((14th of Frostfall/October, 4E 202))
[3rd Person POV]
Mercer stared down at the bleeding form of the woman who'd been a thorn in his side since the day Brynjolf had brought her around. She was still as ice, and soon enough, she'd be cold as ice, too. With a dirty grin, the Breton sheathed his Dwarven sword and faced the area Karliah had disappeared into. With his primal link to his fellow Nightingale, he knew she was nowhere around, but neither did he have any idea where she'd gone.
"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, the glee at Russet's death draining at the thought of tracking Karliah down once again. She was unlikely to return to the ruins again, meaning he'd have to go on another wild goose chase to finally end her life. Then again... did he really have to?
...
((20th of Frostfall/October, 4E 202))
Brynjolf signed off on another contract and sent it on its way back to Markarth. The silversmith, Endon, had requested help on a sensitive matter. Typically, paperwork was handled by either Mercer or Delvin, but as the former had left with Russet and the latter had gone to Raven Rock to visit his brother, it was a job that had fallen squarely on the Nord's shoulders.
"Anything else I can do for you, Brynjolf?" Sapphire questioned, smiling coyly as she tucked the parchment into her pack.
"I'm afraid not." He waved her off, his frown deepening when Sapphire remained where she was. "Is something the matter?"
"I just noticed you haven't been your usual self these past few weeks. I was hoping I could help with that."
"No." Brynjolf's firm denial seemed to surprise the Nord. "If it's not about work, I don't want to hear it."
Sapphire plopped down in the seat across from Brynjolf and leaned on her palm. "Okay, fun's over. What's the matter?"
Bryn didn't look up at Sapphire, keeping his green eyes to his paperwork. "Nothing's the matter, and if it were, you wouldn't be the one to know about it."
Sapphire ran her fingers through her red-brown hair and pursed her lips. "Is it Karliah?"
Brynjolf held up a stack of papers and clapped it on the table to straighten it out. "If it'll get you off your arse and on the road to Markarth, then sure." He finally looked up to Sapphire's ice-blue eyes and lifted a brow. "Sapphire, I'm not in the mood."
"I know what this is." Sapphire's face darkened with irritation. "It's Russet, isn't it? You know, rumors have gone around about you and her for a few moons now-"
"And rumors are rumors." He made another signature and tucked the sheet in a thick book, intending to file it later. "On the other hand, you and Dirge-"
"Why are you bringing that up?" hissed Sapphire, instantly hostile.
"You saw fit to stick your nose where it didn't belong. Don't throw if you can't catch, Sapphire." He set the quill back into its inkwell and leaned on his crossed arms. "Now, if there's nothing else, get to Markarth before I give the job to someone else. It's a good-paying contract, so I wouldn't push my luck if I were you." Although she muttered something under her breath, Sapphire didn't press the matter and left Brynjolf at the table.
He cracked his knuckles and returned to his work, but his efforts were interrupted once again, to his chagrin. "All right, Bryn. Spill."
"Welcome back, Vex," Brynjolf greeted, not bothering to look at the white-haired woman across from him. "How did the job go?"
"The job was easy. The problem started when I came back and saw you still had your nose in a pile of papers." Vex's vaguely reprimanding tone itched at Brynjolf's consciousness, adding to his irritation.
"Aye, because in the absence of Mercer and Delvin, I have assloads of paperwork to take care of." Brynjolf rubbed his temples. "If I were to walk out that door, all this would be yours."
"True enough," agreed Vex, "but that's not what I'm talking about."
Brynjolf's voice became dangerous. "Oh? And what, pray tell, might you be talking about?"
"I'm talking about how no one has dared approach you since Mercer and Russet went off to kill Karliah."
With a heavy sigh, Brynjolf at last looked up at his co-thief. "Vex, I've known you for years. Don't make me sock you."
Vex laughed aloud and snatched the bottle of mead in front of Brynjolf before leaning back in her chair. "You wouldn't dare." She paused to drain the alcohol and tossed the empty bottle to Vekel at the Ragged Flagon's counter. "So, what's this 'work' that's got your panties in a twist?"
