past, but the rest of the story won't make much sense without it. Walks-The-World is actually my second character, and he is a scoundrel to the bone. He gets to do all the fun things that Erik won't let Stephen get away with. (And yes, the prologue contains sort of a play on the cliché of 'Take the pebble from my hand'. It's kind of Oliver Twist meets Kung-Foo.) I'm not sure how many parts this is going to end up being.
Egg Brothers: Prologue
"By the Nine, this is useless!"
Erik drops the shattered lockpick on the floor of the cave next to a pile of others. "I can't do this, Stephen. I give up!"
"No you don't and yes, you can." Stephen hands him another pick. "Anyone can learn to pick a lock: try again. And listen to it: sometimes you can hear it when the pick is in the right place. The lock will talk to you if you let it."
Erik grits his teeth. "I am not planning to give up adventuring to join the Thieves Guild. Why is it so important to you that I learn to do this?"
Stephen sits back on his heels, and pushes aside an empty tankard one of the bandits who formerly claimed this cave left behind. The locked chest was a lucky find, in his opinion. He couldn't very well have Erik practice on people's front doors. "Because….because we had an agreement, that's why." It sounds flimsy even to him. "You want me to learn to be a better cook. Fine. I want you to open that chest."
"That…" Erik makes another attempt at the lock. "Does not answer my question. Who taught you to do this, anyway? This is too hard for you to have just picked up on your own. Damn it!" He drops another pick to the floor. "Whatever is in here better be worth all this."
"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said Alain?" Stephen asks hopefully. "Didn't think so." He continues at the look his companion levels at him. "Well, truth is I learned it from my other brothers. My egg brothers."
Erik has heard the term before, but Stephen's use of it baffles him. "Since when…" he asks carefully, "are you Argonian? There goes another one. Are we almost out of picks yet?"
"No. I've got hundreds of them, sorry. That's what Walks always called Blue and me, his egg brothers, and we picked up on it." Erik hears affection in his voice, respect, and sorrow. "You'd have hated both of them. They'd have made those pretty morals of yours itch like a flea-plagued hound. Wasn't anything they couldn't figure out a way to lift…truth is that I wouldn't be alive without them."
"Walks and Blue?" Erik makes a face.
"Walks-The-World was Argonian. Blue was Dunmer. Before you say what I know you're going to say, I've got nothing against the Dunmer. Seems to me the other elves treated them just as badly as they treated everyone else. Even if Blue had been a High Elf, I still couldn't have hated him. He wasn't his people: he was just Blue." Something catches very slightly in Stephen's voice. "Just our Blue..."
"'Ey, kid. Come on, mate, wakey, wakey."
Stephen tries to obey the voice, but the pain in his body is so great he can only whimper. He feels a rough hand on his face. Something metal is pressed against his lips, and a few drops of water poured into his mouth, which he swallows greedily. "That a boy. Wet yer whistle, there. Come on, then, open yer eyes." Then, obviously to someone else. "'Eh's gonna live, Walks. Bloody drained me to me dregs, and I'll reckon 'e ain't gonna feel like dancin' for a spell, but 'e's a tougher than 'e looks."
The reply comes in a sibilant, almost musical tone. "I suppose he'll still be wanting to keep his boots then. Such a shame." Stephen feels someone touching his foot through the leather of his footwear.
Stephen manages to force his right eye open. Everything blurs at first, and then slowly he is able to focus on the pale blue face of a Dunmer peering worriedly down at him. Behind him he sees the seeping stone walls of a prison cell, and to his right an Argonian who is eyeing him in interest. He tries to speak, but can't manage to get out the words, and the Dunmer offers him a little more water.
Prison. He's still in prison. He was in the courtyard…someone demanded his bread…he refused…he was hungry…then they were beating him…
The Dunmer must see the fear in his eyes, because his face softens. "Easy there, my lad. Yer safe with us. What's yer name?"
"Stephen…" He manages to whisper. "I'm Stephen."
"Well, this here distinguished gentleman at my side is Walks-The-World. Me Mum named me Fadril, but she could 'ave saved 'erself the effort and just called me Blue cause damned if everyone else don't."
"Oh, I've heard you called by many names." Walks-The-World interjects dryly, and Stephen feels a smile tug at his lips.
