Garent couldn't sleep. He laid awake, now and then tossing and turning, his mind reeling. It had been two nights after getting back from Solitude. His wounds had mostly healed, though his pride still stung freshly. This was mostly due to the fact that Mercer made him read Shadowmarks aloud to him every night before he went to bed.
It had become a cycle. Each night when it had gotten late and most of the thieves were either in the Flagon drinking or asleep and Garent was getting ready for bed, Mercer would call him over. He would hand the boy the book and tell him to sit, and would then have him read the entire Glossary aloud before allowing him to go to bed. Other than that, Mercer would have nothing to do with Garent.
The boy groaned softly and kicked the fur blankets off his body. It was no use. "Can't sleep?" The voice echoed through the Cistern though no one woke oddly enough. Garent sat up and squinted to look at Mercer who was watching him. It was a wonder that Frey never woke anyone up. The young Breton stared at the Guildmaster a moment before shaking his head.
"No, not tonight."
"Then to the training room. Let's go."
Garent's eyes widened slightly as he stood. "I haven't done anything wrong," he defended. The boy was wearing only a pair of fur trousers now, but was quickly reaching for his cuirass.
Mercer scoffed. "Nothing like that. Just a spar. You said you couldn't sleep, after all. Come on." He turned, walking across the bridge in steady strides. "Get dressed and get in here." Garent watched the master thief as he disappeared down the passage to the training room. He sighed, standing up and grabbing the tight fitting Guild trousers he had been given. Once he had gotten dressed, he grabbed his daggers and made his way across the bridge.
Mercer was waiting for him, poised atop the hay bale where the archery target was, sitting with his legs crossed and his blade resting on his thighs. The older man looked up as Garent came in. "Nice to see you could make it," he stated, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "Bring a weapon?"
In reply, Garent bent his knees and pulled out his daggers. He brought them up in an offensive position. Mercer smirked as he stood, brandishing his blade in one hand and dagger in the other. "What is it with you and daggers?" he asked.
Garent began to circle the Guildmaster as a predator might. Mercer seemed to play along, as the normally grouchy Breton moved with him. They circled each other slowly, eyes never leaving the other's. "As a boy, I was trained to wield daggers rather than swords," the young thief replied.
Mercer scoffed. "You're still a boy," he pointed out. As if to test, Mercer took a step forward and swung his sword. Garent rolled away, coming up a few feet back and continuing their cycle. The Guildmaster's lips quirked upward. "Who taught you to fight?"
"I never knew his name," Garent replied, "He was a Khajiit sellsword living in the same village as I had been at the time. I was just a kid at the time, on my own, only a pair of daggers to protect myself. One day, I was wandering the street when this group of beggars came to me. They had intentions to mug me, I figure. But this Khajiit, he intervened. He pulled out these daggers and went to fighting. I had never seen anything like it in my life. The way he moved, the way he dodged and ducked and fought his foes as if he were dancing. He fought off the muggers and told me that I should be careful as to who I trusted. As he started off, I called after him, asked him to teach me how to do what he just did. Khajiit are rare in High Rock and, like in Skyrim, aren't very welcome. I had never seen one before." Garent chuckled, his guard seemingly down. Mercer once more tested this theory only to see the boy flip to the side safely. "He taught me how to fight."
Mercer didn't stop his movements in the circle and neither did Garent. They watched one another closely, and finally Mercer spoke. "You were an orphan, then?"
Garent hesitated. "I wasn't always," he replied quietly. His eyes narrowed and then he said, "I suppose it would be pointless to ask about your past?"
The Guildmaster let out a barking sound that might have been a laugh, no matter how humorless and dry it had been. "That sounds about right," he replied.
The younger thief huffed. "That seems a little unfair," he grumbled.
Mercer chuckled, once more a dry and unfeeling sound. "Perhaps. Now, enough talk. We're here to fight, remember?"
Garent's eyes narrowed and he nodded. The boy ducked, rolling close to Mercer much to the Guildmaster's surprise. He stood up just a few inches from Frey and swung one dagger at the Guildmaster's neck. This was deflected by Mercer's dagger and shoved downward. Garent yelped and thrust his other dagger towards Mercer's torso. The older Breton kicked him aside before the dagger could even get close.