Though annoyed by Vex's approach, Brynjolf sighed and showed her a stack of papers he'd been scribbling on for hours. "A few of our contacts have been taken out by some ragtag bunch of do-gooders, and one of them claims to be the Dragonborn. Half of them need to be freed, and the other half are dead. I need to hire an investigator into this supposed 'Dragonborn' and the rumors of dragons. Our merchants are disappearing off the road, meaning we have to hire more, and an entire caravan of Khajiit smugglers hasn't been seen for days." He slammed the papers down, frustration coming out in a rising voice. "So we've got to dig into the Guild's coffers for money we don't have to pay for a messenger to go all the way to Khenarthi's Roost in Elsweyr and hope they survive long enough to make the trip and are trustworthy enough to hire the right people. I'd ask M'aiq, but he hasn't been seen either! He's probably dead! We have no idea where our contacts are, no idea where our Guildmaster is, and I have no idea where the lass is or if any of them are even alive!"
"I knew it." Vex stared at Brynjolf with narrowed eyes. She didn't appear surprised by his rant and seemed more triumphant than anything.
Brynjolf buried his head in his hands. "Knew what?" he grumbled through his fingers.
"You're beyond overworked." Vex's comment only served to sour Brynjolf's mood further. He snorted and reluctantly went back to his papers, but Vex slammed a hand down before he could read another word. "And that's only half of it, isn't it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Please. I don't know how half the Guild knows what you don't." Vex didn't try to hide her concern. "You're terrified for Russet."
"I'm worried about both Mercer and Russet," corrected the irate Nord, shoving Vex's hand off his work. "Taking care of the paperwork helps get my mind off it."
Vex leaned in to whisper into his ear, and Brynjolf tensed up as she spoke. "This isn't about Mercer. This is about your lass." She drew back. "If you're that worried, go look for them. Find a partner and head to Snow Veil Sanctum." The female thief at last showed a bit of worry in her expression. "We all know they should have been back by now, and you're probably the best we've got in the field."
"But my work-"
"I'll take care of it for a few days. Go get Niruin or Thrynn and find our Guildmates." Brynjolf opened his mouth to refuse but found he didn't have it in his heart to deny his desire to take matters into his own hands. "If the worst has happened, then at least they don't have to sit in an old tomb, and they can be given a proper burial."
With a heavy sigh, Brynjolf ran his hands down his face. "Fine. Are you sure you can handle things?"
"Absolutely. You take good notes, so it shouldn't be difficult to pick up where you've left off." She shooed the red-haired Nord out of his seat. "Get."
Brynjolf took to his feet for the first time in what felt like days and stretched out. Seconds before, he'd felt tired enough to fall asleep at the table. Now that he had an actual purpose pertaining to his worries, adrenaline was coursing through his body. I'm coming to find you, lass, he thought intensely, barely controlling his stride to a fast walk into the cistern. And I won't stop until I do.
...
While Brynjolf was agonizing over his Guildmates, Mercer was on his way back from Windhelm. He started whistling a merry tune as he pushed even more gold from his haul into the storage of his mind. Thievery had become a hassle ever since that twit Russet had joined, especially since she'd gotten Brynjolf to take her side in damn near every argument. However, he was now free from her very existence, and he'd never have to deal with her again.
As he thought more and more about Brynjolf and Russet, he figured he'd have to develop a believable story. Karliah killed Russet before my eyes and ran off while I was paralyzed from poison on her arrows. It sounded plausible enough. Then again, wouldn't Karliah kill me while I was supposedly paralyzed? A different explanation occurred to him. Karliah killed Russet, and I barely managed to fend her off. Ah, but for that, I need evidence of a fight...
Mercer stretched out and withdrew a dagger from his belt. He carefully carved multiple lines into his flesh, clenching his fist at the pain. It wasn't horrible, as pain was something he was used to. In the long run, it would all be worth it.
...
((21st of Frostfall/October, 4E 202))
"Hold on. Something's ahead!" Niruin informed Brynjolf, and the Nord took off at a swift pace. "I think it's Mercer!" Sure enough, just over the white hill south of Snow Veil Sanctum, the familiar form of Mercer trudged along. Crimson tears stained the snow as he walked, wincing with every step. He looked exhausted, and while Niruin rushed to help his Guildmaster, Brynjolf's eyes swept the landscape for Russet.
