((15th of Frostfall, 4E 202))
Icy wind buffeted roughly against my face, and I wished absently for a kind of protection against the weather besides my natural resistance. It was cold enough to freeze a Nord outside. The open patches on my armor burned with the snow, the frigid temperatures confusing my nerves. My teeth chattered, and I tried focusing on warm thoughts. Honey mead, fire, Ragged Flagon... A thought struck me. Brynjolf.
"Lass, don't you dare!" I'd held a bowl of rotten eggs over his bed, a smile stretching across my face. He'd lunged for me, but I'd warded him off just by tipping the bowl ever so slightly.
"Ah, ah!" I'd laughed in his face, ready to dump it over. "You tackle me, and this comes down!" Brynjolf had pursed his lips, trying to think his way out of the situation. How had we gotten to that point? Only the gods knew.
"What'll it take, lass?" He'd tried a bargaining system, which I hadn't been interested in.
"Become my slave, Brynjolf. Be my slave forevermore!" I'd tried to imitate an evil laugh and prepared to overturn the bowl. I should have known not to, but I couldn't resist. There came one of the unfortunate times Bryn had managed to get the better of me. In the nick of time, he'd swatted the bowl up and coated my entire body with the horrid-smelling eggs. "Brynjolf!" I'd shrieked. The only reply I'd gotten was laughter from the snarky Nord as I'd wiped at the nasty sludge covering my face. "You scamp-ass son of a bitch, I swear to the gods I'm going to kill you!"
The rest of the day had consisted of what amounted to violent hide-and-seek. In the end, we'd called a truce- so long as both of us vowed to never go near eggs ever again in our lives.
Another snow-filled gust whipped at me, bringing my attention back to cursing the gods. Did Karliah have to go for poetic irony? I thought, exasperated. My face was all but frozen. My eyes scanned the landscape, searching for Mercer. The irksome Breton had ordered me to stay behind a bit, saying he needed to be first to the ruin for whatever reason.
After traveling for days, my mood had turned frosty- no pun intended. I'd reached the ruin hours ago, but given that Mercer was nowhere to be found, I had to pace around to keep my toes from freezing off. If he doesn't show up soon, I thought grumpily, then pissed will be an understatement.
"Good. You're finally here." I jumped two feet into the air at the unexpected sound of the Guildmaster's voice coming from above, and he grinned toothily at my dismay while looking down at me.
"Gods, Mercer. Was that necessary?" I demanded. The snow had quieted the bastard's footsteps.
"It took you long enough."
"I've been here for-"
"While I waited for you to get here, I scouted the ruins." Mercer continued as though I hadn't even spoken. He quickly padded down the ancient stone steps and approached the door. "I'm certain Karliah is still inside."
Already aggravated, I furrowed my brows and scowled. "Did you even see her, or is that a load of horse sh-"
"I found her horse, idiot." Mercer's smug grin had faded. At that precise moment, I didn't care about Karliah; I only cared about how goddamn cold I was. "That's why I wasn't waiting here right away. I took care of the horse and did another inspection around the perimeter to make sure she didn't have any more tricks up her sleeve to make an escape." That explained the dead equine on the outskirts of Snow Veil Sanctum. "Now, let's get moving. I want to catch her while she's distracted. Take the lead." I curved my lips down, not liking his command. While I hated being led during any partnered job, Mercer asking me to take the lead didn't seem quite right. "Well?"
"I'd think you'd be taking the lead, given that you're the Guildmaster." My anger was starting to warm me up, and I welcomed the loathing. "I don't know these ruins, but you've been here before, so you're the logical choice."
Mercer Frey scowled and set a hand on the Dwarven blade at his side. It glowed red under his touch. "I suggest you stop complaining, or I will make sure the Guild knows what you're trying to pull." It took a moment for me to understand his implication, but once I did, my hostility grew. Instead of letting me speak, Frey sniffed deeply, somehow managing to convey scorn through that one noise. "Back to business." I found my left hand traveling to fiddle with Brynjolf's amulet as the Guildmaster felt at the iron bars around the door. "Now, I assume you tried the door?"
"Of course I did."
"And you failed?" The mocking air coming from Mercer thickened when I chose not to answer. "Ah. I was inside for a bit, but it locked again as soon as I came back out." The Breton cleared his throat and reached into his pocket. "They say these ancient Nordic burial mounds are sometimes impenetrable," Mercer said haughtily, gesturing toward the door. "But I don't know what the fuss is about these locks. All it takes is a little bit of know-how and a lot of skill." I noticed a flash of blue in his hand as he picked the lock with ease. A blast of stale air hit me when the door swung open, and I had to hold my breath to avoid a coughing fit. "After you, Russet." I fought the urge to 'accidentally' knock him over as I stepped over the threshold.
