Water. There was water everywhere, and she couldn't tell which way was up. Prim clawed at the liquid, kicking her feet and fighting to hold her breath. Her head screamed in pain from the blow that had befallen her—the explosion that had catapulted her into the cavern's water—and where in Oblivion was Gulum-Ei?
She surfaced, gasping and sputtering as flames danced around her. The cave where the Argonian had carried out his black-market activities had been stacked with crates that now blazed. Thick smoke choked the air, and she knew without a doubt that the blood in the water was hers. Reaching a rock, she hoisted herself onto dry ground, still coughing and wheezing.
Nothing serious, she realized. She hadn't suffered serious wounds, although her head throbbed. Where had that blasted lizard gone? She stumbled forward and nearly tripped over the very object of her search, eyes widening as she noticed the arrow lodged in his left eye. With sickening clarity, she understood what had happened. The thud of an arrow had been followed by an eruption of flames meant to consume both her and him. She had to get out. Now.
Prim faltered down a nearby tunnel, running. There was a hidden entrance into the cove somewhere ahead, and she let her nose guide her toward the fresh air. Too much smoke was clogging the tunnel for her to worry about pursuit or an attack. Surely the perpetrator had already fled, but damn what a shot, and she'd never sensed someone following her!
She tripped out of the cavern and toward the shore, the world outside deceptively calm and ignorant of what had transpired. She hadn't even accomplished her mission, having just cornered Gulum-Ei when the assassin attacked. A little information was better than nothing though. A woman had approached him with enough gold to turn him away from the guild and broker the Goldenglow deal. She'd requested his assistance in derailing Maven's sales as well, and then there was the hate for Mercer.
"She hates your boss. Said so herself. She wants to see his bones bleached in the sun."
Prim coughed and touched a hand to the cut on her head. What was going on with this whole affair? She wasn't sure if death was worth an answer as she picked her way along the shore and then toward the stables.
If it's even safe to return, she dourly thought. But Quilt was still there, and to her surprise, Henric was saddling him.
"Henric, we need to..."
"Leave," he finished. "Yes. Quickly."
He was already climbing atop the horse, and motioned to her, grabbing her hand and lifting her up. As if sensing their desperation, Quilt immediately took off, down the road and through the countryside. The horse would not be able to maintain such a speed for long, especially with two riders, but the widening distance between them and Solitude eased Prim's nerves. She wasn't even particularly sure where they were as her head slumped against Henric's back, aching and demanding she rest.
"Not here," Henric suddenly barked.
She jerked upright and clung to him, realizing that they had entered a hilly area with few trees. Looking behind, she saw no sign of pursuit, and the day continued in that fashion. Quilt would rest for short periods, and they took turns walking as the sun finished its arch through the sky. Prim was in no condition to fight or hold the reins, but felt much recovered by nightfall. Neither she nor Henric would risk a fire, and so they huddled together with their traveling blankets, keeping watch and dozing by turn.
"It happened so," she griped.
"You're lucky to be alive. There was a shadow around the stables, but it disappeared when you went to Solitude. I wondered whether you would meet him. Her? Him or her. It doesn't matter."
"Whoever it is, I hope they're as cold as us right now."
"Sleep. We ride hard again tomorrow."
She sighed and closed her eyes, thankful that no one had accompanied her. She couldn't imagine seeing Brynjolf dead beside Gulum-Ei, or Mercer, or any of them. Her hands curled into the blanket as her breathing relaxed, sleep drawing ever closer.
"Prim!" The harsh whisper jerked her awake. "Keep your sword ready."
She tossed the blanket aside, and drew her weapon, crouching beside Henric in the dark. If something or someone was approaching from the north, she could not smell them. The wind was against her this evening, and the night impenetrably silent. They were in the middle of nowhere with no help to be had.
"I'll take a look," Henric offered.
"I'm coming with you."
They moved toward the hill north of them, hoping to gain a vantage point. Whatever had disturbed Henric, she wasn't willing to call it simple paranoia. The man had been right so far, and her own senses hinted that something was amiss. They crested the hill, low to the ground, and peered into the darkness. Prim spotted nothing but a fox streaking across the land, the sky overhead starry and stretching onward over the tundra for eternity.
"The shadow is here," Henric whispered.
"We should draw them to us," Prim suggested. "I see nothing from this distance."
"What makes you think he isn't close?"
She thought of how close Mercer had come to her in the forests of the Rift, and shivered. This was not Mercer though. This person meant to shed her blood.
"There," Henric pointed.
