It was Fredas, and Mel hated it. Today was her day off, the day that the Guild would loaf around and hang out in the Flagon, the boldest of them taking a dip in the musty water of the cistern as if it were a day on the water in Elsweyr. Now, it was nothing of the sort. She was trekking through the gloomy landscape of High Rock, and she hated it. Her mouth hadn't tasted mead in months and she was parched for more companionship than what Karliah, quiet and reserved, could offer. Mel wanted the loud cries of laughter, the jesting, the tomfoolery of her Guild. After years of living in caves, she found all she ever craved now was excitement, and that's all the Guild ever was.
Karliah noticed her moping as they crossed into Stormhaven and nudged her friend in the stomach, laughing uncertainly. "You're not making for very good company, grumpy," she said. Mel barely acknowledged her with a grunt and shifted her pack on her shoulder. After a moment, the snow elf asked, "are we almost there? My feet are killin' me."
Karliah gazed at her for a moment before turning her attention to the map in her hands. She carefully unfurled it and squinted, following a messy trail of ink with her finger. "We're… here," she muttered, her finger stopping at a point in between two mountains. Mel looked up and around, finally noticing the giant landscapes surrounding them. She found herself lost in the high snowy peaks as she walked, remembering Skyrim. Again.
"Aha!" Karliah said, reaching the end of the trail. "Not too far now, actually." She rolled up the map and tucked it back into her knapsack, looking satisfied. They walked on for a while, eventually coming to a traveling caravan stopped at the side of the road. Four Khajiit milled about, mumbling, setting up shop, and Mel watched them with interest as they approached.
"'Liah," Mel said quietly, as if about to ask her mother for permission, "can we stop and see if they have any sweet rolls?"
Karliah chuckled, turning to face Mel. "Of course," she said kindly, her eyes holding a warm affection. "I know this is hard for you, what with your addiction to sugar, and all." Mel smiled.
Melrae felt the turned Falmer searching for her, their blind eyelids twitching and their mouths dribbling wet with saliva. Ravenous beasts, once elves that looked just like her, elves who were her friends, her family. Her ferocious, ugly brethren groped for her form, yearning to cannibalize her, for she was no longer one of them, and she felt herself screaming. She knew that she was giving her hiding place away, luring them further into what once was her bedroom, now a pillaged mess of memories, regrets. But she just couldn't stop wailing. Her world had been transformed into this horror in front of her, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't right.
Suddenly, someone was shaking her. Get up, get up! they said, willing her to fight, to defend herself and the last remains of her now sullied childhood. She felt herself stand and start throwing wild punches, her screams transforming into angry cries. Get away from me! I don't care who you were, I'll kill you! Get away! In her flurry of violence, someone snatched at her hands and managed to grab a wrist. She panicked: a Falmer had caught her, and was going to kill her. She was going to die. The scene dissolved though, and, instead of a grimacing, mutated creature bearing its nasty teeth, she found herself face to face with Brynjolf, who looked aghast.
"I…" Mel said, her eyes searching his, confused. "Wh…where am I?" She was breathless, heaving, and she wasn't even laying down; she was sitting totally upright in bed, one of her arms gripped in Brynjolf's hand, the other hanging in midair, frozen in action. She glanced around and in her post-sleep haze she saw that she was in the cistern, and every head in every bed was turned toward her, watching. She looked back to Brynjolf and his facial features swam in her vision, twisting and morphing until finally, settling where they were supposed to be. She cleared her throat, lowered her free arm, and inclined her head to Brynjolf as if to say, 'give me back my other one'. He let go and grinned sheepishly.
"Someone had to keep you from beating the whole Guild up, Lass," he said quietly, his teasing laced with something else. Fear? Pity? No- concern. "You were…" he paused, looking for words. "You were hysterical." He regarded Mel carefully, then muttered, "these nosy brats won't stop starin', you wan' go to the other room?" He jerked his head toward the nearby lockpick room and made a face, shrugging. She looked over his shoulder and saw that Karliah, too, was staring; Mel's stomach dropped, and she turned back to Brynjolf, her face hard. She nodded.
Brynjolf reached out and gently took her hand, guiding her out of her bed. The people around them shifted and mumbled at the movement, suddenly busying themselves with going back to bed, complete with theatrical yawning and stretching. As Brynjolf and Mel exited the cistern, Mel turned and sneered at them all before making an 'I'm watching you' gesture with her fingers. She saw Delvin chuckle and felt herself smile. Brynjolf nudged her into the room and shut the door behind them, cutting off her view.
Brynjolf led her to a haystack and they both sat, him looking mildly uncomfortable, her looking ashamed. He was the first to speak. "Mel, do you want me to tell you what happened?" he asked.
"Not especially," Mel said, her tone bitter. She had a guess as to what had happened and didn't really want to hear it coming out of the mouth of a respected friend. She had already caught Karliah gawking in the cistern and hardly wanted to endure any more emotional gut punches. But, she sighed, and nodded. "Fine. I don't really want to hear it, but I would like to know."
