((3rd of Evening Star/December, 4E 202))

[Russet's POV/1st Person]

"These etchings look like Falmer writings. I have no way to translate them."

I stared dumbfounded at Enthir. "You're telling me I walked through ice and snow for days, waited my ass outside the College for hours, only for you to tell me you can't translate them in the first place?"

The Bosmeri scholar was visibly displeased with my frustration. "No, I said I don't have a way to translate them. However, there is still a possibility. Unfortunately for you, it won't be easy."

I slammed my fist onto the table, drawing the attention of a few patrons nearby. I waited until their interest had faded before continuing with a low voice through clenched teeth. "Anything," I growled. "Failure is not an option."

Enthir appeared curious at my fervor. "How far are you willing to go?"

"To the death."

"Ah." He leaned back in his chair. "So there's no worry, then. This information won't be easy to obtain, and the slightest misstep will- not can, will- result in your death."

"I take it there's some ancient scroll tucked away in the depths of a Dwarven ruin?" I sighed. I hated Dwarven ruins for a very good reason, but if it would help me return to Brynjolf and get my revenge, I'd force myself through Blackreach itself to get it.

"Oh, no. That would be too easy."

I pressed my fingers to my temples and rubbed to stave off the impending stress headache. "Of course, it would be."

"First off, you'll have to find Calcelmo in Markarth. He's an expert on Dwarven ruins, and if anyone has information on the Falmer, it would be him."

"That can't be the only thing."

"No, it's not." He scooted in to the table and leaned on his elbows. "As I said, it'll be dangerous. If you manage to gain access to his study, you'll undoubtedly have to make it through the defenses he's set up. That includes Dwarven automatons and city guards. I don't think I have to tell you that the Markarth guards are the most vicious in Skyrim. They won't wait for an explanation. They'll kill you on sight."

"Guards..." I slumped my shoulders and hit my head on the table. "Gods be damned." I thought his plan over. "Do you have any definitive proof that Calcelmo even has this information?"

Enthir gave me a nervous smile. "Unfortunately, I do not." At my angry look, he quickly started to explain himself. "It's just that if anyone has information on the Dwarves, and by extension, the Falmer, it's Calcelmo. He's the most well-versed in Dwemer knowledge out of anyone in Skyrim, and perhaps all of Tamriel."

"So if I find a book or notes and bring it here, could you then translate the language?"

"Absolutely."

It would be a long journey, especially given I couldn't travel by carriage until I'd obtained the necessary information. It would take a week, maybe two to walk to Markarth through the wilds and the same back. That meant this venture that might not even bear fruit could take over a month before I had a chance to translate Gallus' journal. I was taking a massive risk on everything, but what helped me walk out of the inn was knowing that each step brought me closer to my revenge.

...

((14th of Evening Star/December, 4E 202))

If I hadn't been trying to move with stealth, I might have arrived in Markarth a few days earlier. As it was, I'd had to spend a few days lost in the mountain range, still not fully recuperated from the poisoning. Running was out of the question, and so while it took me less time than I'd initially thought, it was still a long and arduous trek. In the end, I wasted eleven days on the walk. Another day of rest at the Silver-Blood Inn wasted one more day before I was finally able to enter Understone Keep to meet with Calcelmo.

He was a High Elf, nose buried into his work as I approached him. Clearing my throat, I tried to get his attention. "Excuse me-"

"No!" he snapped before I was even able to get my words out. "We've quite enough guards and mercenaries, and I won't take any more of you wretched salespeople! Get out!"

"Master Calcelmo," I interrupted, desperate to get his permission to enter his study. "I- I'm an aspiring Dwarven study student. I was hoping to see your works and learn from them. I'm not here to sell anything, I promise. All of Tamriel has heard of your expertise!"

Calcelmo puffed out his chest in pride. "Is that so? I mean, of course, it is! You heard right. No one in the entire continent has studied the Dwemer to the extent I have. I've been able to recreate automatons and decipher their ancient languages!"

"Languages? That's brilliant! By the Nine, I've been trying to study the Falmer language in particular. Would you happen to have any notes on that?"

The elderly scholar grinned proudly. "In fact, I do." His smile faded. "But I'm afraid that I cannot release information to the public." My heart sank at the failure of my attempt to persuade my way into the study. "Once I've completed my research, I'll release the book. I'll call it Calcelmo's Guide to the Falmer Language."

"Catchy title," I said weakly. "Er... are you sure I can't just take a look? I won't release the information to anyone else, I swear it."

"Aren't you a pushy one?" Calcelmo narrowed his eyes and stared me down. "Well, I suppose it would be a shame to deny someone so eager for knowledge the chance to indulge in their love of research."

I wriggled in excitement. "So I can see the notes?"

Calcelmo shook his head rapidly. "Of course not," he snorted. "You'll have to wait like the rest of the public so I can properly finish my research."

My heart fell. "But you said-"

"You may visit the museum, but stay out of my study. I have many guards in the area, so don't even think about trying to sneak your way into it." While I was pleased with having manipulated Calcelmo at least into allowing me into the museum, I was also frustrated at the extra work I'd have to put in to avoid detection in the study. "Now, run along. I have important work to continue." The Altmer turned around, clearly finished with our conversation.

Withholding a sigh, I muttered a 'thanks' and headed in the opposite direction. The museum was easy to access once I let the guards posted outside know I had permission, but the inside was different. The guards had their eyes on me as soon as I walked in, and I had to fake a smile and pretend only to be looking at the various pieces in the museum.

