Chronology:

Winter in Riften

Learning the Hard Way

Taking a Sick Day

The Shadow's Reach

The road from Riften looked bleak in the early morning light, promising a long journey. The stable boy had finished saddling her horse, and Prim led the animal the first few steps down the path. Its spotted coat was what had originally drawn her eye and led to the purchase—that and the horse's eager attitude. Even now, he tugged at the reins, urging her to mount so they might be off, and making her smile. He would serve her well, although she would perhaps leave him in Whiterun on the return journey from Solitude. Farkas would be sure to regularly run the animal in the countryside, being more mindful of his care than herself.

"You're all set, lass?"

She hoisted her traveling pack with a smile.

"All set," she echoed.

Brynjolf stood beside her in his merchant's garb, breath frosty and green eyes sparkling. He'd wanted to join her on the trip, but Mercer had given him other directives since she would already be joining another thief near Solitude.

"I could have gotten you the horse for free," he commented.

"But I want to keep this one stabled here, I think. Quilt. Such a cute name." She scratched the horse's mane, and grinned when he bumped his head against hers. "I wish you were coming along," she said. "It's going to be a long ride."

"Aye, but the guild's more vulnerable than ever with this business. Trust me, lass. I wish I were going with you too, but I'm needed here. Maven is a bit upset right now."

"Is that why Mercer was in such a foul mood?"

They walked a bit further down the road, away from the city walls and any prying ears. Trees towered above them, bare and skeletal against a white sky.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about it," Brynjolf confided. "One of Maven's shipments disappeared on the way to Winterhold. She doesn't blame us, of course. It was probably bandits, but any cut in profits makes her temper short, and she's demanding more from the guild in turn. Mercer won't have any of it, and when those two throw down gauntlets, it's never pretty."

"I didn't know," she mused. She'd sensed Mercer's darkened mood the last few days, but hadn't known its source. She'd thought it was his lingering sickness, but apparently not. She wasn't even certain that anyone in the guild realized he'd been bedridden for a few days, during which he'd been restless and strangely peaceful by turn. Confusing man. At least he hadn't bitten her head off for returning to Riftweald with a potion and food each morning. The thought even made her smile, the key to his home tucked snuggly beneath her armor. He hadn't said a word about it yet.

Brynjolf gave her shoulder a pat, drawing her from thought.

"Just focus on the mission," he advised her. "And be mindful of pushing him. You have a special way of antagonizing him, lass. He's already going gray. No need to hasten it."

"He goes out of his way to make things difficult for me," she retorted.

"Oh, I know," Brynjolf smiled. "I never know what will happen when the two of you cross paths. I just don't want you to make the mistake of pushing him too far—for your own sake and his. If you haven't noticed, most in the guild don't speak to him unless it's strictly business. It shouldn't be that way, lass. It really shouldn't." His smile dimmed, tainted by something unnamed. "Delvin's been here longer than me, and I can't tell you the last time he and Mercer just sat down and talked. It's like..."

Brynjolf didn't often show worry, but Prim read it in his stance. The man crossed arms over his chest, a breeze playing with his hair while he considered the Rift's forested crests. This was lovely countryside, too lovely to be spoiled by dampened spirits. She didn't want to set off this way, and yearned to reassure Brynjolf somehow, yet there was nothing to say. He was right. Mercer had never sat down with them in the Flagon to chat or play games, bullshit and talk shop, and when he did appear, he was more observer than participant.

"I don't want to warn you off, lass. I think it does everyone good to see him talking with more than just me on a regular basis. I just want you to be careful."

"Sometimes it doesn't really feel like he's with us," she quietly mused.

"I wish it were otherwise, but that's how he is," Brynjolf shrugged, his weary expression suggesting to Prim that he'd done his share trying to change the man. Sometimes the two talked like old friends, and sometimes she sensed conflict between them, two opposites in personality and thought trying to run the guild together. "Even when I was a footpad," Brynjolf told her, "he didn't involve himself with anyone beyond guild business very often. The old guildmaster, Gallus, agreed to take me on after Mercer caught me filching food. I was only twelve at the time. Mercer was his second in command. He spent time in the Flagon with everyone back then, but preferred working alone. He was always a bit distant."

"When did Mercer take over?"

"When Gallus was murdered. I was just a wee thing when we met. Mercer called me rat tail. Taught me to pick locks, and took me on jobs sometimes. One time, he had to save my ass because I wasn't tall enough to climb over a wall after him." Prim could imagine a younger Mercer scowling and lifting Brynjolf by his britches, reprimanding him for being short. Her grin matched Brynjolf's. "I'll tell you all about it when you're back," he promised.

"Oh, I think this story might be worth hearing now."

"I could regale you with stories all day, lass, but you've got a job to do. I've delayed you long enough. When you get back. I promise."

Prim swung up onto Quilt, and stared down at Brynjolf. He was holding out a wrapped bundle to her, a quick toss of fabric revealing a hot honey roll.

"For the road."

"You're the best," she winked, biting into the pastry and wobbling when Quilt unexpectedly took off. She waved over her shoulder while fumbling for the reins, Brynjolf's laughter following her down the road.