Brynjolf tilted his head to look at her, then glanced away, to the floor. "Well, you started screamin'. Woke everyone up, no one was sure what to do. At first, we thought someone had broken in and started wreakin' havoc or something," he paused, cursing his word choice in his head, but Mel didn't say anything, just looked up at him, waiting. "Karliah went to get up, but she had such a rough day yesterday with the Windhelm job that I implored her to go back to sleep, said I'd see to you myself. 'Course, I don't think anyone wanted to go back to sleep without knowing you were alright. Anyway," he ran a hand through his hair, eyes bouncing from locked chest to locked chest, anywhere but her face, "eventually I told you to wake up, and then you just started punching. Narrowly missed my nose by about a hair." He measured a tiny distance between his thumb and forefinger, looking at her for a laugh. She only gave him a mild smile, not meeting his eyes. He lowered his hand and continued, "And you were yellin' garbled threats, sayin' you were goin' to kill me, so, ah, I grabbed one of your hands, couldn't catch both of 'em 'cause they were goin' so fast, so I settled for one. Then, you woke up."
A long moment passed where the both of them avoided the others' eyes. "I'm sorry," she eventually sighed, her voice low and defeated.
"Why are you sorry?" he asked, looking dismayed. When she didn't answer, he moved his arm over her shoulders and leaned in. "Melrae?"
She peeked up at him, her eyes teary. "I've made a damn jester out of myself, Bryn."
"Oh, no you haven't," he scolded lightly, frowning. "Those fools out there may've been ogling you, but they don't know any better, they're all thievin' idiots. Underneath that flawed curiosity, they all have love for you, Mel." He beamed, jostled her a little, willing her to look at him. She did. "You're our lil' snow angel, of course. A little kickin' and screamin' won't scare none of us away. If anything, we welcome it." She didn't say anything, just smiled at him, and they watched each other like that for a while, the dim candlelight of the room flickering against their tired faces.
After a while, she whispered, "thanks, Bryn," and he saw that her cheeks were now streaked with tears. He squeezed her and leaned his head against hers, and they both sat like that for so long that they fell asleep. The candlelight twinkled out into darkness. The cistern grew quiet again.
After Mel had secured herself at least five sweet rolls, much to the dismay of Karliah's coin pouch, they set off. As Mel munched noisily on her treats, Karliah again consulted the map, chewing her bottom lip.
"Now… assuming we haven't lost any more allies outside of Skyrim," she started, and Mel paused in chewing, feeling wistful. "I know a Breton in Wayrest who knew Gallus before the guild, and during. Most of his life, actually. Might know where he is."
Mel polished off the rest of her roll, feeling as if they were fighting a losing battle. "It's like we're just grasping at illusions," she said somberly, reaching to her belt and unhooking a canteen. After taking a swig, she sighed. "That rat Mercer says one thing and the entire world as we know it is swayed in his favor." She felt bitter, remembering the reactions of her friends: the cries of distress, the accusing eyes. So easy to turn on them both.
Karliah stopped walking and turned so promptly to face Mel that the smaller elf startled and almost tripped over her own feet to the ground. Karliah's eyes were distant, and so was her voice, almost to the point of delusion, or paranoia. It was so unlike the Dark Elf to act this way, Mel's previous thoughts about their journey being fruitless became amplified in her head. If her unwavering, confident companion was feeling lost, how was Mel supposed to feel? Karliah grabbed Mel by the shoulders, looked her in the eyes, and asked, "Mel… do you know whether or not he's alive?"
Melrae swallowed, returning her canteen slowly to her belt, and reached out to Karliah's arm, guiding her cautiously off the road. She had been expecting this for quite some time, but was still somehow shocked to hear it actually come out of her friend's mouth. "I can try to find out. To… feel him," she said, her voice soft, tentative. "I haven't… tried. To… to feel anyone since…" She paused, shook her head, some of her wild white locks breaking away from the thick plait winding down her back. Karliah looked away, muttering for her, "…Bryn."
"Why can't I do this?" Mel was shouting, pacing back and forth in their room at the inn, her fists clenched at her sides, tears running down her cheeks. She angrily wiped them away as quickly as they came, her jaw clenched. Karliah watched helplessly from the bed as Mel stalked across the room and back. Someone knocked hard on the opposite wall and Mel stopped pacing to shout, "do you mind?!" She stood there for quite a long while, seething, her face red with fury. Then, as if by magic, she crumpled to the floor, delicate as a paper bird. Karliah moved down to hold her, and Mel sobbed into her shoulder. "Why can't I do this?"
"I could try, though," Mel said through the unforgiving fog of memory. "I could try."
And so, they sat in the grass beside the road and Mel closed her eyes, focusing on Gallus's image, his familiar roguish smile and towering figure. She remembered how he had greeted her when she first arrived, unkempt and muddied from staying in the Ratways for the past Sun's Height. Sun's Height—her birth month. The Apprentice.
She had stumbled into the Flagon, looking distinctly confused, her hair tangled and dark from dirt, and Gallus had crossed in a quick jog to get to her, the other members watching inquisitively from the bar.
Hello, little snow elf, Gallus had said, recognizing her kind despite the filth adorning her features, his voice gentle, almost fatherly. Would you like to stay here with us?
Sitting there in the grass of this unfamiliar country of High Rock, Mel could certainly feel him. His presence came like a great wave of ocean water, clashing into her consciousness. His existence was as sure as the sun was luminous. Her eyes ripped open and she stared at Karliah, her heart racing. She realized she was smiling. The Dark Elf grinned back, and Mel could hear a sob hitching in her throat.
"He's alive?" Karliah choked, giving a wet laugh. "He's alive."