A/N: Some locations have been expanded on, made bigger. Explanations will be given as needed
The tunnels beneath Riften were not a place most people would willingly enter. It was a dangerous maze of dark corridors lit only by the occasional flickering candle, cold and damp and unforgiving. Those foolish enough to descend into the Ratway are often found floating in the canals in the days following, if they are found at all, having fallen prey to the traps set for the unwary, stripped of valuables by the desperate inhabitants of the treacherous halls. The single entrance to the tunnels was a rusty gate, nearly obscured by the ivy that climbed the stone foundations of the city along the canals.
Yet for those who knew the tunnels and had the skills to survive them, this place was a haven, away from the prying eyes of the guards above. The wretches and traps of the maze served as a defense for those that didn't wish to be found.
The city itself had long been deemed unpleasant, despite its favorable location in the Rift. The once prosperous city had fallen on hard times, and the reputation of the city's most famous inhabitants scared away many travelers. Those with the money moved to better prospects, and those that didn't did the best with what was left.
The city on the lake was quiet, clouds obscuring the sister moons in the sky. A few flickering torches illuminated the streets of Riften, a few hardy torchbugs and moths fluttering quietly around the dim light of the hanging lanterns. Long past midnight, the guards no longer patrolled the streets, instead leaning against the wooden walls of the buildings, trying to stave off sleep as they stayed close to the warmth of the fires against the early autumn chill.
The guards of Goldenglow Estate were no exception. They still patrolled the winding paths and small bridges with swords ready – they had been too well paid not to – but their eyes were clouded with sleep, ears dull against the peaceful lull of crickets
They didn't notice when in the middle of the lake, something disturbed the calm surface, ripples shattering the moons' reflections into a thousand glittering points. A moment later a lone figure crawled up the bank, slowly as to not draw attention with errant movement. In the shadow of the dock she pressed herself flat against the rock wall, trained ears listening to the sounds of the night, picking out the quiet shuffle of feet, the clank of armor, an occasional cough from torch smoke.
She scaled the craggy rock wall after a moment's pause, nimble fingers easily finding purchase in the tiny crevices, keeping her steady even as her worn leather boots slipped on the wet stone. She scrambled up to the wooden bulwark, risking a quick peek over the ledge. With no one in sight she ducked back under the dock. The thief whistled, long and low, the sound merging with the other noises of the night.
A guard in a nearby watchtower started at the sound, peering into the dark with tired eyes for the source. "Did you hear that?" He asked lowly, putting down his cards uneasily as he stood.
"It's just an owl." The other man grumbled, far more interested in trying to get a peek at his partner's cards while he was distracted. "Relax, kid."
The younger guard paused, looking back out into the dark uneasily. He was no fool; he knew what an owl sounded like, and that wasn't it. Not quite. But if his partner wasn't worried…
He shrugged, turning back to the game in time to see the other man pull an ace out of his sleeve. The indignant yell drowned out the low sloshing of water as two more figures scrambled out from under the dock.
Rune looked up towards the sound of fighting and smiled behind his mask. "Couldn't have asked for a better distraction."
"Could've asked for a bit less time in the lake." Dar'Ranir grumbled, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he shook the water out of his fur. "This one will smell like green water for days."
"You'll get used to it." Rune replied cheerfully, craning his neck to get a better look at the quickly growing brawl above them.
"Will you two shut up?" Vex hissed from her perch. "That won't keep them busy for long."
"You sure about that?" Rune grinned, mock wincing as the table crashed to the ground. Heavy footfalls thudded on the dock above them as the fight drew the attention of more guards. Rune chuckled lowly as he fell into step behind the two other thieves.
The three crossed the now largely abandoned island quickly, the wet sand of the beach muffling their light footsteps. Still, even with the guards occupied, the thieves didn't dare let their guard down. Complacency would cost them dearly tonight. The Guild's entire future rested on this heist. Every breath of wind, every creak of the wooden docks set them on edge. They clung to the shadows, their mottled grey gear merging with the shifting patterns of moonlight and cloud on the rocky shores of the island.
"You'd better be sure about this sewer, Rune." Dar'Ranir hissed lowly.
"I wouldn't have brought it up in the Flagon if I wasn't." the Imperial snapped back, the nerves chipping away at his regular cheer. The Guild's reputation might've not had the same weight it used to, but money still talked; the right amount to the right guard, and the records hall in the Jarl's keep would be unattended at just the right time. Finding and copying the map of the estate had been unbelievably simple. "It's just ahead."
