TITLE: To Take a Tree From the Forest
CHAPTER: 11, Six Honest Serving Men
AN: References to child abuse, both sexual and physical. So for any readers who have experienced these circumstances, I wish you peace and good health. Write fanfiction (wink)
"Faith then they vowed
Fast, unyielding,
There each to each
In oaths binding.
Bliss there was born
When Brynhild woke;
Yet fate is strong
To find its end."
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Legend of Sigurd & Gudrún
Mercer Frey discovered her hiding place in the woods by following her tracks in the snow. She'd ridden into the woods to find some solitude after learning the truth about Ingun and Brynjolf. She didn't much care for the way he ordered her to meet him at Snow Veil Sanctum, but he was the head of The Guild. She had accepted certain responsibilities toward the Guild, so with a numb heart she agreed. She didn't much care what it was all about.
The journey to the Sanctum had given her time to think. Time to remember that she was alone in this world. The role thrust upon her by the people of Skyrim isolated her further. It would be all right. Staying alone and hiding was how she stayed away from her father's drunken rages. That method would serve her well here, too.
When she arrived there was a small camp close to the entrance and she put it to use. She would leave food as trade for using the camp.
That night, curled inside the bedroll, before the dreams caught up with her, she wondered how many years she would sleep alone under the stars. Until she was old and grey? Until a bandit snuck up on her while she slept.
When the moons were high in the clear night sky, the dreams came for her again. Wild twisting scenes where a dragon circled over her head — calling to her — teasing her to catch him. Reaching automatically for her weapons, Vilkas suddenly appeared and stopped her by distracting her with a kiss. His mouth on hers made her feel giddy and boneless like when she'd drank too much ale. His hands somehow slipped under her armor and over her body, the sensations made her want to fly high as a dragon.
The dragon roared passed her and Vilkas, breaking them apart. When she turned back to look at him, her shield brother had disappeared only to be replaced by a vision of Brynjolf. He reached for her, calling her his lass. She tried to move toward his outstretched arms, but the dragon intervened again. This time she found herself in the back of a wagon. A blond man with kind blue eyes was speaking to her, 'a Nord's last thoughts should be of home' he said. His name was Ralof and he'd held her hand as he led her toward the broken down tower in Helgen to escape the dragon.
A night and a day passed before the sound of galloping hooves roused her from her spiraling thoughts. She glanced up from the campfire with her hands reaching instinctively to her bow. She may have moved her hands without thinking, but it caught her attention all the same. When had this happened? When had reaching for her weapon become her first reaction, making the assumption there's a fight or something bad or deadly coming her way happened? When had the scared girl become a fighter?
It had been Vilkas' training and unrelenting insistence that she get it right every time she unsheathed her sword. Brynjolf's patient words and hours of practice when he took her out to a hill overlooking Faldar's Tooth to use the bandits as target practice. It was the hours Farkas allowed her to pound on him while she learned to use her fists. And Aela's proud smile each time her aim improved with her bow. Each time she arrived back in Whiterun, the Companions would make her practice with any new weapon she carried. Above the Jorrvaskr, in the Skyforge, Earland taught her how to forge her own weapons and how to improve them.
In a quick decision of tactics, Sabrinda mounted Tyven in two strides. They made a better fighting team with her on his back. He snorted and bounced on his feet.
"Easy, Tyven. Easy, boy." What made him uneasy? Unusual for him to react to even an ice wraith, something in the sound of what headed toward them was unsettling him. Sabrinda turned Tyven in that direction, then quietly and efficiently notched an arrow and drew back the bow.
She heard Mercer Frey's cursing before the horse he was beating with a crop charged into the clearing. With a flick of her heels, Sabrinda maneuvered Tyven in front of the frightened mare. Mercer's horse skidded to a jarring halt, throwing Mercer over her head, crashing to the ground. The stallion snorted, stood square, never moving until the mare regained her footing.
"I'll feed you to the wolves, you filthy goat!" He dragged himself off the ground heedless of the snow clinging to him and raised his arm. The mare stood shivering next to the protective wall of Tyven.
Apparently, not even the sight of the Dragonborn in a full suit of engraved Nordic armor, astride a dappled-grey stallion would stop Mercer Frey from beating a defenseless animal. She made a mental note to work on her image. Maybe she'd use some of the wode on her face like Mjoll the Lioness. Aela's facial markings were certainly striking. Maybe maybe not. Sabrinda flipped the catch on the scabbard with her thumb.
