The Pursuit


Hello again, readers. Enjoy!


Freja and Brynjolf walked in silence from the graveyard towards the center of Riften, and Mercer's massive estate. There was an immeasurable tension in the air as a result of all they'd just said to each other, and all the rest they still wanted to say.

Finally, as they neared the Bee and Barb, Freja spoke up. "So how are we handling this?"

Brynjolf stopped walking, turning towards her as he crossed his arms. He still didn't like the sound of this "we" business... Bringing her was surely going to be a bad idea. He was incredulous.

"You know what, lass? I've changed my mind. If you come with me, we'll unsettle Mercer and everything will go to pieces. Let me go in alone and try to talk to him, maybe—"

Freja rolled her pale blue-green eyes. "You saw Gallus' journal, Brynjolf, and you know this isn't some trick. Do you honestly think you can just walk in there and reason with him? Try to confront him in a way that'll make him throw his hands up and surrender? Even if I let you—"

Now Bryn was the one to cut her off, scoffing in anger, his green eyes flaring. "If you let me? Woman, you drive me mad. With Mercer's position in question, I'm the next guildmaster. You answer to me, if you can even be considered part of the guild anymore." Freja went silent, angry. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. Then he spoke a little more softly. "I'll go in under the guise that I just want to have talk with Mercer. He'll be wanting an update on the journal translation; by now he knows I've failed. You sneak in, keeping to the shadows just in case anything goes sideways. After that, we'll meet in your room here, at the Bee and Barb. Does Keerava still keep it for you, lass?"

Freja nodded, and Bryn smiled weakly, though his eyes seemed sad and tired. "Good. We'll need to discuss everything before we bring it to the guild. Then we can find Karliah and get this over with."

Freja sighed, noticing how Bryn still seemed uneasy around her. If everything played out as it was supposed to, then he would have to believe her, and hopefully he would be able to forgive her for disappearing. He needed to recognize that she did it for the guild... And for him.


Bryn entered into Mercer's main waiting room only ten minutes later, sauntering in with one of his famous smiles. Vald, one of Mercer's mercenaries, stood in a doorway on the opposite side of the room. At this moment, Freja would be attempting to enter into the mansion through the upstairs walkway—as long as there weren't too many mercenaries patrolling. It was too soon for trust... But Bryn knew he had to trust her in this moment.

"Hello Vald. Is Mercer in?" He approached the marauder, noticing that he seemed jumpy.

"Uh... N-no. Nope, he's not." Vald said, fidgeting where he stood, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Brynjolf watched warily.

"Oh, is that so? Well I have some important guild business to discuss with him, so I'm afraid I can't wait." He took another step forward, and Vald's eyes widened. Why does he look so nervous?

"Well that's too bad, Brynjolf. You aren't getting in," He replied, taking a step forward as well.

"I don't want any trouble, Vald. But I'm not leaving, either." Brynjolf smirked.

A smooth, disembodied voice called cheerfully from the other room. "Relax, Vald. Just send him in already."

Brynjolf shot the mercenary a look of I-told-you-so before pushing past him into Mercer's reception room.

"Well, well, if it isn't Brynjolf," Mercer said. He was reclining there, with his feet up on the corner of his desk. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you anytime soon after your incarceration in Markarth," he said cheerfully.

Too cheerfully. Mercer was never one to take failure lightly; it put Bryn on his guard. An eerie silence filled the mansion, hopefully as a result of Freja slowly taking out the opposition.

"Thankfully the guild has friends everywhere. Of course you'll understand by now that the translation was lost." Brynjolf spoke as he watched Mercer's eyes, and his body language, for any sign or revelation that something was off. Mercer just sighed, letting his feet hit the ground as he sat normally in his chair.

"Yes, your failure was made quite plain to me. But it's of little importance now... You see, just as the Guild has friends everywhere? I have friends everywhere. Friends, and eyes."

Brynjolf took another step forward, wary of where this point of the conversation would go. Mercer just chuckled. "How foolish of you to fear Maven Blackbriar, when I wield the true power and influence. Those things buy loyalty, and—"

Brynjolf cut him off, rolling his eyes at the sheer ego of Mercer's words. "For the sake of the Nine, Mercer, what are you—"

But now it was Mercer's turn to interrupt. "Karliah was spotted in our guild graveyard not less than twenty minutes ago. She was seen speaking with you, and with that—" he clenched his teeth here in absolute rage, thinking of Freja— "that other one. I should have known, you were working with them all along."

Brynjolf moved to speak, but Mercer stood up, motioning for his guards to come restrain Bryn. "How perfect a story. You decided to blindly follow your murderous surrogate mother and your pale little girlfriend in order to throw me out of the guild, once and for all. The guild will not believe it, since they love you and respect you, but I'm a convincing storyteller." He smiled wickedly, running his pale, bony hand through his silver hair.

As soon Bryn felt the mercenaries' hands on his shoulders, he swung around, shaking off their grip and offering his fists to both of them. Dodging and ducking, Bryn easily incapacitated one, and was about to set his sights on the second, when Mercer walked calmly forward holding a sword that looked as if steam was emanating from it. "A touch or two from this sword, and you'll be turned to a solid block of ice. Are you willing to risk it?"

Now it was Bryn's turn to smirk. He answered without a moment's hesitation. "I'm willing to risk it all." Grabbing his dagger from his side, the two men charged after each other, crossing blades with a fury. Bryn was good, but Mercer was better, and his was the better weapon. Soon, with every block and parry, Bryn was making mistakes. No one was good enough to face Mercer alone, and he prayed Freja would get there before he was turned into a bloody popsicle.

