The next morning, Mercer finds himself waking up with a slight hangover, in a bed that wasn't his, and rather well-rested yet... naked. What in the Void happened last night? Through the fuzzy haze that was his memory, the thief remembered Fia leading him out of the city's walls and down the road that led westward until it joined at a fork with one leading north and back to the east, where nestled in between a gap in the rocks and trees was a small stone home decorated by vines and topped by an odd bluish stone. Drinks and food in the kitchen, talking about nothing and yet everything. Him pressing her- Oh. That explains it. Flashes of his mouth trailing kisses along her jaw, her nails digging into his back, the pair claiming and being claimed by the other on nearly every surface imaginable. Then he realizes the spot next to him was empty, the mattress long cold.
Then where was she? Bare feet hit the oddly warm wood floor as the Breton drags his body out from under the warmth of the fur blanket and paying no heed to the bruises and scratches that mottled his body. He makes his way down the small flight of stairs, picking up the scattered pieces of his armor- his pants on the landing, chest piece dangling off of one step, boots by the door and his gloves on the table. His hood, though, was conspicuously absent. Beneath the leather gauntlets lay a folded piece of parchment with the man's name on it in a rather neat, feminine hand.
Mercer Frey,
Good morning and welcome, if you do not remember, to Blue Moss Hovel.
Do not worry, my dear, you are not far from Solitude. This little hideaway of mine is due east of Mount Kilkreath and the temple to Meridia. She is a rather cranky Daedra, if I may be brutally frank, and was rather loud and demanding when I had first met her... Well, I use the term "met" loosely, as one must when speaking of any Prince. For the most part, Meridia is not the worst neighbor I could have, except when the periodic undead walk past her temple.
I was not completely honest with you. You, my dear Breton, did more than just interest me- no small feat, I assure you. I never bring anyone to my homes, especially one that I only met. Nor do I fuck or allow myself to be thoroughly fucked on a first meeting. Dare I hope that when our paths cross again, you might be amenable to a second meeting? Perhaps a third even, if possible?
More? This woman- this wry, snarky woman who looked like she would be more at home in a room full of courtiers than slumming in the Bee and Barb down in Riften- wanted to see him again? Mercer knew what most people saw when dealing with him- a pessimistic, irritable and stressed man who seemingly had nothing to offer, particularly when it came to physical attributes. If she wants more, who am I to deny such a request? He sets the parchment down onto the table and starts to put on his armor, eyes continuing to read her message.
You might have noticed that you might be missing a few things. If you haven't, stop reading and check your belongings.
After slipping the dark leather chest piece on, the frowning thief checks the many pockets to see what the strange woman was talking about. Vault key, amulet, lockpicks... Skeleton Key's there too- wonder if she had any idea what it was. Rough fingers check the holding spots carefully, brushing over various items, only realizing it at the last moment what was taken from him.
There were quite a few interesting things in your pockets Mercer. However I did need to borrow that shiny piece that was in your inside pocket. Naughty boy, stealing from a supposedly still grieving widow. I say supposedly because I might have seen her Housecarl sneaking out of her chambers just before dawn one morning- and Torygg's body wasn't even cold yet. It is a visit that has happened every night since the former High King's death. Take that as you will. As for your hood, consider that my keeping a memento of a wonderful night.
Don't come looking for me Mercer. I will find you, and sooner than you think.
As angry as Mercer should have been with the fact that someone managed to out-thief a thief, the thought of being able to use that small gem of information to his advantage was only outshone by the reminder that the minx would be coming back for more. And why shouldn't I try to find her? What would one such has she have to hide? Married? Perhaps a member of some Jarl's entourage? Maybe on the pay of the Jarl of Windhelm, if she only walked off with the signet ring? Surely such an item would be a help to the Stormcloaks if used properly. His eyes read over the last line of the letter and could not help but wonder How soon is soon?