Dar'Ranir huffed, his answering quip silenced by the creak of footsteps on the dock above them. The three thieves froze, years of training clamping down on the base impulse to dart for cover. They scarcely dared to breathe as the guard paused overhead, tired senses reaching out into the dark at the feeling that something wasn't right. But seeing nothing, hearing nothing other than the sound of waves and the last crickets of fall, he shrugged and moved to the welcoming warmth and light of the nearby guard tower.
Dar'Ranir was the first to move, navigating the craggy wall with a speed and grace the two Imperials simply couldn't match. At the top he paused, sensitive ears trained for the slightest hint of danger. Sensing none, he hauled himself onto the ledge and darted under the dock where, as promised, the sewer entrance waited, hidden by the wooden dock and set in the moss covered exposed bedrock of the island. He grinned, sharp teeth flashing, as he motioned for his accomplices to join him.
The ancient lock, not even worth picking, was easily pried off with a sharp twist of Vex's dagger. Rusty hinges protested sharply as the old grate swung open. Dar'Ranir gagged as the offensive smell of raw sewage and rot assaulted his sensitive nose, and he pulled the bandana around his neck up in an attempt to shield himself from the smell.
"Meet back here in an hour." Vex ordered as she and the grimacing Khajiit climbed into the sewer. "Hit the hives just before then to clear out the guards."
Rune nodded, easing the grate shut behind them as the two disappeared into the murk of the sewer. He glanced at Masser's position in the sky above him before settling against the cold stone wall under the dock to wait.
Time crawled at snail's pace, the half hour, then three-quarter hour seeming to last an age as Rune sat waiting for his fellow thieves. The island was dark and quiet, the guard rotation having passed and the torches burning low. No crickets chirped, only wind sighing through the trees, waves softly lapping against the stones.
Yet to the Imperial, the silence was deafening. His strained nerves flinched at the barest whisper of a sound, searching for the echo of footsteps in the tunnel next to him, the running of guards above him, anything to tell him what was happening. He was a good thief; he knew how to be patient, to listen and wait. But too much was riding in this heist, and too much could go wrong.
He rose, stifling a groan as his muscles protested the action, stiff from sitting in the cold and wet. His leather armor itched and clung to his lean frame uncomfortably as he crept back cross the island. A lone thief moved faster than three, and he circled the main island quickly, nearly soundless on the sandy shore. A quick glance to the bridge above him showed no sign of guards, and he carefully stepped into the dark water under the bridge, gritting his teeth as his boots filled and his feet instantly numbed. Timing his steps with the low crashing of waves on the shore, he waded the short distance to the smaller island through the knee deep water, peering up through the gaps in the planks for some sign of the guards.
The island housing Aringoth's precious hives rose higher above the lake than the main island, the bank steeper and less rocky, muddier. He scrambled up, biting back a curse as a few stones fell free of the mud and into the lake below, the splashes painfully loud in the stillness of the night. He froze, heart in his throat as he dangled from the ledge, ears straining for the sound of footsteps and yelling guards. Seconds passed, and he risked a quick movement, hauling himself up and darting behind the wall that protected the hives from the elements. He waited, fighting to steady his breath and racing heart. Nothing came for him, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was listening before crawling out from behind the wall towards the hives.
Sparks danced between his fingers as he summoned what little magic he had – barely more than a parlor trick, but it would do the job. The tiny flames licked harmlessly over the leather of his gloves, the heat a welcome relief to his cold-numbed hands.
The tiny hairs on the back of his neck rose suddenly, and a chill that had nothing to do with the autumn night crept down his spine. It was a feeling honed from years of living on the edge of a blade, an innate sense trickling into his brain and blood from his animal hindbrain.
Something was wrong.
Something was very wrong.
Rune's head snapped up at yelling from the main island, the flames dying in his hands as his concentration broke. Dying torches flared to life suddenly all at once - a guard gifted with magic? - as outside the grand house dogs bayed in alarm, the hired mercenaries shouted orders from inside. The island exploded into action, and a crushing weight settled over the Imperial.
Vex and Dar'Ranir had been caught.
The sharp shattering of glass caught Rune's attention in time to see a figure come crashing out of a second story window. It landed gracelessly, and Rune's trained eyes could barely make out the dark figure in the gloom as it rose and lurched desperately toward the shore.
Above it, still inside the house, a second figure struggled in the grip of another, two dark silhouettes against the light inside. The thief - Dar'Ranir, Rune realized, as the Khajiit turned and the shadow of his tail showed - broke free of the guard and fell heavily out the shattered window, landing with a painful thud, and didn't get up.