She followed his hand, and for a moment, saw nothing. Then a figure moved, and her wolf snarled. Here, in the wilderness, she could release it without fear and have the shadow's head. Her hackles rose and teeth lengthened unconsciously, the transformation threatening to continue until a dull sound disrupted the night. Henric slumped forward with a groan, two arrows lodged in his chest.
"Henric!"
She rolled him onto his back. Blood seeped from his mouth, his breath ragged.
"Go," he urged. "Leave."
He was expiring fast, and Prim had no choice but to descend the hill toward Quilt. Two fetching arrows. Two! Was there only one shadow with remarkable speed on her tail, or more than one? She swung onto Quilt, and took off into the night, more concerned with delivering her news to Riften and surviving than settling a score with her attacker. She thought she was a safe distance when an arrow struck through her shoulder, radiating pain that continued to seep outward, first red hot, then numbing.
Poison, she feared, but there was no time to stop, and she had carried no medicine. She gripped the reins until her hands ached; dug her heels into the horse's sides. It was a mad dash with little rest, dozing in the saddle and slowing only when Quilt required a break. Sometimes she fell into feverish dreams where a woman in dark robes opened her arms as if to embrace her, but smiles morphed, twisted, swallowing her whole. Morning came, and she could barely hold herself in the saddle. Afternoon came, and she collapsed by a river.
She tarried on the bank, broke the arrowhead free, and pulled the rest from her body. She threw up, head hanging over the water, where she saw a dark figure staring back at her. Where feverish dream and reality collided, she did not know, and with frantic movements, she splashed the water as if to chase the vision away.
"Quilt," she called.
The horse joined her at the water, taking much needed refreshment. Could she even get back in the saddle? She grimaced and closed her eyes for but a moment, yet she plunged into a darkness so complete that she thought the world had winked out of existence.
"You have a defiant soul."
The words rustled through the shadows, sweet as lilac, and Prim's eyes snapped open against her body's will to find the sky again filled with stars. It was night now, or was she still dreaming? Quilt was nearby, nostrils flared and hooves shifting. The air reeked of his anxiety, which quickly added to her own. She could not fight like this—didn't even know if she was awake, damn it, although it seemed she was.
She bit her lip to keep from groaning as she moved onto her knees. She could feel nothing in her right arm but for the fingers, which might have held coals for how they burned. It was not enough to keep her wilted on the ground though, and she slowly rose, amazed by how bottomless the river now looked. It flowed black, but beneath its surface, rocks gleamed like gems. Rubies. Sapphires. Emeralds. She teetered and reeled back when a shadow brushed her cheek.
"Would you drink from the river of shadows?" a woman's voice asked. "I could grant you many powers. Many dreams."
Prim was momentarily dazzled by the precious stones, but turned away. She needed to mount Quilt and reach Riften. Whatever this being wanted, real or imagine, it could go to Oblivion.
"So stubborn," the voice soothed. "I am fond of ones like you. So defiant in forging your own paths, yet so predictable. Will you turn to betrayal like the last one? No, I think not. Keep my blessing for the night, thief, as Henric's last request, weak as my touch on this world is."
Prim cursed and nearly screamed as she managed to mount Quilt. A rustle in the bushes meant trouble—meant a saber cat by the sound of it—but when the beast appeared, it passed her as though it did not see possible prey. She shivered and urged Quilt onward, unsure if she was even heading in the right direction. Never had a journey taken so long, and by the time she reached Riften, her endurance was stretched near breaking. She left Quilt at the gates, unattended, and stumbled into Riften.
Why was no one making a scene? Oh, it was dark, perhaps the middle of the night. Day four? Five? She was so close to the cistern, if she could just get there, but what if someone was watching? Her stomach churned, and she retched against a building, drawing the gaze of a guard, who she warded off with a quick word. No, she couldn't go to the cistern. What if she revealed its hidden entrance to her shadow? Or if she expired in the Ratway trying to get there the long way?
She reached into her armor and pulled a key free.
Mercer, her mind whispered. She would go to Riftweald, or was she already there? She unlocked a door and crashed inside, quickly becoming confused in the home's dark interior. She tried to go upstairs, found her legs too heavy, and settled for a chair. Where, she didn't know, but a sense of security settled over her. She wanted so desperately to sleep.
Suddenly, a hand was touching her. She jerked away, but it held her chin fast, tilting her face upward. Her eyes cracked open to find themselves level with a frowning mouth.
"Mercer?"
Something cold pressed against her lips, and liquid poured down her throat. She gulped at it, wobbling while someone held her steady. This entire place smelled like him, his fingers curled around the back of her neck as she drank. With the potion in her system, a spark of clarity made her eyes snap fully open.