"Mercer!" he called out, both eager and afraid to find out where Russet was. "What happened?"
"Gods, the last time I saw you this bad was after you last dealt with Karliah." Concern took over Niruin, and he quickly took to supporting Mercer. "Did she do this? I hope you cut her down."
Mercer groaned in pain and leaned on the Bosmer, giving a grateful half-smile. "I- I wish I could say I did," he panted, pointedly avoiding Brynjolf's eyes. "But she managed to get away."
"Again?" Brynjolf interjected, sounding slightly suspicious. "And the lass?"
"Bryn..." Mercer continued to look away from Brynjolf as though the answer to his subordinate's query was just as painful as the bleeding wounds that covered his body. "How do you think I got away?" he muttered, finally meeting the tall Nord's shocked gaze. Brynjolf's jaw hung slack as his brain tried to process what Mercer had said. The surprise quickly became intense determination.
"Tell me what happened," he demanded. "Everything."
Mercer winced and shook on his feet. "Mind if we get back to the Guild first?" he moaned, gripping a particularly long cut on his torso. "I need to rest."
"But-"
"Russet won't be coming, Brynjolf. I'll explain everything later, but for now, let's get going."
Brynjolf clenched his teeth. "Fine." He took Mercer's other side, intent on getting his Guildmaster back to the Ragged Flagon as soon as possible. "Let's get you back to Riften."
...
((22nd of Frostfall/October, 4E 202))
"I doubt I would have survived the walk if you two hadn't come to find me." Mercer gasped as Vex patched him up. "Thank you both."
"Of course," Niruin said, clinging to the arms of his chair tightly. He caught the fierce eyes of Brynjolf and decided to ask the question the Nord was holding back. "And what about Russet? You said something about her and Karliah...?" At this point, most of the Guild was paying attention, and Mercer inwardly reveled in the attention.
The Breton cleared his throat. "I took the lead in the ruins, taking Russet to watch my back. As soon as we'd gotten to the inner area of Snow Veil Sanctum, Russet shoved me to the side. I'd assumed it was a sort of mutiny, perhaps her working with Karliah. However, when I looked to see her again, she was bleeding out from an arrow in her throat." He met Brynjolf's bewildered gaze. "Karliah had poisoned the arrow as well. There was no way to save her. I gave Karliah a wound to remember, but she still managed to slip away when my attention faltered. I'd say the injury would kill her if she didn't get immediate medical help, but she may still be on the loose. Regardless, as you can see..." Mercer gestured to the cuts covering his body. "Karliah left her mark on me as well."
"So Russet is dead?" Dirge clarified. One or two Guildmembers looked to Brynjolf for his reaction, but he refused to show any emotion in front of his fellow thieves.
"Are you sure?" Brynjolf queried, his chest feeling as though it was being pulled apart. He gave no sign of his inner ache and crossed his arms.
"Here." From his belt, Mercer produced the unique sword Russet had carried from the first day she'd entered the cistern: a stunning steel blade with a silver wolf's head on the hilt. "I brought back her sword." He handed it gingerly to Brynjolf. "I have no use for it, but I suspect you'll want it." Though the comment had hidden barbs, the red-haired Nord's mind was only on the death of Russet.
Brynjolf refused to speak another word and left the crowd to return to his room. As soon as he clicked the lock, he slid down to the floor. "Lass..." He looked at the steel sword in his hands. "I should never have let you walk out that door."
...
In the meantime, Mercer had returned to his room, claiming to need rest to recuperate. His act had successfully convinced the entire Guild that Russet was dead at the hands of Karliah, and it had even weakened his second-in-command in the process. He was the wealthiest son of a bitch in history, held the power of a Daedric Prince in his hands, and had no one in his way to complete his exhausting plot to steal one of the greatest treasures Tamriel had to offer.
"I'm nearly done," he murmured to himself. "Not much longer... and I'll finally be a king among men."