Suddenly, just when he thought he had the upper hand, he felt a blade at his neck. One of the two mercenaries he'd fought minutes earlier had come up behind him, his sword nervously shaking against Brynjolf's throat. Bryn froze, knowing it was over.

"As always, it's been a pleasure, Bryn," Mercer said, quite pleased with the way things turned out. Yet though he raised the Chillrend blade to Bryn's neck, he suddenly chuckled, shoving the sword into the mercenary's hand.

"I will not be doing the killing myself unfortunately; I have a bit of business to attend to. Now, if you'll excuse me. Vorus, finish the job," he said harshly to the mercenary behind Brynjolf before walking towards the door.

"You're a coward," Brynjolf said spitefully after him.

Mercer just chuckled. "At least I'll be a rich one."

Leaving the room, he left Brynjolf standing with the blonde, buff mercenary behind him. Brynjolf spoke to him gently. "Listen, Vorus, is it? I'm going to need to you not to kill me."

Vorus chuckled. "I do whatever Mr. Frey says, and that's slicing your throat and turning your blood to ice. I'm going to get a hefty portion of the guild's funds for this. Maybe even one of the eyes!"

Brynjolf grimaced, not understanding the last part of what he said. He winced as the man pressed the blade against his neck, feeling the freezing pain searing down into his collarbone, when suddenly he heard a whizzing sound, and then a grunt as Vorus slumped over onto Brynjolf's back, the Chillrend blade falling to the ground with a shattering sound.

"What the..." Letting the man fall to the ground, Bryn looked to see that an arrow had pierced the back of his head, and was now sticking out his eye socket. The sight shocked Brynjolf, and he looked up to the doorway to see Freja standing there with her bow drawn.

"Gods, did you have to do it like that? Why not hit him in the ankle and be done with it?!" He bellowed, secretly glad to see she'd come before he had to die.

She rolled her eyes at him. "First of all, yes. And second, I wasn't going to take a chance with that blade at your throat. A simple 'thank you' would have sufficed."

He rolled his eyes back at her, though a pleased smile crossed his lips at her haughtiness. "Mercer's gone."

Freja nodded. "I found these on one of the mercenaries I took down. It looks like a map, or at least a plan of some sort."

Bryn approached her, pouring over the paper. It was mostly scribbles, and a few images that didn't seem to make sense. "Here," he said, pointing at the top left corner. "The eyes, it says... That's what this mercenary here said just before you took him down. He said 'Maybe I'll even get one of the eyes,' as if it were some type of treasure." After a few moments of silence, his eyes widened. "By the Gods... I think I know what he's talking about."

Freja opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but in another second, Brynjolf went flying from the room.


Within ten minutes they stood in Freja's room at the Bee and Barb, only the glow of a candle lighting the space. While Freja packed up a few supplies she'd left, Brynjolf paced back and forth. "The Eyes of the Falmer, could it be..?"

Freja turned towards him, throwing her rucksack on the bed with frustration. She stared at Brynjolf until he turned towards her, a puzzled look on his face. "What is it, lass?"

"Can we please talk?" Freja pleaded. She knew it probably wasn't a great time; after all, the Guild was in ruins, Mercer was getting away with his evil plan, and Karliah, the one who had been falsely accused all these years, was waiting for them in the shadows of the graveyard, hoping to finally clear her name. Still, all of it seemed small in Freja's eyes.

Brynjolf wasn't expecting her to say what she did, his mind too wrapped up in the trouble with Mercer. "Now?" He questioned. "You want to talk about us? Right now. As Mercer escapes." His last sentence or two was more of a statement than a question, and a disbelieving one at that. Deep down, Brynjolf didn't want to talk; he figured avoiding it all would be easier. Every time he looked into her eyes, he ached a little with longing, and even though her story seemed to pan out, he just couldn't face her. He thought Freja had been dead, after all, and that wasn't something he could just bounce back from.

She took a few steps forward, her hands resting on his shoulders. "I'm sorry," Freja whispered.

Brynjolf stared at her, a little dumbfounded. Was she... Was she actually apologizing? He opened his mouth to speak, but she shushed him, continuing. "I know that I disappeared without a trace, and I know what you thought... But don't think I didn't want to come find you every single day. Send a letter, a sign, anything." As she spoke, Freja's voice grew stronger. "It destroyed me. But Brynjolf, I know what the Guild means to you. If you can't accept me, at least know that I did this in part for you. I've found a home here as much as you have." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "You're my family. I didn't quite believe you that day you told me the Guild could be my family, yet here you are, and here they are... I disappeared so our Guild, our home, might survive. And I know this isn't a good time, but you have to know how much I love you. You can't possibly understand how much you mean to me, how much I need—"

"Stop," Brynjolf suddenly said, his tone low and serious. Freja sighed. "But I—" she began again.

He cut her off once more. "Stop," his voice was calm and even. Freja sighed, letting go of his shoulders as her gaze fell to the ground. He apparently wasn't willing to listen, despite the fact that she and Karliah had proved everything to be true.

Yet suddenly, as Freja turned to grab her bag of supplies, Brynjolf marched towards her, encasing her in his arms as he laid a fiery kiss on her lips. Freja stood dumbfounded for a moment before letting her arms wrap around his neck. After a few seconds, she leaned her head back from him, laughing softly.

"What is this?" She questioned, her chest pressing against his.

"Making up for lost time," Bryn replied cautiously, before lowering his lips to hers again. The world could wait—at least for ten minutes.