"Riften," she breathed. She tried standing, but firm hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her back down onto the chair. She sputtered and stared at the guildmaster, his armor replaced by a loose tunic and pants for sleeping. His hair was messy, as if she'd roused him from bed, and perhaps she had. She stared at him a moment, grimacing when she shifted her body.
"Bandages," she requested. "And clean water."
He silently obliged, setting a bowl of water and cloth on the table before her. There was a second potion too, and she quickly downed it, nauseated by the potent contents when she hadn't eaten in who knew how long. It was struggle enough to keep from throwing up, and she bent forward, hands braced on her knees as she fought the urge.
"You have no idea how happy I am to see you," she mumbled.
"How bad?" he asked.
"I should be dead."
Light flashed to life before her—a lantern that taunted her vision. She squeezed her eyes shut as he unbuckled her leather armor, hissing in pain when the material pulled away from her wound. His fingers quickly unlaced the top of her tunic, pulling it aside to expose her right shoulder. He pressed a cloth into her hands, and then disappeared, although she could hear him telling Vald to fetch Brynjolf. Then he was beside her, making no move to assist in the cleaning of her wound, but reaching out to balance her when she wavered.
"What happened?"
"Gulum-Ei was assassinated. Then the sodding assassin blew up the cargo and nearly killed me in the process. Henric, the thief you had me meet in Solitude, helped me get out alive. We were coming here when the bastard got him too. I'm not sure if it's one person or more. They could be in the city already. Right now."
She was surprised when Mercer reached out and took her hand, almost tenderly, although his gaze was hard. He fingered the black ribbon around her wrist, something dark stirring in his eyes before he ripped it off.
"Henric insisted," she distractedly spoke.
"He would."
He ran a thumb over her flesh, where the ribbon had been, and then dropped her hand. She wondered at his reaction, but in her condition, didn't particularly care. She dropped the dirtied cloth into the bowl, and fingered a roll of linen. Wrapping the wound herself would be too painful.
"I need your help," she stated, raising arms above her head with determination. "Tunic. Off."
He grabbed her sleeves and pulled the tunic over her head, leaving her bare but for the bindings over her breasts. She focused on his fingers to keep her mind occupied—the way he unrolled and separated the linen, his expression stern and gray hair dangling in his face. He worked in silence, perhaps aware that she had little energy for speech. She was content to waver where she sat, tended to by his firm but efficient assistance. She now had enough presence to realize she was sitting in the dining room, the table set with candelabras and goblets that had collected dust. She'd noticed the disuse on her previous visits, the silver cup by Mercer's bed the only one that ever seemed to be employed.
"How long was I gone?" she asked.
"Ten days. We weren't expecting you for another two."
She hissed when he pulled the bandage tight and secured it with a knot. She needed to distract herself with something: the nearby cabinet with its alcohol and unused serving dishes, the bowl of water, now reddened, and an inkling that Mercer had never sat at this table in his life.
"Are you going to pass out?" he asked.
"Not sure." She offered him a weak, humorless smile. "Don't be a bastard and let me fall."
The words had barely left her lips when Brynjolf appeared, the man's eyes widening at the sight of her.
"Prim! By the nine, what happened?"
He crouched before her, brushing hair from her face and tucking it behind her ears. Her smile was strained but affectionate as he fussed over her, insisting on cleaning the dirt and grime from her face. His fingers brushed over her cheeks, soothing her pain as she repeated what she'd shared with Mercer thus far. The guildmaster was leaning against the wall, watching her and Brynjolf with a stony expression.
"Have you had a potion?" Brynjolf asked.
"Two. Mercer gave them to me."
"Mercer, I think she's..."
"Poisoned?" Mercer offered. "She is. I gave her a potion to counteract it. She should have another soon, but if she doesn't eat first, she'll just spit it up."
She briefly recalled Mercer leaning against the wall, throwing up, and doubted she'd ever see him so vulnerable again. He looked anything but weak standing there, eyes following Brynjolf's hands as the redhead fastened his cloak over her shoulders, hiding the bandage from sight. She briefly met the guildmaster's gaze, and was struck by its intensity, an uneasy feeling squirming in the pit of her stomach, although whether it was the potion, poison, or something else, she couldn't say.
"Thanks, Bryn," she smiled.
"Did you managed to speak to Gulum-Ei before his murder?" Mercer asked.
"Perhaps we could get her something to eat first," Brynjolf suggested, a reproving touch to the look he shot Mercer. The two men regarded each other silently for a moment, Mercer eventually motioning toward a doorway.
"There's bread and cheese in the kitchen."