He knows them now, a bit. He's seen them over the last few days, always together talking but always apart from everyone else. They stand out in his mind because he's seen no other Dunmer or Argonians in the prison. He's been too busy trying to figure out how to stay alive in this Oblivion-cursed place to be overly curious about them, but it seems that for whatever reason they have now saved his life. He wonders idly if that's a good or bad thing.
He tries to sit up, but Blue pushes him back down. "Not just yet, mate. Still got ye some mendin' to do. Give me a bit to recharge meself and I'll blast ye with another round a 'ealin'."
Stephen tries to use his own healing energy: the pain is too bad not to try. But he can't seem to make the spell work so he finally gives up. Magic…it's not allowed in the prison. Offensive magic, that is. He thinks the guards don't much care if you use healing spells, but try and use something else and it's an arrow in the head. He realizes that when he was being beaten, he never even tried to summon his fire.
"You…helped me…" he can't keep the surprise out of his voice. "Why?" It sounds suspicious to his ears, but in the year he's been on his own since fleeing Alain's house, he has never been helped without the helper wanting something in return.
"We saw the wankers beatin' on ye, and stompin' on ye once ye went down. Walks here said he wanted yer boots." Blue is grinning. "Figured ye weren't gonna have much use for 'em, bein' as ye already looked knackered. So we cleared off the others…they don't mess much with us…we got a bit of a reputation 'ere but that's for later. When Walks started 'elpin' 'imself ye suddenly woke up a bit and spat out 'Try it, lizard, and ye'll be me next pair.'" Blue laughed loudly at that part, and Stephen tried to remember saying something like that but could not. "After that, ye fell back into mutterin' all kinds of rich nonsense. Couldn't as well leave ye there, so we brung ye back to our 'umble abode. We don't care much none for bullies, Walks and me. Been there too many times ourselves, we 'ave, before we made a team a it."
"I never did find out why they were in prison. Whatever it was upset Blue, he said he didn't want to talk about it. Walks-The-World gave a different answer any time anyone asked. My favorite was the story about him trying to take over the Imperial City with an army of skeevers. Anyway, it took me a while to heal, even with Blue using his magic to speed it along. Eventually I got strong enough to help with that. I also never did find out the real reason they decided to help me that day. I'd only been in prison a couple of days: got caught lifting a coinpurse and sentenced to six months for it. I was seventeen, scared out of my mind, and Imperials don't bother separating out the petty criminals from the really dangerous ones. The guards think we're all criminal scum, so if someone gets beaten or…worse…they don't give a damn.
"Walks-The-World and Blue were targets cause they were unique. Once they decided they'd had enough, they used what they knew between them to keep safe. People who tried to hurt them ended up with their necks snapped in their sleep. So once they adopted me, I was safe too. That wasn't enough for them, though. They wanted me to be safe even if they weren't around to protect me. I knew how to throw down in a tavern, but no one had ever bothered teaching me to use a weapon. Walks decided to remedy that...
"Sticks…" Stephen is perplexed as he holds up two short twigs, and notices that Walks-The-World is carrying the same. "I thought I was going to learn how to fight."
"You are. It is not as If I can go up to a guard and say 'Please, Honored Brother, might I borrow some weapons? Purely educational, I can assure you.'"
Stephen laughs, embarrassed at his own stupidity, but he still wonders how he's supposed to learn to fight with something this small.
"You are thinking, what kind of sword is this?" Walks continues. "Tell me, would you ask a cow to give ale?"
Stephen is confused. "Only if I'd had too much ale already…"
"Why?" The Argonian presses him.
Stephen's bewilderment is growing. "As far as I know, cows give milk, not ale."
"Yes, they behave as their nature made them. Nature has made you small and agile. Why then would you insult your nature by attempting to fight with a sword almost as heavy as you are? Were someone to give you a shield as well, it is doubtful you could even stand."
Blue has been standing back watching the lesson, and he nods in understanding but says nothing.
"Do not be ashamed of this." Walks-The-World continues. "Your weapons must be the same as you: small and fast. None the less deadly for it, and often more-so because people underestimate the danger within. You are still not convinced. Perhaps a demonstration…I am going to attack you now with my sticks. Fight back with your own or with your bare hands: the choice is yours."
Stephen immediately drops the sticks and raises his fists: this is something he knows, the way of the bare-knuckle brawl, and he is confident in his skills when only facing one opponent. Blue is smirking now, his arms folded as he leans against the wall. The autumn wind is billowing his ragged tunic around him.