I did not realize that when you became Listener, Sister, that you were going to use the potential members' sexual prowess as a means of measuring their capabilities, Lucien tells Fia through their link as she walks into the Dawnstar Sanctuary a few days later. Will you also be testing the Redguard and the Jester this way too?
The Nord ignores the snarking spirit, too tired to deal with his complaining. After reluctantly leaving the warmth of her bed and the man sleeping in it, she had made her way down to Whiterun and the Bannered Mare to complete the transaction with Amaund Motierre, a Breton member of the Elder Council who had a river of red running through Skyrim. Unfortunately for the Chancellor, Fia had made a promise to a dying man, and she always kept a promise once made. Even if he was honest about not betraying us, he knew too much. Killing him was just tying up the last loose end of the job.
"Well? What word of the Emperor?"
"Hello to you too, Nazir. Titus Mede II is dead... by my hand." The leggy woman shakes her head at the Redguard, an amused expression on her face. "I am not sure if I should be insulted that you doubted my ability to pull something like that off, Brother. Perhaps I should have let you go to Solitude instead so that you could have had the fun?"
"Truly? Could you have brought us more wondrous news?" He gives her a broad smile, a rare thing to see on the usually straight-laced man. "Recent events notwithstanding, this is a happy day for us, my friend. Despite your misfortunes, you stayed true to the Dark Brotherhood. You've saved us all, and for this you have my eternal thanks. Now, of course I must ask... Killing the Emperor... How much did Motierre pay for such a thing?"
Fia sets the pouch on the table besides the two assassins, the clinking of gold breaking the silence. "20,000 gold."
"Ha! Remarkable! Well, the old bastard certainly made it worth your while, didn't he? Now, might I offer some advice?" At the Listener's nod, Nazir continues, "You should go to Riften and find Delvin Mallory. I believe Astrid had you visit him once before? Mallory is an expert 'obtainer of goods.' We can use the money to repair and refit this Sanctuary. Make a true home for us, hmm? You do that, and I'll see what I can do about recruiting some new additions to our Family..."
"Of course. By the way, did Cicero...?"
"Why am I not surprised to learn Cicero is alive? I still can't stomach the little clown, but if you've welcomed him here, I won't question it."
He better not question it, as it was the Dread Father's wish to have the Jester live. Two sets of eyes, one living and one not, watch as the dark-skinned male makes his way further into the Brotherhood's new home.
They will get used to a return to the Old Ways, just as I will have to learn how to honor those traditions. I do hope you are still willing to help with that, Lucien, or are you going to hold the events in Haafingar against me in this life and the next? Before the spectral assassin could comment, the woman heads back out into the chilly Dawnstar air and mounts Shadowmere, nudging the mare away from the snow covered capital and southwards towards the Rift. Fortunately for Fia, the home she… inherited, for lack of a better word... in Riften had everything she needed to hopefully start her intended projects.
As assassin and horse make their way through the surprisingly quiet countryside, the Nord woman's mind runs through the events of the past few months, from the "unfortunate" death of Grelod the Kind to waking up one morning in a shack and needing to make a decision, to becoming a member of a rather... interesting family and the shocking betrayal of one of their own and the unnecessary death of so many members. But if it was hard on you, imagine how difficult it was for Lucien, having died by treason only to be summoned back into a Brotherhood where once again betrayal runs rampant?
Fia's thoughts eventually turn to Mercer as the strange pair stop for the night in the ruins of what was the Hall of the Vigilant- the deep snows of The Pale make traveling at a quicker pace nigh impossible. She was confused by her behavior that night and could see why, days later, the ghostly murderer expressed concern in a rather caustic fashion. There was something about the Breton that had caught her attention. Perhaps it was his darker tendencies calling out to hers, or possibly the fact that he was the first real- and lengthy... and meaningful- male interaction she's had outside of her family. The question that danced in the forefront of her mind though since meeting him was why the Night Mother wanted a thief to join their ranks. From what she was able to glean from Lucien, the Brotherhood's cousins were bound to not shed blood on their jobs and to do so was to be kicked from their ranks, or in the case of one Delvin Mallory, being sent elsewhere until the heat died down. What would a thief know about the subtle art of killing?