The ruins weren't as cold as outside, likely because of their shelter from the blizzard and the lit torches adorning the walls. The bitter stench of draugr assaulted my nose, and I had to wipe at the dust settling into my eyes. "By the Nine," I gasped, tying a piece of cloth over my mouth to filter the nasty air.
"It reeks of death." I looked back to see Mercer had already done so, covering his mouth with a mask already stitched into his hood.
"Of course it does. This is a burial crypt, Frey," I muttered, holding a deadpan expression.
My snarky response returned a glare from my Guildmaster. "It means there could be draugr about, so stay on your guard." He curled his lip up. "You do know what draugr are, don't you?"
I gritted my teeth, increasingly hating that I was here alone with him and would be for hours, if not days. "Yes, I do," I said curtly, turning back to the path. It wasn't as if the Breton was some mastermind; Skyrim was packed with the creatures.
Taking the lead just as Mercer intended, I made sure to keep my eyes and ears open for anything that might become a problem. After all, it wasn't just draugr in the halls of burial crypts. Long ago, those who built halls for their dead also included deadly traps to ward off graverobbers. Soon enough, we passed through several traps and coffins filled with dead draugr. That meant-
"Draugr!" came the deliberate shout from Mercer. I cursed aloud and started spewing insults, sure it had been intentional to wake the undead from their deathly slumber.
"Oh, you rat-nosed, horker-faced son of a bitch!" I snapped, drawing my blade and cutting down the rising draugr. It took more than a few swings and stabs before all the undead were indeed dead. After shifting my armor, I shot Mercer a smug glare and continued on my way.
As I walked, I took note of several more draugr in the walls. Thankfully, these weren't alive- or undead, as it were. I knew a trick regarding Nordic ruins from my first adventure with Farkas. If they had no clothing, they were deader than the stones on which I walked. If it wore any kind of covering, be it clothing or armor, there was a high chance it still thirsted for blood.
Dead draugr weren't the only kind in the walls, as a lightly armored draugr slept on the bottom level of the wall crypt. I managed to avoid alerting it and crept up with a dagger raised. I plunged the blade into its throat and cut down into its heart, bringing a strange gurgle from the draugr's desiccated mouth. The blue lights in its eyeholes flashed before dying out for good, and I returned the dagger to my side. I preferred to use my sword for combat, but the knife was a good backup for stealth.
"Sneaking past these draugr must have been child's play for Karliah," Mercer mentioned as we went along, sticking his Dwarven blade into a living corpse.
"The same would have gone for me had you not been here," I grumbled irritably.
"Oh, would you have preferred your beloved Brynjolf come with me instead?"
I rolled my eyes and killed another draugr. "I'd have preferred Sapphire." Mercer laughed to himself as a response and beheaded a male draugr. "You're crazy."
"You have no idea." His words sent a shudder up my spine, and I became all the warier of the Breton at my back.
We trudged on for what felt like hours, killing draugr as they came and avoiding any traps we came across. I'd swear Mercer tried to push me into a few of the traps, but he was never anywhere near me when I stumbled into them. While treasure was abundant in the ruin, I only managed to pocket about a quarter of the riches. Mercer was usually the first to snatch anything of worth, and his greed only made my resentment for him grow.
Deeper in the ruin, I came across a room full of traps with a shining golden ship in the middle. "It's a trap," said Mercer lowly, noting my intent to get the boat.
"No, duh."
"Russet, I meant it's a trap set by Karliah."
"Again, no, duh." I rubbed my hands together and stared it down.
Mercer snorted to himself and leaned against the rocky wall, watching me with amusement. "Your funeral."
Scrunching up my nose, I took my first step into the room with care. Oil covered the floor while flaming jugs hung above my head. The slightest misstep would result in a broken tripwire and an explosion I wouldn't make it out of. Taking a deep breath, I lunged for the ship in an arc, rolling through into the next hallway. As I'd suspected, the ship had been set on a weighted platform, releasing the flaming pots onto the oil. An explosion rocked the stones, and I heard the harsh laughter of Mercer once the flames died down.
"She actually did it," he chortled, kicking aside broken pots as he strode through the burnt room. "I can't believe she-" He finally came upon me where I'd been watching him with irritated eyes. "Ah, you're still alive."
