The inside of the dwarven ruin was quiet, but it wasn't silent. There was a hum of energy in the air and every now and then Arsha could hear the creaking of something metal echoing in the distance. There were things moving in the darkness, and their presence was more than enough to keep all three Nightingales on their toes.
Arsha had explored dwarven ruins before, more times than she had ever wanted to, but this one felt different somehow. Maybe it was the very presence of Mercer Frey somewhere in the twisting depths, or maybe it was the strained air that lay over the three Nightingales, the tension thicker than a fog.
Karliah and Brynjolf were walking ahead of Arsha, close enough for them to still be in plain sight, but far enough that any whispers that occasionally passed between them were indistinguishable, even to Arsha's elven ears. A part of her was grateful for the distance. Being close to Brynjolf made memories rush to the surface of her mind, memories she wished she could bury forever. At the same time, Arsha hated even the smallest distance between them. The further she was from Brynjolf, the harder it would be to protect him, and the less of a chance she would have to prove how much she regretted her actions. But Brynjolf had made it quite clear that he didn't want her anywhere near him, and Arsha would rather suffer any pain than to put the nordic thief through any more hurt with her presence. And so Arsha stayed back, her hand always on her bow to fend off any and all attacks, but never in the way.
They traveled through the darkness for almost an hour before they saw the first true sign of Mercer. They had just exited a hallway when a deafening crash echoed through the air and shook the stone floor beneath their feet. Brynjolf pointed to the far side of the cavern they had entered, to a column that had fallen. "Mercer!" Arsha quickly stepped forward and followed Brynjolf's line of sight. She watched as Mercer Frey slipped between two large gates, but not before he glanced back, as if he knew they were watching him, knew that all they could do was watch him as he slipped out of their reach. Arsha growled under her breath as she realized what Mercer had done.
"He blocked the path," Arsha whispered into the stunned and heavy silence.
Brynjolf whipped around to look at her, and Arsha took several quick steps backward. She hadn't meant to get too close. Each step away from Brynjolf was like a physical pain to her. She took them anyway. She deserved the pain she felt.
"How did he do that, lass?" Brynjolf asked, but he wasn't talking to Arsha. He was looking at Karliah who stood next to him, gazing at the spot where Mercer had vanished from their view.
"The Key," Karliah's soft voice was grave. "He knew we were here, so he slowed us down. This is only a fraction of the Skeleton Key's power. We must be careful now. There is no way of knowing what else Mercer Frey could do." Brynjolf nodded and the two of them pressed onward, deeper into the dwarven ruin. Arsha followed behind, putting arrows into the skulls of any Falmer that dared to creep out of the shadows where they dwelled.
As they made their way through the twisting ruin, they saw and felt Mercer taunting them at every turn. In one room, he had emptied all of the chests, and in another, he had written a mirrored message on the walls. With each sign, Arsha's anger grew. Mercer didn't see them as any kind of threat. He was toying with them, taunting them, and showing them just how far ahead of them he was.
Arsha was so distracted by her anger towards Mercer, that she almost didn't notice that they had entered a room full of Falmer, whose hands brandished bows, swords, and crackling balls of magicka. Karliah had already felled two with arrows to the neck, but the rest of the room was coming towards the Nightingales at a terrifying speed.
A few hastily strung arrows flew through the air and embedded themselves in the eyes of the two Falmer closest to Brynjolf. The nord didn't seem to notice the aid, too busy plunging his daggers into the chest of a Falmer shaman in front of him. Arsha fired three more arrows, each following after the other faster than the Falmer could process. Three of the creatures dropped dead, but their numbers barely seemed to diminish.
Next to Karliah, four Falmer lay at her feet, and two others circled her warily. She had dropped her bow and now stood with her Nightingale blade out, daring the twisted beings to come near her. Arsha tore her gaze away from the dark elf and fired another arrow, this time hitting a mage in the chest with enough force to spin the creature around before the body crumpled to the now bloodstained floor. Arsha didn't stop to admire the kill though, as she immediately had to spin to her right and stab the tip of the arrow she had just drawn from her quiver into the eye of a Falmer that had attempted to sneak up on her. The failed assassin fell to the ground with a cry of surprise that died in its throat.
When Arsha turned back to where the rest of the fighting was going on, she saw that Brynjolf was in trouble. The Falmer had gotten somewhat smart, and instead of breaking into two equally sized groups to attack Brynjolf and Karliah, a few Falmer kept the dark elf busy, while the rest swarmed Brynjolf.