What does a murderer know about the subtle art of stealing?
Touche.
The rest of her trip down to the warmer parts of the province led to more questions than answers, and by the time she walks into Riften Fia can only wonder if she has been touched by Sheogorath. Shoving the confusion to the back of her brain for later reflection, the assassin gives a slight smile to Maul as she goes past his post- the dark haired male Maven's go-between when it came to her doing business with the Brotherhood. Her silver eyes glance briefly at a young man talking to a Nord woman and voicing his concerns about her tangling with the Thieves Guild, his eyes staring reverently at his companion. Or perhaps it was the other way around and not admiration, but possessiveness? Not my business.
In the marketplace, she hears the hawking of wares, from Argonian jewelry to armor and…
"-with my Falmerblood Elixir!"
The blonde Nord snorts in amusement, as she was never one for alchemy growing up. When she had joined up with her ragtag family, however, Fia had all but begged Babette for proper training- something the vampire still reminds her about periodically. While she would never be a true proficient in the art, the Listener would be able to hold her own at a table, mixing potions and preparing ingredients. It was this instruction that allowed her to realize that the ginger in expensive looking blue clothes was pulling a fast one on the crowd and she would leave him to it.
She slips unnoticed down the stairs leading towards the Ratways, a place where most normal and Gods fearing people wouldn't tread. She greets Gian the Fist, dropping a bag of septims on his bedroll, then up into a room where there was a statue of a woman holding a man that had a knife sticking through his chest. It was here that marked her destination- a hidden home away from most prying eyes, one that was passed down to the most deserving of assassins and remained hidden until needed.
In Nightshade Haven, Fia was able to concentrate on the various projects she needed doing- from making a rather detailed list for their contact in the Thieves Guild, sending a letter to Nazir that she arrived safely and a reminder once again to leave the Jester alone, research on possible new members of her strange family, as well as the small bundle she was going to drop off during her visit to visit her lawbreaking cousins. During the breaks she had taken, though they were small and far between, the Nord woman had learned the ins and outs of the Rift's capital- the comment that Maven Black-Briar claimed that she had the Dark Brotherhood at her beck and call still had the Listener chuckling. She learned of the rumors that the Thieves Guild was struggling, that the only reason they still held some sway in Riften was that they were hired goons for Maven. It was the unofficial Jarl of Riften's daughter who unknowingly gave the best piece of information- Mercer owned Riftweald Manor, one of the homes on what the townsfolk called Dryside.
It was another three or four weeks before most of her projects were completed enough so that she could move forward with some of her plans- the items of what the Brotherhood needed in their new guildhall was ready for Mallory, she had managed to manipulate the lone vacant home in Riften from the rather obtuse Jarl, and managed to convince most of the denizens of the so-called city that she wasn't actively out to hurt them. Well, if I'm not paid, they'll be left alone. A slight smile crosses Fia's face, though it was now hidden by the mask on her cowl. It was time to remind the ragtag group of people with sticky fingers the existence of their more bloodthirsty cousins.
A/N I have an unholy love for Mercer Frey, can't you tell? I really wish we didn't have to kill him, that we could side with him or something, Screw Karliah and her waiting over 20 years to make a move :D
Now, to describe the homes in question. Blue Moss Hovel was a home created by TheOneThatSeesGNS for me on Minecraft as a layout for what I had wanted to happen between Mercer and Fia for their first encounter. It was close enough to Solitude but far enough that there wouldn't be random people pounding on her door. Personally, I love it and wish I could find a way to port it into Skyrim but... I have no skill at creating mods XD Nightshade Haven is a mod for both Skyrim and SSE that I found on Nexus that I love. It's in the Ratway and perfect for how I run my characters- dark and criminal and no room for children.
Feel free to review, as they help me see things from a different point of view.