Garent slid backwards but didn't fall. He straightened and then dashed forward again, flying up above the Guildmaster's head and landing behind him. Mercer spun easily, bringing his sword down and barely missing Garent's arm. "You know," Garent said, panting, "I'm not sure you get the concept of sparring."
Mercer's sword came down on crossed daggers that sought to block the heavy weapon. Garent's arms shook under the force pushing against him as the sword tried to force towards his face. "Mercer," Garent gasped, struggling to hold the man back. "Mercer!"
The boy pushed hard and managed to throw the sword towards the side. Mercer never lost grip, and instead swung the dagger at Garent's torso again. The boy gasped and rolled away, coming up feet away behind the Guildmaster and rushing forward just as Mercer spun to meet him.
For a moment, the two were caught up in the sparring match. Garent kept close as he had been taught, though it was a deadly choice considering who he fought. He moved as though he were caught up in some dangerous dance. Mercer was not quite as graceful, but he was brutal. His blows were harsh, unforgiving, and he refused to let up.
Garent swung a dagger at Mercer's head. It was deflected by a strong arm of the Guildmaster. Mercer thrust his dagger towards Garent's shoulder. The boy ducked out of the way.
Until finally, Garent saw an opening.
Mercer was fast and strong, but every now and then he would seemingly become blinded by rage. He would swing wildly out of frustration. Garent could practically see the fury shine in his eyes. That would be his window of opportunity. All he had to do was wait.
There we are.
Mercer's eyes gleamed in anger as his blade just barely missed nipping the boy's shoulder. He saw the man's lip curl in a snarl. And as Mercer brought his sword up and swung with full force, garent ducked, cleanly rolling out of the way and kicking his leg out against Mercer's legs. The older Breton shouted as he fell onto his side.
Garent's heart leaped as the black leather clad Guildmaster dropped his weapons on impact. He quickly sat up to examine Mercer, who laid still in shock for a second before also sitting up. As their eyes met, Garent felt his stomach drop. Had he made the man truly angry?
They were quiet as they stared at one another. Frey's face was blank, and then... He began to laugh.
The young thief watched in shock and perhaps fascination as Mercer's barking laughter echoed through the training room. The laughter died down to chuckling and Mercer shook his head. "Not bad, kid," he muttered.
Garent slowly let out a nervous laugh and watched Mercer stand. He did the same, if not a little shakily. "You were going easy on me," he said plainly, brushing off the dirt that clung to his clothes. "You planned that, didn't you?"
"Just wanted to see if you were paying attention," Mercer replied, picking up his weapons. "In Skyrim, you'll notice most Nords are easily offended, quick to bring out weapons, and all together impulsive. If you ever catch yourself in a fight with a traditional Nord, keep an eye out for openings like that."
Mercer sheathed his sword and looked Garent up and down. He scoffed. "From the looks of you, we've remedied that restless issue. You look ready to pass out."
"And what about you? Don't you ever get tired?" Garent asked. Mercer was right, he was exhausted. He had a strong desire to fall onto one of the haystacks by the wall and sleep there, but the disapproving glance of the Guildmaster made him rethink.
Frey chuckled. "In my position," he said, "I find I have less time for rest. Go to bed. In the morning, I want you in here working. Brynjolf and I will be too busy to babysit."
"I'm not a child," Garent grumbled as they walked back towards the Cistern.
"Could've fooled me," Mercer replied. He turned towards his desk, calling over his shoulder, "Go to bed."
"Yes, sir," Garent replied snidely.
Mercer paused and turned around, giving Garent a venomous look. The boy's eyes widened and he turned, running at full speed to his bed. He threw himself onto the hay mattress. As he kicked his boots off and wriggled out of his clothes, he was certain he heard the slight echo of Mercer's chuckling.
...
Garent looked around the training room tiredly. Sapphire was standing away from him, swinging a sword at a very unfortunate practice dummy. Her breath was labored and heavy, and now and then she let out a grunt of effort and swung harshly at the sack of hay hanging from the post of wood. Apparently, a scam she had been working on hadn't gone as well as expected. She was furious. "Sapphire?" he asked carefully.
"What?" she hissed in return. She let out a little growl as she pierced the tip of her blade straight into the practice dummy's head.
Garent made a small sound of discomfort. "Have you heard anything from Vex? I haven't seen her lately." Vex usually wasn't one to stray too far from the Flagon unless on a job, but Garent hadn't seen her in days now. He was beginning to get worried.