The Argonian suddenly lunges at Stephen, poking him with the sticks. Stephen swings his fist, but Walks is already behind him, and uses one stick to give him a sharp stab in the backside. Stephen whirls and swings again, but Walks is now three feet away, holding up the sticks, and laughing. It continues like this until Stephen collapses to the ground in exhaustion, his entire body aching and bruised. Walks sits down next to him, not even winded.
"You have limitless potential." The Argonian declares, which surprises Stephen (who is feeling rather humiliated at the moment). "Small and fast, like daggers. Shields are for those too clumsy and slow to move out of the way: far better a blow never lands. Do you wish to learn this?"
"I could learn to fight like you do?" Stephen isn't ready to believe. Warriors are great, hulking men who carry broadswords on their backs. He has always envied them, but never even considered that he too has abilities that could be trained for battle. That what he always considered his weakness could be turned into an advantage. Walks-The-World has opened his eyes and he is thirsty for more.
"Perhaps never as good as me, but not all can be the best." Walks-The-World shrugs, and Blue makes a noise of derision. "Yeah, ye'll never 'ave an ego as big as the lizard 'ere." The Dunmer winks.
"Show me, please. I want to learn."
"Then pick up those sticks, and do not treat my lessons with such scorn in the future."
"Every day we practiced. Even in the rain. Everyone else in the prison thought we were insane, but that just made them more willing to leave us alone. Whenever anyone did ask us what we were doing day after day, Walks would look at them and say 'I am teaching him how to dance'. It was a dance, I still think of it like that. You have to be able to guess what moves the other person is going to make and step accordingly. I was good at it, Erik. First time I could remember being really good at anything since I gave up doing magic. You can't know how badly I wanted a set of real daggers." He reaches down and runs his hands lovingly over his Daedric weapons, forged by his own hand and among his most treasured possessions. "But that wasn't the only lessons they had in store for me. They had a plan for after they got out of prison, and I was part of them now, so they had to make sure I'd be ready to do my part…"
"Pickin' a pocket." Blue leans back in his bedroll, his head propped up lazily on one hand, "Ain't just luck. It's about being able to read yer mark. Are they nervous about their surroundins? Afraid of bein robbed? You can read it in their faces, what they're thinkin', and iffin they ain't thinkin' the right things then ye best be movin' on to someone what is. Ye want to look for them that seem distracted, thinkin' about goin' to see their girl, or some business problem. They ain't noticin' what's goin' on anywheres outside their own noggins. Those are the ones ye want to go after, my boy. Try and look as distant as they do, like yer body is there but yer mind is up in Skyrim. When ye move, move fast. Ye got nimble little fingers, my boy. Right elf-like. Ye can 'ave them in and out of pockets before a man can blink. Steal 'is coinpurse and his left bollock too if ye please."
"Yes, because the one thing every master thief needs" Walks-The-World bites into a bruised apple. "Is a collection of left bollocks to display proudly in his living room."
"'Oo's givin' 'im this lesson, lizard, ye or me? Toss me one of them apples, my boy. There's a good lad."
Stephen reaches into the pile next to Walks and pulls up an apple that doesn't look quite as rotten as the other ones. The guards always sort out the best food for themselves, leaving the prisoners to squabble over the remains. If it wasn't for his friends, Stephen knows he might not get much to eat at all, or the price he'd have to pay for the privilege would be high.
Stephen waits for Blue to bite into the apple and finish swallowing. "Anyway, as I was sayin', it's all about bein' clever enough to know what chances to take and what not to risk." He picks up a shiny black pebble from the floor of the cell and shows it to Stephen, and then puts it into his pocket. "That's me valuables. Now I'm goin' to be carryin' this around every day, and yer gonna try and steal it off of me. Rules are these, lad. Ye can try as many times a day as ye like, until I catch ye at it. Once I catch ye, ye'll have to wait until the morrow to try again."
One rock, thought Stephen. How hard could it be to steal one rock?
"It took me over a month to get that stone away from him." Stephen notices Erik is no longer working on the lock but doesn't scold him for it. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rock, worn smooth from handling. "Once I had it, he told me to keep it for good luck, that I'd earned it."
"Did it bring you good luck?" Erik inquires, and Stephen gives him a smile that's both loving and sad. "I was lucky enough to chase a dragon to Rorikstead one night. But if it is lucky, I wish I'd never gotten it away from him…" He closes his hand around the stone and squeezes his eyes tightly, and Erik realizes that he's trying with everything he has to hold back tears. "Blue could have used a little bit more luck…" The Breton shakes himself, pushes the bad memories aside for later.