The moment his arm came down to strike, Sabrinda used the flat of her blade to knock the whip from his hand. Down in the snow he went, the whip flew out of his reach. Spitting with rage, he stood with hands balled into fists.
"You bitch!"
"I've really tried to learn to respect you, Mercer. For Delvin, Vex, Brynjolf's and even Vekel's sake. I really have. But if you call me a bitch again, or strike that mare again, we'll have a go at it. Is that your wish?"
"Shut up and let's get inside this damn Sanctum. I'm not interested in your moralizing and certainly not any threats you might express. Business is business, now let's go."
After retrieving the whip, Sabrinda tied the horses to a nearby tree branch. The exhausted mare's nose almost touched the ground as her shivering subsided. The young woman gave the horse a pat and loosened the girth. She knew Tyven would watch out for her. With a last check of her gear, Sabrinda followed Mercer Frey down the wooden steps to the entrance.
The outer door was locked. Now that was odd. It was rare to find the outer doors to these types of places locked. Before she could say anything or retrieve a lockpick from the pouch on her belt, Mercer opened the door with a key. Also, odd. Now where had that key come from?
Inside the sanctum it was just as dark and cold as she imagined. After hours of walking through long dark corridors and climbing slippery slimy steps with one trap after another, Mercer finally reacted, "This is her doing! It's Karliah who reset these traps."
"Don't be afraid, Mercer." She commented, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice. He wisely chose not to comment, but hurried through the now harmless trap she'd sprung for him.
The Dragonborn wasn't afraid there's nothing she couldn't handle down here. One cave looks very much like another sanctuary, which looks very much like a temple. Draugr are draugr, after all. A shouting match with a Draugr Lord is always good sport.
It's Mercer Frey who has her instincts alerted. He's more or less forced her to take point at every turn. That's fine, too. Most of the time she fights alone. It's his chatty manner and the odd pitch to his voice that's making her suspicious. She takes a sip of water, and notches her bow, readying herself for whatever comes down the next hallway and Mercer too, if it comes to that.
The thief continued his nonsensical conversation as they stepped quietly around the next corner and into another hallway. Only it's not a hallway at all, but a cavernous room, with a ceiling so high it disappeared into the shadows. There's movement ahead and she turns to see if Mercer saw it too. Something bumps her right thigh. Hard. She stumbles, recovers and with her bow pulled taut she whirls to face whatever is behind her.
Why is everything happening in slow motion? The air around her shimmers and seems too thick to breathe. Her eyes see several things happening at once, but her brain cannot process them fast enough.
A woman's voice attracts her attention and she turns toward the sound. A dark elf is speaking and moving toward them. Is this Karliah? A sudden pressure on her left shoulder makes her jerk towards it, her right arm rising to hit her unseen opponent when an explosion of pain rips into her chest. The force of the attack resonated through her body like a blacksmith's hammer blow. Waves of pain radiate across her chest like the echoing sound of steel on steel.
The pressure on her shoulder disappeared as quickly as it began and she clattered to the ground, her breath rasping out as she struggled on her back to see her foe.
Mercer stood above her, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes, a bloody dagger clenched in his right fist.
Well, this is a surprise. She always thought she'd die burned to death by a dragon's fire, assassinated by a Falmer Agent or murdered by the Dark Brotherhood. Not bleeding to death in some forgotten underground dungeon at the hands of Mercer Frey and this strange dark elf who hovers at the edge of her vision.
Mercer knelt down next to her. "Nothing personal." He whispered his breath hot and fetid breath against her ear. "You are the juiciest little bit I've come across in a while." He grabbed her crotch and squeezed hard only to sigh sadly, and let go, "Too brawny for my taste. I guess Brynjolf likes his girls like men."
"Enough, Mercer. Do this on your own time." Just out of Sabrinda's view the dark elf's voice sounded flat and emotionless,.
He shrugged and released her. "Right as always, Karliah. Business is business. "Play time is over little girl. If you somehow manage to live through this and get tired of sharing Brynjolf with Ingun look me up. I'll show you some things even Brynjolf doesn't know about."