In Brynjolf's absence, the man moved closer. His smothering scent contrasted so starkly with Brynjolf's, and Prim breathed deeply, unable to explain why the man's scent calmed her. Maybe because here was someone who would take on the shadow without question. She could almost imagine him cutting the attacker down, sneering in disgust at the ease with which he did it, or anger for interfering with the guild. She looked into his stern visage, and began slipping forward.
"Bring the food to the sitting room," Mercer ordered, wrapping an arm around her waist. With his aid, she was guided to a long bench, where he laid her down. The padded cushions beneath her felt wonderful, and although she wasn't hungry, the sight of food in Brynjolf's hands made her mouth water. Poor Quilt had hopefully been noticed by the stable boy and given fresh water and hay.
"Stay with us, Prim," the redhead encouraged, propping a pillow under her head.
"I'll be fine," she muttered, grabbing bread from his hands.
She munched through two slices, Brynjolf patiently waiting and running curious eyes over the home's interior. It occurred to her that he'd probably never been inside Riftweald. Even Vald rarely seemed to be inside, spending most of his time in the yard. Prim glanced around for Mercer, and found him pacing behind Brynjolf's back like a caged animal. This amount of intrusion in one night was probably pissing him off.
"Gulum-Ei talked before he died," she said.
Mercer moved around the bench, and now she had two men staring down at her. She hated the awkward position, and found her eyes flickering between them before she settled on a point on the ceiling.
"I didn't get much out of him before everything went to Oblivion, but he said a woman approached him about Goldenglow and disrupting Maven's mead shipments. She offered good money, so he took it and hoped no one would know. He claimed to not know much about her, but said that..." She focused on the deepest gray in Mercer's eyes, and slowly formed the words. "She hates you. Whoever she is, she wants you dead."
Mercer and Brynjolf glanced at one another, something unspoken passing between them.
"He didn't get to say anything else, but I think he knew more," she continued. "And Henric," she sighed. "He was something else. Kept going on and on about Nocturnal and how she'd turned her back on him. He thought I was a daedra worshiper."
"Rest easy, lass," Brynjolf soothed, although his expression was troubled.
"Can you make sure Quilt's being taken care of? Or not," she quickly frowned. "The assassin is probably here in Riften, or they will be."
She swallowed and took another slice of bread.
"What do you think, Mercer?" Brynjolf asked. "We should move her to the cistern. There are more people there to keep watch."
Prim actually felt safer here, in Riftweald, but kept the thought to herself. Brynjolf was right about the cistern having more people, and she had no business forcing herself into Mercer's home. Mercer seemed to agree, quickly assenting while a black ribbon rolled between his fingertips.
"The guild's location is no secret," Mercer mused. "This assassin will already know where we are and probably how many of us there are. Did he always attack from a distance with arrows?" he questioned, eyes drilling into her.
"Always."
"Then whoever it is probably won't risk close combat. They'll keep their distance. If they wanted to directly attack us, they could have at anytime these past years."
"They wanted to stop Prim from getting here," Brynjolf concluded.
"For all we know, the assassin was after Gulum-Ei and targeted her by association. Or maybe the contract was for both of them. Either way, they might have no interest in the guild or knowledge of why Prim should die. Killers for hirer rarely care, and contractors rarely want them to know."
"Perhaps I could lure them into the open?" Prim contemplated.
"You haven't even healed, and you're talking about being bait?" Brynjolf questioned. "That's a fool talking, lass. You need plenty of rest before trying to slip through a noose."
"It's an idea," Mercer considered. Brynjolf frowned.
"I say we get her to the cistern for now."
"By all means," Mercer dismissed, giving him space to lift and carry Prim. She protested that she could walk, but the redhead would have none of it. Over his shoulder, she watched Mercer trail behind them to the door. He was distracted again, but not so much that he missed her studying him.
"Secure the guild," he ordered. "I'll be there soon." The door shut in her face, leaving her and Brynjolf alone under the night sky.
"Alright, lass. The ladder you'll need to manage yourself."
"I'm not a complete invalid," she grumbled, but was happy for his assistance nonetheless. Soon she was in her own bed, Brynjolf sharing enough information to satisfy curiosity and also caution everyone about possible intruders and assassins. His abbreviated version left much to be desired, but Mercer would share more later, he assured them. Then he was forcing more bread and cheese on her, and even get-better mead from Vekel. Her stomach was full, and her pain muted with treatment. In such a state she was finally able to sleep.
Author's Note: The quest line is probably familiar to anyone reading this story, so I breezed through the whole incident with Gulum-Ei, modifying it as I saw fit.