"Lockpicking came next, and that was a bit harder to teach in prison. The guards were willing to let Walks and I hit each other with sticks, and I think they must have thought I was snuggling up at night in Blue's bedroll with as often as my hand was in his pocket, but there wasn't any way they were going to let me play with the locks on the doors. We didn't have any wire or picks, of course. We wouldn't have still been there if Walks could have figured out how to get the bloody doors open. So they taught me with pictures, drawing locks in the dirt, and we used the damn sticks again to represent the lockpicks. No way to tell on that if I was learning anything or getting better, but I paid attention. Then they showed me how to hide myself in the shadows, which I was good at doing anyway after years of living with Mum and her temper. Again, being small was good for something. Blue said that I looked young and innocent, and people weren't as likely to suspect that I was up to anything if they saw me skulking around. "
"You know," Erik tries to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, and is aware that he is failing miserably, "I've always been led to believe that the purpose of prison is to rehabilitate someone, not teach them how to be a more effective criminal."
"It's okay." Stephen pats his hand. "I was naïve once too."
"So these crooks took you under their wing and raised you as their own. I suppose you did what you had to do to make the best of a bad situation."
"It wasn't a bad situation." Stephen stands up and paces in the small cave, his boots sending an empty ale boot rolling across the floor. "I know that it sounds utterly mad, but I was happy there. I had enough to eat, and no one was hurting me, and I had a family that gave a damn. First time in my life. Every day there was something new to learn or a story I hadn't heard before. There wasn't a lot to laugh at in that place, but they always managed to find something. Once Walks started a rumor that we weren't going to be given any more meat or cheese: just apples and water. Almost started a riot, that did, and there we were right out in front yelling and protesting, when we knew bloody well they weren't planning on doing any such thing. One day Blue managed to sneak a fireball into the table where the guards played cards in the evening. Sent them scattering like roaches in the light. They went mad trying to figure out who did it, but there were enough Bretons milling about in there that they never did manage to pin it on Blue. "
Stephen sits back down abruptly. "One day the head of the guards called me down into his office. I was racking my head trying to figure out what I'd done that he knew about, but it ended up being worse than I thought: he wanted to tell me that I only had a week to go of my time before I was a free man again. In his eyes, I'd been pretty well-behaved during my stay and he gave me a big speech about how rewarding honest work was, and that I'd do well to get away from the likes of my…associates. I guess he meant well enough, but I was too thrown to think much about it. I hadn't realized that much time had passed since I'd been thrown inside. I should have been happy, but I was terrified.
"Blue still had three months to go on his time, and Walks-The-World had about five, so I was going out alone. I thought about doing something to get tossed right back in, but Blue said if I did that he'd beat me so hard we'd be twins. He said I had to try and get things set up for them, for when they could join me. Try and find us a place to stay, some weapons, that sort of thing. My last night there in that cell I didn't sleep at all. I just kept hoping the sun never came up.
"But it did of course, and the guards came for me, and led me outside, and told me to behave, and let me go. As scared as I was, I didn't want to Blue and Walks down, so I set about doing what they asked me to do.
"I rented this shack. Not that it was much, but it wasn't expensive and the old hag who owned it was glad of the extra coin. I also worked out a deal with a blacksmith to do his smelting for him in exchange for his scraps and a few coins. He wasn't a bad guy so I never took anything from him, and he liked me enough to teach me a few things. That's how I got interested in smith-work. When I forged my first pair of iron daggers, I was so proud. They weren't very sharp and didn't look like much, but they were beauties in my eyes.
"For those months, Erik, I was almost an honest man. I knew if I went back, Walks and Blue would be out before I was and maybe my next time in prison would go a lot worse. So I was careful. I mean, if something was left just lying about it might end up in my pocket: I had to pay off that old crone somehow. I was lonely and I missed my egg brothers, but it wasn't as bad as I thought."
Erik thinks Stephen would have been better off being left to that life, away from his beloved 'brothers' but keeps these thoughts to himself. He decides to give the chest lock another go, and waits for Stephen to continue.
"I kept counting the days, and finally one morning I went down to the prison and there were the guards leading out Blue. He was looking around kind of bewildered, but he started grinning when he saw me and we were hugging right there in front of the guards.