She makes one vow to herself before she loses consciousness, if Brynjolf does not kill that man first, she will personally tie Mercer to a tree and summon a blood dragon.
They are speaking quietly now. Straining to hear them, she cannot move, but she can hear their words. This is Karliah and what they are talking about shocks her. Brynjolf was right not to trust this man. If she lives through this, she would tell him why. That son of a hagraven has betrayed them all.
~O~
A snowstorm was blowing across her field of vision when Sabrinda opened her eyes. She's flat on her back inside a makeshift tent. Her shirt is open and she's shivering. Gentle hands smooth the skin over her left shoulder.
"Try not to move, Dragonborn. Mercer Frey is gone. You're safe."
It was the dark elf speaking to her. Sabrinda tried to sit up. How could she have survived his attack?
Karliah helped her to sit up and answered her silent questions after handing her a bowl of fish stew. She hated fish stew. Really hated it, but she was too hungry to argue the point.
"I shot you with a poisoned arrow that would slow down your bleeding until I could get to you. Sadly it was the last I had of it."
"Then I owe you my life and a pledge to replace the poison. I am good with potions. If you know the ingredients..."
Karliah was shaking her head. "It was too rare and too precious to replace. I consider it lost to a good cause. You can pay me back by taking down Mercer Frey."
"Gladly. What I heard in there, I'll have the entire Guild's help with it."
"No, Dragonborn. Travel back to Riften, share the news with Brynjolf and bring him to a secret place I will tell you about. Do you promise?"
Sabrinda couldn't say why, but she felt she could trust this woman. It surprised her that she was so quick to grant that trust. "I promise. Please call me Sabrinda." She realized it might be, much like her fighting skills, she'd learned to trust her instincts.
"Then I shall be honored to call you by your name. Sabrinda, I saw the scars on your back. I believe I guess correctly when I say this was the work of your father?"
Sabrinda nodded and looked away.
"I don't need to tell you to move on from that brutality, because I see you already have. Just don't carry the burden too long. Share it and it will lighten the weight on your heart."
"I understand, Karliah. Thank you... thank you. He...my father stayed drunk most of the time. I don't think he liked me very much... I don't know why he beat me. I never really knew why. I tried to be a good girl. Finally when I was old enough to take care of myself I ran away..."
"You did the right thing. Now tell me more about your home. I've never been to the Imperial City."
~O~
Spring is showing off her colors with fine weather as Sabrinda approached the gates of Riften. The mission with Mercer Frey had opened her eyes to what is really going in The Thieves Guild. So it's with a heavy heart she must speak to Brynjolf and report the information Karliah entrusted to her. There's still the matter of the amulet. And, she tells herself, she really wants to see if Brynjolf has fully recovered his health.
Brynjolf stood in the archway of the Temple of Mara and watched her enter the city gates. Here, he can watch her without being seen. The news traveled fast along the boards as the townsfolk carried the report of her arrival to him. The last time he'd seen her he was very ill. Somehow, she'd saved his life, then disappeared before he had the chance to properly thank the young woman. He intended to thank her properly now.
As he watched Sabrinda continue toward the market square, he sees there's not much of the young girl left in her. No more guarded looks or hesitation in her step. The intricately carved Nordic armor speaks of her travels and good fortune. He can see the glow of her enchanted bow and sword in the gloom of the main thoroughfare.
The guard standing next to him looked her up and down. Brynjolf reacted quickly to the guards low whistle and when he turned to Brynjolf, he received a warning shake of his head, "I wouldn't do that if I were you, lad."
As she gets closer, he noticed a bandage on her left hand and a small scar on her lower lip. Her left arm is in a sling. What is she doing out adventuring with an injured arm, he wonders, feeling immediately protective of her.
She feels eyes on her and turns toward the temple. When she sees him, she pulls her helmet off. He's still thinner than he was, but his cheeks are rosy and the smile genuine.
When she's close enough that he can hear her, "You look well, Brynjolf."
He takes a breath, because he is suddenly out of air. "It's good to see you, lass."
"It was a long winter."
"Aye, it was." He decided to tease her a bit. Mainly to keep his mind occupied and his hands off her. "And how is the Dragonborn?"
