A/N: It's so good to be back! I really missed writing this. Not a day went by that I didn't attempt to summon some modicum of inspiration. But now I seem to finally have it back! At least for a bit. I'll definitely be trying to update at least once a week, if not more often; my personal goal is to be able to publish something every Wednesday, if I can.
I hope y'all are still enjoying the ride; I'm definitely still enjoying writing it :)
The tenacious stench of neglect and decay clung to the musty air in the Ratway, hitting Siri like a wall as soon as she opened the small door on the lower level of the canal. Shutting the door as silently as possible behind her, she crouched down and inched forward, moving stealthily from shadow to shadow, careful to stay out of the pools of orange light that danced on the floor beneath the torches.
It had been Siri's avowed hope that she could pass unseen through the tunnels, to sneak through without encountering (and potentially killing) anyone, but as she crept down the narrow passage, her heart sank: she could hear voices ahead already. Ducking into a small alcove and praying that no one would walk below her and look up—the floor was actually a grate, with a lit brazier in the room below—she sat, listening to the conversation of the men ahead. Drahff and Hewnon were, by the sound of it, arguing over provisions. Steeling herself, Siri moved forward again, hoping to catch a glimpse of the men whose voices were reverberating through the stone tunnels.
The room they were in was wrapped partway around a large, circular pillar of stone; the men's campfire, set on one end of the hall—calling it a room seemed too generous, Siri decided—was putting out a lot of heat, and the closer she moved, the warmer it became. The air grew stuffy and hazy, and Siri impatient: these men were impeding her progress, keeping her from Esbern. After a few minutes she stood, deciding to simply walk by them.
Bad decision.
"You picked a bad time to get lost, friend…" snarled Drahff, Hewnon drawing a steel mace and advancing upon her. Siri rolled her eyes—why did ruffians always express that particular sentiment?—and drew her axe.
Moments later, the two men lay dead on the floor and Siri moved on, sights still fixed on her goal: finding Esbern, and doing so before any Thalmor agents. She crossed a small, wooden bridge and found herself in a room with a table in the center; a dead Nord lowlife lay prone on the floor in a puddle of dried blood, and on the table she saw a book—"Beggar"—which she picked up, stowing it in her rucksack for later reading. At that instant, she heard a raucous roar from somewhere nearby, and her attention was drawn to a door down a surprisingly well-lit half-flight of stairs. Perhaps, she thought, there would be people down there who could help her.
She descended the staircase and pushed open the door and found herself confronted with something wholly different than she had expected. Though she was under the city of Riften, the room in which she now found herself was almost airy, its walls curving upward gracefully to a central shaft, down which sunlight streamed. In addition to the natural light, braziers on the walls of the stone walkway blazed brightly, the light reflecting off the large pool of water that occupied most of the center of the room. As she stepped inside further, she could see that the alcoves around the edge of the room were filled with shops—an alchemist, a smithy, and a couple other dry-goods dealers who traded more generally in just about anything else one could imagine. Upon the water stood a wooden platform; on the walkway to the right, in front of a small wooden bridge, hung a sign that read "The Ragged Flagon". She approached the sign, crossing the creaky little bridge, and found herself in the middle of a bustling pub. Siri pushed her way over to the bar and was just about to address the sneering barman when a heavy hand descended abruptly upon her shoulder. She turned about, hand on her dagger, only to find herself face-to-face with—
"Beirir?" Siri was incredulous. "What are you doing here?"
"I was just about to ask you the same question," her brother replied. "I happen to be here on business, you know, visiting a close friend of mine—"
"Ra'Zha!" Siri exclaimed before her brother had even beckoned the towering Khajiit over. Beirir smiled.
"Yes, Zha told me about your little escapade at the Thalmor Embassy," said Beirir lightly. The dark-furred Khajiit gave a small bow.
"What brings you down to the Ragged Flagon?" he asked in his deep, rumbling voice. "I must say, the Flagon is not as accustomed to accommodating the likes of the Companions."
Siri looked at Ra'Zha, puzzled. "Is this…are you…?" she stumbled, unable to decide which question she wanted to ask first.
"Zha is the Guildmaster of the Thieves' Guild," interjected Beirir cheerfully. "He and I have been friends since my earliest trips to Riften. Back when you were just a petty pickpocket and I was a mischievous delivery boy, eh, buddy?" he laughed, pulling Ra'Zha into a headlock. The Khajiit gave a subdued chuckle, breaking easily out of Beirir's grasp and holding a hand out to Siri.
"Our proper introduction," he said. "I did not want to say more last time we met, but you are in my home now. It is only right of me to welcome you as I should, as you are now my guest." Siri shook his hand, overwhelmed.
"So you have known each other…"
"Since I was still Lod's delivery boy," Beirir supplied. "Zha tried to lift the gold I was carrying, but I caught him in flagrante delicto. We got into a bit of a tussle, and by the end of it we were the best of friends." He laughed, turning to Ra'Zha. "That summer you brought me to the Shadow Stone and I began to work on my Illusion magic in earnest, remember?"
The Khajiit smiled, more reserved than his friend, but clearly enjoying the memories. "It was quite impressive how quickly you mastered the ability to turn yourself invisible," he remarked. "It became much harder for me to keep track of you." Beirir just grinned.
Siri shook her head, not knowing what else to say. Ra'Zha turned to her.
"So, Siri," he said, "how may I be of service to you today? Something tells me yours is not a social visit."
Siri nodded. "You're correct, of course," she began, "but I wonder whether we might find a more…private environment in which to discuss my question?" She cast a wary eye about the pub. "There's no telling who else might overhear."
From across the Flagon, a pair of eyes watched as Siri moved away from the bar with her two companions and disappeared. The Khajiit woman who had tailed Siri into the bar sat, waiting. Siri would come back. And when she returned, she would not escape.