Solitude's stables were perched below the city's main entrance, peacefully overlooking the road that wound south into Skyrim's heartland. The stone and wood structures were simple and to Prim's liking, unlike the massive walls under which she would pass tomorrow or tonight perhaps. It had been a long time since she'd entered a city of this size and grandeur. The towers and sweeping mansions of such places were almost unheard of in Skyrim, even Markath, which was more of an inhabited ruin. She would concern herself with that later, once she found the thief who was supposedly waiting for her.

"Welcome, traveler!" a Nord greeted.

"I am expected, I believe?" she probed. "By a Henric?"

"Ah, Henric. Yes. He's got a room on the second floor. My wife can show you the way."

Prim handed off Quilt's reins and marched inside, glad to be near a fire. The master's wife led her to a small room, and supplied a tray of hot food, all expenses having been paid in advance. She wondered at that since this Henric was supposedly an associate of the guild and a thief in his own right. She would have expected him to be hiding in the forest somewhere, nabbing sweet rolls from travelers and inns.

"Hello?"

She knocked on the door, and cautiously invited herself inside when there was no answer. A hooded figure knelt by the room's bed, a small statue with outstretched arms on the floor before him. Candlelight shone across its ebony surface and delicate, feminine features. This couldn't be the right room, but Prim remained frozen in the doorway with the tray in her hands. A shiver raced up her spine when the man began chanting.

Back out of the room. Close the door...

"So you have arrived." The man's voice was a gentle tenor, and when he turned to face her, she could she see that he was a Nord. Red curls framed his face, a splash of freckles across youthful cheeks.

"Are you Henric?"

"I am."

"In that case, I came as quickly as I could. Prim." She extended a hand that he stared at a long moment before accepting.

"You came alone?" he questioned.

"Were you expecting someone else?"

"I communicated with Mercer. I thought he might come as well given his personal investment in the matter. Although," he gently smiled. "I suppose that has yet to be determined."

Prim did not understand his comment, and quietly sealed the door as she calculated the risk of being alone with this stranger. He was gently wrapping his statue and tucking it inside a bag. Nocturnal, she realized. She did not think it particularly wise to trust a daedra worshiper.

"Do you also honor our lady of the night?" Henric questioned.

What in Oblivion was this man about? Prim stalled, studying his serious visage.

"No," she simply answered. "Is there a reason you'd think that?"

"You are in the guild. I thought perhaps you might. I suppose the atmosphere is less...pious with someone like your current leader. He never cared for her. Few do beneath their skin. Those of us who are devout are rarities."

Such strong statements, but this man was clearly young, perhaps younger than herself. How much could he possibly know of Mercer Frey and the guild?

"I don't think he's particularly pious about anything," she tried to joke. "And daedra don't want devotion so much as blood from everything I've seen. I wouldn't entrust my fate to such fickle beings, no offense."

"You are very blunt," he spoke, eventually smiling. "I am not one to judge. Perhaps you are even the wiser between us. Many share your view, though they swear her allegiance. Better to never get involved than get involved and think you'll outwit the game."

She didn't know what to make of this man and his strange words, and wanted to drop the subject entirely, intriguing as it was. Did the guild have some sort of connection with Nocturnal? Surely Brynjolf would have mentioned it in their many conversations.

"So about this Gulum-Ei," she redirected.

"Ah, him. I have all the information you need. You can handle the rest. I will be waiting here when you are finished."

"You're not coming with me?"

"I have gathered everything for you in advance, but dare not show myself in the city, not this one. I have been gathering information for Mercer for several weeks now, not just here. I will intervene only if you need assistance."

"Should I expect difficulties?" she questioned.

"There have been shadows as of late," he frowned. "I would have entrusted Mercer with all information in advance, but I fear that some of my correspondences were intercepted before reaching Riften. I thought it best to wait for you. These shadows...I have yet to see one clearly, but they are here. I do not know if there is only one, or if they take turns watching me. Sometimes I think Nocturnal has turned a blind eye to me. "

Typical daedra, Prim darkly thought. Hircine wasn't much better, and she'd certainly never considered praying to or honoring him. She was bound to him through her beast blood, nothing more.

"They have probably already noticed your presence," Henric continued. "You must be careful."

"Tell me everything you know."

He sat on the bed, and patted the mattress. It was only with reluctance that she joined him, and he opened a map across their laps. It was a layout of the city, his finger moving across it as he rattled off information at an alarming rate. The man was thorough, detailed to a fault, and by the time she left to find Gulum-Ei, her head overflowed with information, but it was not the warehouse guards or the night watch, or even the blasted confines of the city itself that occupied her thoughts. Rather, Henric's parting words crawled through her skull.

"There is much at stake here, and I am not convinced we are on the right side. Don't forget that the guild has a much longer history than you know. Is your loyalty to yourself, the guild, or something else? You must bear that in mind. The shadows watch."

"One odd man," she muttered beneath her breath.

He'd even insisted on blessing her in Nocturnal's name, slipping a black ribbon around her wrist as a symbol of the unwanted blessing. Divines, but she couldn't wait to get back to Riften. She passed beneath Solitude's entrance with every nerve in her body afire. There were so many crevices, alleys, and shadows, and whoever they were could be anywhere, if they were even real. By the time she reached the inn where Gulum-Ei liked to drink, she was almost as paranoid at Henric.