"You sound disappointed."
Mercer again chuckled under his breath demeaningly. "Only a little." I decided that no response was the best response and pressed on.
The next curiosity I found in the ancient crypt was a giant stone structure with strange markings on its surface. I'd seen similar ones in a few of the ruins I'd explored with the Companions, but that had primarily been in Western Skyrim. It was interesting to see one this far east, and I was tempted to study it. A chest had been placed closer to the wall, along with a great stone coffin.
"Be careful, Mercer," I warned, pointing to the coffin. "The treasure chest is a lure. The coffin there more likely than not has a powerful draugr inside."
Mercer rubbed his jaw, thinking. "I suppose it's up to you. Do you think you're brave enough to handle a Deathlord?" I clenched my jaw, hating his constant doubt and nagging.
"You know what, Frey? Stand back." I stomped up to the coffin and kicked the top off, staring into the enraged glowing eyes of a heavily armored draugr. I raised my sword and thrust it into the Deathlord's chest repeatedly, though its reinforced steel prevented it from doing too much damage. I cut at the exposed right shoulder followed by its elbow, severing half its shriveled limb. It screeched in a fury and launched its own attack at me with a massive iron axe, which I barely managed to block with the hilt of my one-handed blade.
The draugr started coming at me with increasingly heavy attacks, and for a moment, I wondered if I'd bitten off more than I could chew. However, I'd have a hard enough time admitting that in front of someone like Farkas or Brynjolf. In front of Mercer? There was no way in any level of Oblivion I'd admit it. Instead, I kept an eye out for any weakness in the Deathlord I could exploit.
Surely enough, the next time the draugr lifted its sword, I noted a gap in its armor just below its left armpit. I went on the defensive until I received another opening, and I instantly took advantage of the opportunity to lunge for the exposed spot. My blade slid between its ribs, and the Deathlord gave a final screeching howl before crumbling down into a dusty heap.
I removed my sword from the draugr's body and sheathed it, turning to Mercer triumphantly. To my dismay, the Guildmaster had disappeared. "Mercer?"
"Right here, Russet."
"Ah. I should have figured." I scowled viciously at Mercer Frey, the Breton having shoved all the treasure from the massive chest into his own pockets. "You're not gonna share that?"
"Of course I'm not." Mercer patted his fat pack and smirked. "The lion's share goes to the Guildmaster."
I shouldered up to Mercer with a sour expression. "I killed the damn thing!"
"You could have crept past it."
"No, it's set to wake the draugr as soon as the chest opens."
Mercer was quiet as he slowly stepped over to me, his eyes dark with hatred. "You'll get your just rewards when all this is over, Russet."
"I-" I blinked several times, but the sheer animosity in his blazing eyes froze me to the spot. If I'd had words, I wouldn't have been able to get them out.
The Guildmaster, apparently satisfied with his intimidation, backed away and motioned for me to start moving. "We're almost there. Not much further, and then I can finally be rid of the pests at my heels." My anxiety heightened with his comment, and I fervently wished I had Brynjolf with me to ease my nerves.
Mercer's and my constant pace hit a halt when we came across a puzzle door. There were three symbols set on it- hawk, hawk, snake. For some reason, I felt like that combination was significant, but there was nothing to back up my hunch. "It's one of the infamous Nordic puzzle doors," Mercer announced as though I was a dimwit who had no idea what was in front of me. "How quaint." He tapped his chin. "Without the matching claw, they're normally impossible to open. Since I'm certain Karliah already did away with it, we're on our own." I waited for him to continue, waving my hand about as a way to say get on with it. "Fortunately, these doors have a weakness, if you know how to exploit it. Quite simple, really."
"Simple? Then why, after years of study, has no one else heard of a workaround?"
Mercer pushed at the rings, carefully feeling at them. Once again, a flash of blue appeared in his hands before the door rumbled and opened with a massive groan. "Ah, Russet... I'm afraid our time together has come to an end." I had no chance to reply as his hands gripped my shoulders with a strength that caused me to cry out in pain. A sharp kick to the insides of my knees exacerbated the pain, along with the harsh blow to the base of my skull. My head spun, and I couldn't process a damn thing as I was shoved forward. My ears barely registered the quick thwip of a bowstring, and I was far too slow to even think about leaping out of the way. Just like that, an arrow sank into my abdomen, and a cry of pain burst from my lips. I could taste blood, and I started wheezing in distress.