"Well met, lil Skeever. And 'ere I told old Walks that we'd never see that fair 'ead of yers again, my boy. Figured ye'd be 'alfway cross Tamriel by now.
Stephen is stung until he sees the teasing glint in Blue's eyes. "I stuck to the Plan, if it pleases you." He replies instead, setting off back toward the small village that borders the prison and the rented shack. "Got us a roof that doesn't leak too badly, managed to put some coin aside. How's Walks?"
"Ready to climb the walls to escape. 'e missed you terribly, lad, although ye know 'ow 'ard it is to get a straight answer outta that lizard's mouth. 'E'll be ours again soon enough, don't fret. In the meanwhile, we'll continue with the Plan. Get some real trainin' under yer belt."
"Wait…" Erik holds up his hand. "Skeever?"
"That's what they called me in prison. It sounds a bit like Stephen, I suppose. I didn't mind. I liked having a nickname. It was kind of a jolt hearing it again that day, though. I'd been Stephen again since my release."
Stephen pauses again. "I told you that I'd been living pretty honestly. Part of me wanted to keep on that way. I liked working at that smithy. It felt good to have gold in my pocket that I'd earned the right way. It made me feel like a man. Blue was so excited to be able to get started with our Plan, though. It wasn't a hard decision to make: I know you probably wish it had been harder for me…"
Erik sighs, and then shakes his head. "Tell me the rest. Please."
"Blue moved us into a shack on the waterfront of the Imperial City. There were more criminals there than in the prison, and some of them a lot worse. At first when I found out how many friends Blue had there, I wondered why he hadn't sent me to the waterfront when I got released. Then I figured out that he was afraid for me, afraid of what would happen if he wasn't there to protect me.
"But we got settled in without too much trouble, and let me tell you, the Imperial City is a treasure-house for thieves…it was time for me to get some real practice in…"
The feeling of the lock slipping into place is familiar now, but still gives the boy called Skeever a sense of satisfaction. With another sideways glance for guards, he eases open the door of the gem shop and slips inside, shutting it behind him.
It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, but when they do he sucks in his breath at the glitter of the jewels in their various display cases, sparkles on a sea of black velvet. Blue has a particular buyer lined up for these stones, and Skeever is proud that his friend entrusted him to break into the shop on his own to pull it off. He's only done a few after-darks by himself, but he's light on his feet and quick, and can pop open a lock now in half the time it takes anyone else, even Blue.
He goes to work doing just that, his fingers and picks moving by instinct in the dark. He listens to the subtle noises from the case-locks, telling him he's close. He also listens for sounds from the apartment upstairs, ready to flee in an instant if someone should awaken. But he's left in peace tonight as he opens one display after another, stuffing the gemstones into his pockets. He suddenly has the oddest feeling that everyone else in the world has vanished, that there is no one slumbering in ignorance above his and that when he leaves the shop he will emerge into a deserted world.
Skeever shakes off the strange thoughts and continues divesting the store of its inventory, until he is satisfied that he's pocketed everything of value. He also helps himself to a slightly stale sweetroll from behind the counter, no doubt intended for someone's breakfast in a few hours. Pity they'll have to find something else.
Later, back in the shack, Blue lets the gems pour like water out of his hand, his face delighted. "Skeever, my lad, yer the real gem in all a this. This'll give us plenty a travelin' money for when we fetch Walks in a few days. After that, lad, the world is ours."
"He was right. It seems like the Divines either approved of us, or were willing to look the other way. Walks was one happy lizard to see us waiting for him. Blue wore his heart on his sleeve, but Walks is hard to read. You know what he wants you to know. He was happy that day, though. We were a family again.
"So we traveled. Walks-The-World, Blue, and Skeever, the Egg Brothers. We didn't have a set goal or destination. We talked about that and figured we'd come up with one someday, but after being locked up for so long we were just enjoying being free. Tamriel was our playground. No, that won't work."
Erik has shoved about five picks into the lock on the chest, and is twisting them all at once. Stephen reaches over and removes all but one. The Nord grunts and glares at the stubborn lock.
"Eventually we'd settled in on the outskirts of Burma, and were planning on staying there for a little while. The Nords there had a pretty good trade route going with their relatives back home, and we figured it was ripe for the picking. I remember our first night there, Blue and Walks bought me mead for the first time. I couldn't get enough of the stuff. Woke up the next morning with my head exploding, but according to Walks-The-World the Nords were impressed with how much I managed to put away. Apparently while they were all watching me make an idiot out of myself, my brothers were lifting every coinpurse in the place. After that I wasn't so embarrassed."