Vex paused at the shore, looking back towards her partner. She turned, a second's hesitation, her own fear and self-preservation warring with her loyalty to her Guildmate.
The decision was made for her as the hounds reached him first.
Rune watched in horror as the dogs descended on his friend, the Khajiit's harsh screams rising over snarls and barks. The hounds were ruthless, trained to kill on command, without hesitation or mercy. Rune could barely make out Dar'Ranirs's struggling form under the mass of dogs. Time seemed to slow as they tore at the Khajiit, teeth and claws ripping through leather and skin. Dar'Ranir's screams cut off sharply as blood sprayed, some of it splattering on an illuminated window above him.
From the corner of his eye Rune saw Vex dive into the lake, but he stayed rooted in place, watching the guards surround what was left of Dar'Ranir.
A yell from far too close jarred his instincts into action even as his mind was still frozen. Rune barely registered the steps that carried him to the water's edge, the jump that sent him into the murky water. The shocking cold finally dragged his senses back to the present as he dove beneath the surface, practiced stealth pushed aside for survival. He cried out, mouth filling with water, spasming at a stabbing pain in his shoulder. He kept going, lungs burning and arm in agony, struggling to the far side of the lake, not daring to break the surface until his fingers brushed the gentle rise of sand at the shore.
Rune dragged himself onto the muddy shore, the movement jostling the imbedded arrow and sending fresh white-hot flares of pain through his shoulder. A thin trail of blood followed him up the shore. The exhausted thief collapsed on his uninjured side with a groan, pulling off his mask and allowing himself a moment to catch his breath.
Rocks clattered down around him from the ledge, and Rune was immediately on his feet in a low crouch, dagger in hand.
"Crows, Vex." He breathed, relaxing slightly as the blonde Imperial skidded down the bank next to him. Vex didn't respond, wordlessly folding herself down onto the sand next to him. She raised a brow at the arrow, her fingers barely brushing the exposed shaft in his back in a silent question. Rune nodded, and winced when the wood snapped just above the skin, jostling the bit still in his arm painfully. Rune fell back on his haunches next to Vex. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them as they stared out over the lake, heavy with the weight of what had just happened.
Dar'Ranir was dead. The Goldenglow heist had failed.
A silent question crept into the air between them, one they were both afraid of: What happens now?
The sun was starting to rise over the Velothi Mountains, the eastern sky lightening to blue and grey behind the jagged peaks. The lights of Goldenglow seemed almost mocking in the south, and past the estate, Riften started to wake, a single column of smoke rising from the Keep's kitchens.
Deep in the Ratway, Rune stared at the floor of the Ragged Flagon, watching water slowly drip from his soaked gear into a growing puddle on the filthy stone floor. He sat frozen in his chair, too scared to even flinch as Delvin's calloused hands brushed over the wound as he nearly wrapped Rune's shoulder, the bandages gradually covering the now stitched, jagged hole the arrow had torn through the muscle in his upper arm.
Distantly he could hear Vex's shrill yelling, and the lower bass of Brynjolf's voice. In the pauses between them Rune could only imagine Mercer's words, glacial tones he couldn't hear, but swore he could feel through the layers of stone and wood between them.
In the two years since he'd joined, Rune had never seen Mercer so angry. Neither had Brynjolf in his time, if the older thief's stony expression upon their arrival was any indication. The Guild's second-in-command had quickly ushered Vex into Mercer's office, muttering a low warning to the blonde before calling Delvin to patch Rune up before putting himself in front of Vex like a shield as she headed into the office. A low command, a growl that made the hairs on the back of Rune's neck stand, from the smaller room cut him off. Brynjolf's lips pressed in a thin line and he shook his head at Delvin before turning to Rune.
Rune hadn't heard a word Brynjolf had said to him. He'd watched Mercer the whole time through the open office door, like a deer caught in the eyes of a wolf.
Mercer didn't say anything, not at first. He didn't have to. His rage was palpable, raising already high tensions. The gathered thieves cleared out immediately; they couldn't read Mercer's moods like Brynjolf could - no one could, save for one other Guild member - but they knew the actions of the Guild Second. When Brynjolf moved toward the two battered and exhausted thieves, the others quickly found somewhere else to be.
The main door of the Cistern slammed shut behind Sapphire, and a harsh silence settled over the remaining thieves. Mercer stood at his desk, utterly still and silent. His face was a mask, the only outward indication of his fury blazing in his grey eyes, cold and dark and unforgiving as the Sea of Ghosts.