"She's quite well," Sabrinda responded in kind, but a smile tempted her lips. "Better armor than when you saw her last and well trained by the Companions. A new scar or two and a burned hand from a dragon attack. She misses her friend Brynjolf and hopes he recovered his health. There is important information she must share with him."
"Can't business wait for a few minutes? You saved my life. Do you think the Dragonborn might allow me to thank her properly?"
Sabrinda looked at him from under her lashes. She wished she'd taken time to wash up before coming into town. At least combed her hair out.
"I believe she would like to be thanked properly. But, first she has questions and some things are troubling her. There's one thing in particular, she's unsure of."
"Unsure? Is it something I can help with?"
She pulled the Mara amulet from inside her shirt. It made a ringing sound when it slid across her armor.
"Yes, I think you can. Someone gave me this as a gift. I wrote him a letter concerning his intentions, but he never answered me."
By the Nine, she has grown up, the thief realized dragging in another breath. "Perhaps he was unsure of the response? Or feared she was lost to him for good."
"I understand that." She removed her gauntlets and dropped them into her helmet. "So I thought… I'd just come back to Riften and find out for myself. To see if you were okay. If the answer is no, then I'll return this valuable gift so that he may present it to a more deserving woman… to Ing… To someone else."
"That's not possible, lass." Brynjolf shook his head and moved toward her. She's worried about Ingun, he reasoned. That's it. Nura had told him what happened. He's wondered, all along, if that was why she left town without saying goodbye.
"I thought you and Ingun… Never mind. Here, you should take this," she said and removed it from her neck.
He's shaking his head again and stopping her hands to lower the chain back to her shoulders.
"I know what you saw, lass. If you'd stayed until I awoke I could have explained everything to you.
Sabrinda took a step closer, she wanted to hear those words from him. Words which let her know he wanted her, not Ingun. Then what? She remembered the night Vilkas kissed her. That was the extent of her knowledge. She did not doubt Brynjolf would be patient with her. It would be so good to have someone to come home to. Strength to put her back against when the nightmares come for her. Someone to live for.
"Because there is no more deserving woman than you, 'Brinda." Her eyes widened and she takes a step back. "Don't back away, lass. Not from me. You know I understand."
In response, Nordic armor and all, she threw herself against him. Joy suffused the moment of catching her. An unusual feeling filled his heart and he holds her as close as he can. It's a very strange thing when, after years of grimly hanging on to life, happiness finds a way in. Brynjolf picked her up in his arms and swung her around. Several townsfolk begin to clap. A passing guard mumbled something about getting a room.
Brynjolf framed her face with trembling hands. "Tell me quick, lass. You still wear the Amulet of Mara. Are you interested in me? For I am truly interested in you and would make you my wife."
Like the sun from behind a rain cloud, that smile appeared. He doesn't remember ever seeing her smile so happily. In his heart he makes a vow to give her something to smile about every day. He also promises himself to go slow with her. She's been badly frightened and learned to fear men. It is enough that she is back here in Riften and more importantly, that she came back on her own.
He wants to kiss her. To place that simple brand on her before these people. She's watching him and tilting her face up. Just one kiss.
How long has he waited for this moment? How many years has he stood alone in the world and now with one kiss she will be his. There will be a ceremony in the Temple, of course. Whatever she wants. Just now, in front of the people of Riften he will share this moment with them.
Delvin shouted for him across the graveyard. "Brynjolf! I must speak with you. Now!"
"Not now, old man," Brynjolf muttered. Then Delvin is behind him with a hand clapped to his shoulder. The older man spun him around.
"Come and see, Brynjolf. The treasure room, the chests… You must come!"
Sabrinda gripped Brynjolf's arms. "We must go with him, this could have something to do with the news I have for you about Mercer Frey."
"Lass, you know nothing about this."
"Listen to me. It has to do with Karliah!"
The mention of Karliah gained her his full attention. At a signal from Delvin the three separated, each heading to the hideout by different routes. By the time they met in the Ragged Flagon the entire Guild stood in front of the open doors of treasure room. Every chest was flung open and empty. Every valuable weapon gone, every soul gem and the entire bag of jewels. Sabrinda saw one septim on the ground and picked it up. She held it out to Brynjolf.
He was shaking his head, lips pulled back from his teeth in a sneer and a growing fury creasing his face. "Tell us the whole story, lass."