"I got it!" Erik interrupts, clapping his hands. "Stephen, I got it. It's open!"
"I told you that you could do it. Let's see what we've got." Stephen peers into the chest. "Some gold…nice. A few potions, always use those. Ebony axe, and with a fire enchantment. Oh, that's a lovely find: we can sell that for a lot of coin. Ready to go?"
Erik closes the lid of the chest. "Not quite yet. What happened to you in Burma?"
Stephen shrugs. "Things…I told you, I wanted to rob more Nords so I came here."
"Stephen…" Erik reaches over and pries the axe out of the Breton's hands and lies it on top of the chest. "Tell me the rest of it. Something happened…what happened to your friends, to Blue?"
Stephen looks angry, and jerks away from Erik. "It's not important."
"I think it is. I'm not leaving until you finish this. You need to."
Stephen fingers the rock again. "I called him my brother, but he was more than that…Walks is my brother, but Blue… somewhere in this world, if he ain't been run through with a sword, is a man who got my mother pregnant. I suppose he's my father. But my true Da was a Dunmer who felt sorry for a scrawny little human and tried to keep him safe. He named me, taught me, raised me. I don't care that people would think of him as a worthless criminal: he was a good man."
"How did he die?" Erik hates himself for pressing, but he knows he has to lance this wound or it will continue to fester.
"We were making quite the haul from Burma, so much so that Blue's contacts couldn't fence it fast enough. So we were hiding the excess in a little cave. Some local bandits figured out what we were doing, but didn't know where our stash was. One night Blue and I came back from the tavern and found our shack completely trashed and Walks-The-World missing. The bandits had left a note, if you could call it that, the spelling was so atrocious, saying if we wanted our lizard back we would come to this old fort they'd taken over and bring our spoils with us. They'd trade him over once they had the goods.
"I don't think I've ever seen Blue so angry. Sometimes I think that Walks-The-World was the first real friend he'd ever had: they bickered all the time, but the thought of someone hurting him had Blue out for blood. He said we weren't bringing so much as a septim with us, that we were going to take down every bandit there and get Walks back 'the honest way'. I was filled with the same righteous anger and was ready for battle. My daggers itching to slit some bandit throats.
"There were only a few of them, Erik, the bandits. Some of them grown men, but a lot of them really just boys. I didn't scare them much when we showed up, but when Blue started casting around lightning bolts, that got their attention. Which is what he wanted, because that let me slip through the shadows and up to the cage where they'd stashed Walks. A few of the buggers tried to stop me along the way, but I cut them down without even stopping. I was up on the walk-way, and from down below I kept seeing the flash of Blue's magic, and I felt invincible…" Stephen stops again and takes a ragged breath. "It was easier than I'd thought it was going to be. Like I said, we were dealing with kids really and not soldiers. I thought about that later, that it was actual people I was killing, but all I wanted at the moment was to get to Walks-The-World.
"I was wondering when you would arrive." Walks-The-World peers out from the cage at the Breton. "Stopped to take in the sights along the way?"
"Stuff it, Walks. We came: we could have just given them the goods and gotten you out sooner, but we didn't think you'd want that." Stephen quickly picks the lock on the cage and pulls the rather cramped Argonian out. "Blue's cleaning up the last of them. How did they manage to get the drop on you, anyway?"
Walks gives him a bland look. "I wasn't aware that they had."
"They stuffed you in a ruddy cage. What, you went along willingly to have a holiday?"
"I was planning on breaking free and killing them in their sleep. You've merely acted as a catalyst to my plans."
"Fine." Blue has come up the stairs to the walkway, and the yard below is silent. "Next time yer scaly 'ide gets taken, Skeever and I'll leave ye there to 'andle it yerself. Ye could at least say thank ye."
Stephen doesn't know if Walks would have ever thanked them or not. He sees a movement out of the corner of his eye, and time seems to slow down. One of the bandits, an archer, is mortally wounded but is not dead yet. She has managed to get to her bow, notch an arrow, and let it fly with the last of her strength. The bow falls out of her limp hand and the arrow slices through the air, so close to Stephen's ear that he feels the wooden shaft kiss against the flesh.