The tension in the room had been suffocating. Vex kept her head raised high, back ramrod straight as she met Mercer's gaze. Her entire frame trembled with rage or fear or cold, Rune couldn't tell. The younger Imperial just stood frozen, his mouth drier than sand, wishing the gates of Oblivion would open beneath him and swallow him.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Rune flinched when Mercer's low voice cut through the silence and over their nerves like a rusty blade, barely more than a whisper, ground cadences hissing from behind clenched teeth.
That was when Brynjolf had cut in. "It's not their fault." He said sharply, briefly drawing the Guildmaster's venomous glare away from the two younger thieves. "There's no way we could have known -"
"I don't need you to make excuses, Brynjolf." Mercer growled, and Rune flinched even though it wasn't directed at him. He froze when Mercer's attention turned back to Vex. Divines, the man looked predatory. "You overestimated your ability." He hissed. "You should have known, but you got careless and sloppy. A rookie mistake from one of our supposed best."
Vex didn't respond. Rune wasn't sure she could – she didn't even seem to be breathing. Then Mercer turned his glare to him.
The young man had finally moved then, jarred by a flaring pain in his shoulder, allowing Delvin to all but drag him out of the Cistern.
A door slammed somewhere, causing Delvin to look up warily. The younger thief didn't move, still numb from their return. Rune didn't know how much time had passed since then, only that Vex hadn't come back, and the loss of another thief was the least of their problems.
"What do you expect me to tell them? This isn't what we asked them to do." Brynjolf snapped. He'd stopped trying to remain neutral, and now scowled openly at the Guildmaster, his usually warm green eyes hard, arms tightly crossed against his chest.
"They knew the risks coming into the Guild." Mercer replied coolly, staring down at the map on his desk, a blackjack imbedded in the wood squarely in the middle of Lake Honrich, as if he could force an answer to appear from the parchment by force of will alone, tension written in every line of his body.
Brynjolf's grim scowl, if possible, deepened. "Not like this. The Guild hasn't tried a job like this in years, and we don't have the resources –"
"Which is why we cannot abandon this." Mercer bit out, looking up at Brynjolf for the first time since Vex had stormed out of the room. "We must find a way. We've already lost too much."
"You think I don't know that? Those are my people you're sending out there – " And now we've lost another. Fuck. Dar'Ranir had only been with the Guild for three months, assigned as Vex's partner just a few weeks ago. He'd shown real promise, more than the last four initiates combined. He'd mentioned a sister once that traveled with one of the merchant caravans; maybe he could convince Delvin to send word.
"My people," Mercer snapped, a dangerous gleam in his grey eyes, "and I will do with them as I see fit."
"Sending them on suicide missions?" Brynjolf stared at Mercer incredulously, his voice growing harsher. "Even you wouldn't –"
"Are you questioning me?" Mercer's voice was like ice, and Brynjolf's words immediately dropped. As second-in-command, the limits he could push with Mercer were higher, but he knew he was dangerously close to crossing that line. "I will do whatever it takes to restore this guild. My people," Mercer emphasized, "including you, swore to do the same. Whatever it takes." He repeated. Brynjolf didn't respond, but met the Guildmaster's eyes coldly. The two men stared at each other wordlessly, the tension mounting like a storm.
"And what do we have to show for it? Another dead thief." Brynjolf forced out. "How many bodies are you going to throw at this before you admit that you might be wrong?"
Something flashed in Mercer's cold eyes, something dark and very dangerous, and suddenly Brynjolf was afraid he's pushed too far. Neither thief moved for a long moment.
Finally something shifted, and Mercer sighed, running a hand through his greying hair as he straightened. He still barely came up to eye level of the burly Nord across from him. "If we had a choice, this wouldn't be my first." His expression didn't change, the hard planes, weathered by age and the stress of years of trying to hold together a dying Guild, still set in a permanent grim scowl, but his voice softened by a fraction of a degree. It wasn't an apology, but he sounded almost regretful. "But you know that this job is the Guild's only option. We cannot abandon this."
Brynjolf's shoulders sagged in resignation. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What do we do now?"
"Reach out to our contacts in the garrison. I want this kept quiet for as long as possible." Mercer said immediately. Brynjolf nodded. He'd expected as much; the last thing they needed was news of this getting out. "Then send word to Windhelm." Realization dawned quickly on Brynjolf's face, and the tight knot in his stomach loosened slightly. "Since Vex has proven herself incapable," Mercer ground out, turning back to the map, "We're going to try a different approach."