The aching, the shredding in my limbs... was it the promise of death? Were the Daedric Princes coming for my soul? Through my disorientation, I heard the Prince of the Hunt laughing at my misery. Wait... that wasn't Hircine. That was Mercer Frey.
Frey.
Mercer had attacked me from behind and shoved me into Karliah's attack, all while laughing at my impending demise. I couldn't move, my blood turned to lead as my consciousness tried to swim through a lake of mud. Panic rose in my throat at the thought of death intertwined with anger as I considered the treachery of my Guildmaster. Within these feelings came guilt, guilt tugging at my dying heartstrings. Brynjolf...
"Remember your promise."
How would he feel, knowing I was dead? Would he know I was nothing but Mercer's sacrifice, a human shield?
"Do you honestly think that your arrow will hit me before my blade finds your heart?" Mercer's grating voice reached my ears, harsh and smug at the same time.
"Give me a reason to try." The unfamiliar voice undoubtedly belonged to Karliah. It was smooth and gentle, hardly one I'd pin as a killer. I didn't know if this all was a hallucination through my poison-induced delirium, but I tried to pay attention nonetheless. A small Dunmer materialized from the shadows, a black bow at the ready in her hands. Another arrow was perched on the string, and Mercer seemed overconfident as he strode forward. You traitorous bastard-!
"You're a clever girl, Karliah," Mercer growled hatefully as he advanced, holding his hungry Dwarven blade above his head. "Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired."
Karliah lifted her head and glowered venomously at the Breton. "To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies. Do you remember that? It was the very first lesson Gallus taught us."
"You always were a quick study," Mercer responded, fury unshielded as he continued. For every step Mercer took forward, Karliah took two back.
"Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive." My mind was clearing from the pain, but the poison still ate away at my thoughts. It couldn't just be the toxin in my limbs making it difficult to comprehend what they were talking about. There was a piece to the puzzle I was missing.
"Gallus had his wealth, and he had you," Mercer barked scornfully, lowering his swords slightly. "All he had to do was look the other way!" The... other way?
"Did you forget the oath we took as Nightingales?" My mind was running in circles with all of the new information. I suspected it would be difficult to process even if I hadn't been poisoned. "Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?"
His last nerve spent, Mercer refused to continue the conversation and rushed Karliah while shouting at the top of his lungs. "Come, Karliah! It's time for you and Gallus to become reunited!" The Dunmer shimmered and disappeared as Mercer's sword flashed through empty air, leaving him with no visible target. He groaned in annoyance, head whipping back and forth in a desperate attempt to find her.
"I'm no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence." Karliah's voice was fading as though she was getting farther away. "But I can promise... the next time we meet will be your undoing."
The tension in the air lessened slightly, and I could be certain Karliah had gone. Unfortunately, that left me alone with the man that had thrown me to the lone wolf. My attempt at speaking ended in failure, and I barely managed two gasps through my raw throat.
Mercer stood above me, contemplating my crumpled body. "How interesting. It seems that Gallus' history has repeated itself." He lifted me up by my chin and stared at me with undisguised animosity in his dark gray eyes. "Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place."
"Bas-" I heaved with my attempt to speak, drooling onto the Guildmaster's clutched hand. He dropped me unceremoniously to the ground, sending another shooting pain through my head. My attempt at a scream only resulted in a slow croak. You traitorous snake, when I get back to the Guild-!
The truth struck me like a knife in the chest. There would be no Thieves Guild for me. Nothing else for me, ever. No reconciliation with the Companions, no more time with Brynjolf, never to find out what he was going to say. My death was approaching swiftly, and I'd left so much in my life incomplete.
Mercer wiped my saliva off on his jacket and kicked at my frozen for. "But you know what intrigues me the most, Russet?" He sounded genuinely amused as he gripped the hilt of his Dwarven sword tighter. "The fact that this was all possible because of you."
"D- don't-" My chest quivered as I vomited at Mercer's feet.
"Farewell, Russet. I'll be sure to give Brynjolf your regards." Brynjolf... I choked on the rising blood in my throat as Mercer's sword sank into my abdomen, the parasitic enchantment leeching out what little life I'd held onto. Frey burst out with wretched laughter as he twisted it around, intentionally making my last few seconds a living hell. Crimson rivers poured from my mouth while I wept, and my final seconds of consciousness were cursed with the image of Mercer Frey strolling away. With that last sight, a black veil fell over my eyes and I knew no more.