He watches in horror as the tip of the arrow strikes Blue in the throat and imbeds. Blue's hands fly up to his neck and he makes a choking sound, and his body sways and then tumbles off the walk-way and plummets to the ground below.
Stephen runs toward the stairs, but he does not scream. Blue would laugh at him for panicking. The Dunmer is a great mage: he's probably already healed himself and will soon be sending Stephen back up the stairs to loot the archer's bow. Maybe he'll keep the arrow as a souvenir…
Blue is lying crumpled on the ground as Stephen approaches him, the arrow still sticking out of his throat, and his eyes open and fixed on the sky above.
"Blue, hold on! I'll heal you, like you healed me!" Stephen puts his hands on the Dunmer's chest and lets his healing magic flow. "Come on, Blue! Wakey, wakey! WAKE UP, YOU STUPID ELF!"
He feels himself being pulled off of Blue's body. "You waste your time and energy." Walks-The-World has turned the boy to face him, his hands like iron bands on Stephen's head. "He's gone."
Stephen rage and grief overwhelm him, and he turns both on Walks-The-World. "It's your fault! You were stupid enough to get captured! He'd still be alive if it wasn't for you!"
Walks gives him a look of sorrow in return. "I know this. If I could trade my life for his and return him to you, I would. But no gods would accept such a poor bargain. I am sorry." The Argonian reaches over and removes the arrow from Blue's throat, and runs a hand down his face, closing his eyes. "Azura keep you, my beloved brother. Forgive me…"
Stephen shakes his head, knowing that it's not really Walks' fault, but can't speak. He is not a crier: his mother beat his tears out of him long ago, but he starts to cry now, to wail and scream at the sky, and Walks joins in with him. They hold each other, with Blue's body between them, and no one hears their hearts breaking except the carrion birds already circling overhead.
"We buried him, and…we buried the stash with him. We couldn't touch it after that, didn't want it. Maybe someday someone will find his body and the bloody fortune we left with it. I hope not for a while though. Blue deserves some peace."
"Stephen, I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to say." Erik looks at his hands, as if the answer is written there.
"Walks and I just had each other after that. He forgave me for blaming him at first, and we stayed around Burma. We said the loot was still good, but the truth is that neither one of us wanted to leave Blue's body yet. He was still our mate, still one of us. We were there for a while, then I noticed Walks looking kind of distracted. He finally told me that he'd left his home in Black Marsh when he was a hatchling, changed his name from An-Zee to Walks-The-World, and decided to do just that. He said he had family there, and wanted to see them again.
"I'd already got the itch in my shoes to go to Skyrim, and we decided we'd both do what we wanted. Split up for a little bit. We made an agreement to meet up in Riften in a year and see if the Thieves Guild would have us. So Walks headed for home and I headed for the border…you know the rest.
"It has to be getting close to that year mark…"
"Almost. Truth is, Erik, I am planning on meeting him there. Not to join the Guild, but I've got a lot to tell him. I need to make him understand why I can't go back to that life. I owe him that: I owe him a lot more than that, but I can't just leave him wondering what happened to me. He already lost Blue, and if he's going to lose me too he needs to know why, and that I'm not angry at him…"
"So it's back to Riften, then." Erik sighs. "You couldn't have picked a nicer place to meet up with him? No, I suppose not. Well, I want to meet him. You said it yourself, he helped save your life. I have to thank him for that."
Stephen embraces Erik tightly, to the Nord's surprise. "Do you think he can see me? Do you think he knows?"
Erik understands what Stephen is asking. "I think he's probably very proud. Come on, let's head back to Dragon Bridge. I'm famished and we didn't bring enough to spend the night."
Stephen nods, and Erik helps him to his feet, hanging the ebony axe from his belt. They walk toward the entrance of the cave and the make-shift door the bandits have set up, when something on the floor catches the Nord's eye. He bends down and picks it up, seeing that it's a crude wooden carving of some kind of animal…
"What's that?" Stephen peers into Eriks' hand.
Erik turns the carving over. "It's a skeever. See? The tail, and the pointy noise…"
Stephen stares for a long moment at the wooden rodent. "May I…have that?" He asks softly.
Erik silently hands it over, and Stephen tucks it into his pocket next to the rock.
So much to do, Blue. So many people wanting so many things from me. Please be proud.
As they exit the cave, the wind is blowing wildly around them. Stephen hears it whistling through the trees, and for a moment it seems to form words.
Always, lil' Skeever. Always.