Brynjolf was slashing and ducking and spinning, but there were five Falmer and only one of him. As Arsha raised her bow and fit two arrows to the string, Brynjolf stabbed one in the eye, felling it. Arsha released her arrows now that she had a clear shot, and two more Falmer died clutching arrows in their throats as they went down. There were two more of the creatures left near Brynjolf, but the nord took a split second to send a withering glare to Arsha. The sign was clear, he didn't need the help of a woman as twisted as her. Arsha bowed her head slightly in a sorrowful apology, before going back to shooting the Falmer, her movements even faster now.
It wasn't very long before all of the Falmer had been killed. Their bodies littered the room, the smeared blood glistening when it was caught by the dim light that seemed to pulse slowly through the space. There had been a time when the sight of her enemies lying in their own blood would have given Arsha a sense of satisfaction and power. Now there was nothing. No thrill, no rush of adrenaline, not even a sickening feeling of disgust. Her emotions felt hollow as if they were incomplete.
Then, Arsha saw Brynjolf out of the corner of her eye, kneeling next to the bodies of the Falmer that had been swarming him. He looked out of breath, his hood down and his chest heaving. Arsha's own breath caught in her throat and she felt her heart clench as she noticed the thin cut that ran down the side of the nord thief's face. A simple glance was all it took, and Arsha's emotions came flooding back into her numbed mind. The feeling was blindingly painful and achingly pleasant. Brynjolf was the only way she could feel whole, but being whole meant feeling everything. It meant dealing with the pain, the anger, the self-loathing, and the loneliness, but Arsha couldn't pull herself away. She had spent the past few months actually living and feeling for the first time in years, possibly decades. Giving that up made her soul, or what little she had left, feel like it was finally dying.
An unconscious sigh escaped Arsha's lips as her thoughts and feelings tumbled inside of her. This was the choice that she had made. This was the life that she had chosen to live. Her numbed state would soon become her only state, as she planned to leave Skyrim, and Brynjolf, behind after they killed Mercer. That knowledge was as painful as if she were driving a dagger into her own heart. But in reality, she had plunged that dagger in years ago; her body was simply catching up.
Brynjolf stared at Arsha as he wiped at the blood that trickled from the cut on his cheek. The past few hours had been quiet as the three of them passed through the dark halls of Irkngthand, but on the inside, his mind was swirling with so many different thoughts and feelings, that it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut and prevent them from coming out.
Arsha had been silent as she followed behind, her steps making no sound on the uneven stone floor. The only time she spoke was after the pillar had fallen. Brynjolf had turned around sharply to look at her because she didn't sound anything like the Arsha he had known. Her voice was hollow, emotionless, so different from the lively and sarcastic tone she used to use. Had that all been an act? Did Brynjolf know anything about the woman he had taken into his life? All he knew for certain was that she was the Dragonborn, the woman who had tortured him without mercy for days. But Brynjolf didn't hear that woman in Arsha's voice either. He heard nothing.
Karliah murmured something about resting for a few moments before continuing on. Brynjolf nodded, drawing out of his thoughts long enough to pull a loaf of bread out of the small bag he wore on his back. He ate silently, and his thoughts pulled him back into their troubled embrace.
Brynjolf truly knew nothing about the woman who sat across from him, hidden mostly in shadow, her masked face turned towards that wall and away from him. She called herself Arsha, but Brynjolf didn't even know if that was her true name or simply some identity she had invented. Before Brynjolf's brain could stop his mouth he asked, "Arsha. Is that your real name, or is that just another lie that you told me and the Guild?"
Arsha, if that was her true name, flinched slightly at his words. She was silent for a few moments, and Brynjolf thought that she wasn't going to answer the question, but then she spoke in a soft voice, just as empty of emotion as it had been earlier. "That is one thing I did not lie about. My name is Arsha Loreaen, but you and the Guild are the only people in Skyrim who know me that way. Jarls, generals, and the citizens don't care what the name of their protector turned villain is. I am the Dragonborn, Savior of Skyrim, and Bane of Men. When I told you my name those months ago, it was the first time I had heard it spoken in over twenty years."
Arsha's voice kept the same monotone the entire time she spoke, and she didn't move at all, constantly staring at the wall right in front of her. Nevertheless, Brynjolf could feel a pain in her words. The Dragonborn had never been seen as a person, even before she went rogue. 'That's because she didn't deserve to be known as a person. She was a monster. She is a monster,' Brynjolf's mind whispered. Most of his being agreed, but there was a small part of him that didn't. A small part of him that needed to know more about who Arsha was, about why she had become the monster that she was. His head ached from the conflicting sides, and Brynjolf shut them both down, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand. Arsha would wait.
A/N What did you think about that one? There are so many questions that Brynjolf has about Arsha that need to be answered and so little space to put them! As always, I love any feedback that I receive! Thanks for reading!