"Oh, she's still angry about that Goldenglow job," Sapphire replied through gritted teeth, "So, she's taken a few days off. She went to visit some friends, I think. She'll be fine. What about you, Garent? Mercer still on to you about that Solitude job?"
The Breton scoffed. "He won't let it go. And even worse, he treats me like a child. He makes me read that idiotic book once a night. And worst of all, there doesn't seem to be an end in sight. Has he always been this way?"
"Long as I can remember," Sapphire said. "He's always been a little rough around the edges, but he's also always been a good Guildmaster. He knows what he's doing. As long as we follow his orders, we end up with money in our pockets." She stopped her assault against the practice dummy, panting. "Vipir's been on my tail all day," she grumbled, "He can't seem to take no for an answer."
Garent laughed. He had noticed that wherever Sapphire was, Vipir was sure to follow. He was actually surprised he wasn't in the training room now. They usually fought together, now that he thought about it. "You two really need to work on your communication skills."
"I need to work on my communication skills?" Sapphire whirled around to face the kneeling Breton. "He's the one who can't take no for an answer! Tell that to him!"
"You two sleep awfully close together, you know. Sometimes I swear both of you are going to fall out of your beds from leaning so close to one another's edge." Garent smiled, but Sapphire just glared at him. She growled and stormed out of the training room, mumbling about idiot men and their ideas.
Garent chuckled and looked around the training hall. It was all to himself now, of course. However, he found himself bored with the orders given to him. Spend the day training? He had trained enough for one day. Why not go for a walk? He walked his way back into the Cistern, glancing towards Mercer's desk. Neither he nor Bryn were anywhere to be seen, which was good. That meant he wouldn't get caught.
Making his way across the bridge, he found himself a set of decent clothes and made his way to the graveyard exit.
The sun was bright, the air void of the terrible cold Skyrim was famous for. Instead, it was cool, much like autumn. In the sunlight, he was warm. He stood amongst the graves for a moment and then let his eyes drop to the patches of Nightshade. Grinning to himself, Garent bent down and carefully picked the ominous looking flowers nearest to him before striding out of the cemetery.
He was immediately met by the sounds of the shop keepers. Grelka was shouting her wares in her usual gruff, annoyed voice. Brand-shei was nowhere to be seen.
Must still be in the jails, Garent thought. He frowned a little, remembering the dark elf being dragged away. Poor sod.
Garent's eyes flickered to a familiar face. The young Black-Briar lady, Ingun. Garent smiled to himself and hurried to catch up with her. "Hello, my lady!"
Ingun stopped and turned to see who had called out to her. She returned his smile when she saw him. "Well, aren't you a gentleman," she teased, "You rarely hear such nice words in a place like Skyrim, right in Riften, no less! Hello, Garent. How are you?"
I'm incredibly bruised and sore from the beating Guildmaster Mercer gifted me, and you?
"I'm doing great. Here, these are for you." He held out the purple flowers with a smile. Ingun's eyes lit up.
"How lovely. Thank you!" She touched one of the petals of the Nightshade flowers and smiled. "Nightshade is used in poison, you know? Most Nords are afraid of them, saying that they're bad omens. I find them beautiful, really." She tilted her head. "Where did you find them?"
Garent tugged one of the barrels forward and sat down on it. The same barrel he had been sitting on when he met Brynjolf, he realized. "The cemetery," he replied, "There's a lot growing around the graves there."
Ingun leaned against the rock wall that surrounded the bazaar. "Yes, I've read that Nightshade grows near graves. Another reason Nords are afraid of it." She smiled. "What were you doing around the cemetery, anyway?"
Garent's eyes widened. He hadn't thought of a reason as to why he would be in the cemetery. It did seem a bit of an odd place to hang out at, didn't it? "I was just paying respects," he answered sheepishly, "And then I saw the flowers, and thought you might like them." He smiled. That didn't sound so bad.
Indeed, it seemed a perfectly fine answer to Ingun, who smiled and nodded in return. "Thank you, they're beautiful. So, did you come for the single purpose of bringing me flowers?" She tilted her head to the side suggestively and Garent grinned.
"Well, if my Lady Black-Briar would like to join me for a stroll and a drink, I wouldn't object," he said casually, holding out his arm to her. Ingun smiled widely and slipped her arm through his.
"I would love to," she replied. "We can go to the meadery."