"Remarkable," I said dreamily. "This dynamo core is in near-perfect condition! Goodness, I simply must tell Rosetta about this divine collection!" My loud chattering seemed to convince the guards that I was just another Dwemer-obsessed student, and I scribbled random notes onto a piece of paper. "And these weapons are a might more advanced than one might expect from their time!"

"Hey, you! Redhead!" I turned to look innocently at the guard that had gotten my attention. "Keep it down. No one wants to hear you going on and on about this Dwemer nonsense."

"Oh, but it's not nonsense! It's so wonderful!" Wonderful is the last word I'd use about anything Dwarven, but these guards don't have to know that.

The guard sighed in frustration. "Whatever you say." He pinched his nose. "I'll be back. Either be quiet or be gone when I return." This is it. This is my chance to slip into the study.

"Absolutely. Ah, I wish Rosetta was here..." I peered at the guard wandering off into the next room and quietly scampered over to the study. The lock was impressive but nothing too tricky. I managed to open it within fifteen seconds and sneak inside without detection.

The inside of the study was littered with Dwarven artifacts, even more so than the museum. While I wasn't surprised, it made it difficult to avoid noise on the bronze floors with towers of gears about. I figured out how to step with the loud steam noises, and to my relief, the guards seemed rather lax as opposed to attentive. I guessed it was toward the end of their shift.

Not too much further in, I spotted another Altmer I assumed to be Calcelmo's son or nephew. He bore a resemblance to the old scholar but was far too young to be a brother. A guard ran through as I calculated how to get past him, and I was forced to dart into a nearby nook. "Aicantar!" the guard panted, alarm in his voice. "Aicantar, we believe there's an intruder in the study." Instantly alert, Aicantar's hands glowed with magicka.

"My uncle won't be pleased. Scour the halls for a thief. Whoever catches the crook will get a substantial bonus and a week of vacation." Brightening up, the guard pressed a fist to his chest.

"Right away, Aicantar. That burglar won't live to see tomorrow." I mentally cursed and wondered what mistake I might have made. Figuring it didn't matter, I waited for Aicantar to leave with the guard before darting out. As I ran through, I snatched the gold-studded Dwemer box I'd been eyeing up since the guard had run to Aicantar. Chuckling to myself, I shoved it into my pack and took extra care to make it undetected to Calcelmo's inner study.

It held a wealth of information within its doors, but I wasn't interested in the books and Dwemer automaton pieces piled high. A brief search indicated that while there were no available papers on Falmer writing, the massive stone tablet standing high in the middle of the room held the secrets I needed. It was at least four feet high and had to weigh over five hundred pounds. I'd have enough of an issue picking it up; how would I lug it out of Markarth and across all of Skyrim?

I circled the stone, contemplating the various options I had. "The gods hate me," I murmured, wincing as my voice echoed far louder than I'd thought. I had to assume I'd been heard and prepared for the worst, moving quicker than before. Marking down each slight etch wasn't an option either, as it would have taken far too long and would be too easy to make mistakes.

As I ran my finger over the indents in the stone, an idea began to formulate within my mind. Parchment and charcoal littered the room, and several sheets of paper were large enough to cover the tablet's surface. I rubbed down the paper, my devious plan proving successful when I'd adequately copied the writing.

I wrapped the paper up carefully and slipped it into my pack, but a noise from outside the room startled me enough to make my chest tighten in fear. As the door began to open, I ran to the open window I'd seen earlier. "The intruder has to be in here," Aicantar said to his guards. "My uncle's research is too important to lose."

Across the outside of the window, I crept with the hope of slipping away unseen. If one of the guards looked out, they'd see me without a doubt. I stared down at the massive waterfall crashing into the pond below and made a split-second decision. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and jumped.

...

((25th of Evening Star/December, 4E 202))

Both Karliah and Enthir were waiting at Winterhold's inn, and although I was at first surprised at the Dunmer's presence, I supposed I should have expected it. She held a green bottle in her hands I suspected was the poison. Her face was slightly upset, and I wondered what she'd gone through in the weeks since I'd last seen her.

I approached them cautiously, trying not to seem overly suspicious. Enthir eyed me for a moment before beckoning for me to follow him into the basement of the Frozen Hearth. Although I quivered with excitement and nervousness, I could hardly wait to show them the fruit of my labor. When I finally handed over the copy of the tablet along with the journal, Enthir seemed bemused. "I suppose it would be inappropriate to ask how you obtained this." The Wood Elf unrolled the parchment. "A rubbing, eh? Odd. I expected notes."

"I didn't have the time nor the resources to mark them down with care. This was my only option."

"It's fine. I can work with this." Enthir laid out the rubbing and journal beside each other, slowly making marks inside the journal above each sentence as he deciphered the contents. "Hmm..." He continued to study the rubbing, then compared it with Gallus' reports.

"What is it?" Karliah and I said simultaneously.

Enthir shook his head. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait until I'm done translating, but it doesn't look good."

For the next several minutes, no one spoke, the only sounds being the scratching quill on parchment and muffled laughter from above. A tap on my shoulder drew my attention, and I met the disappointed violet eyes of Karliah. "Russet?" she said lowly. "I think we need to talk."

"That's always a good way to start a conversation," I replied with a half-hearted laugh. "What is it?"

Karliah started biting her lip, one of several signs that she was nervous. "I suppose I should tell you something... I met Brynjolf in Snow Veil Sanctum." I was shocked that Karliah couldn't hear my heart from how heavily it started pounding at the mention of his name.

"Brynjolf?" I whispered, following up with a forced cough. "Brynjolf, right. Why?"

"I believe he came for your corpse. He was furious, blaming me for your death. I told him you still lived, but I'm not entirely sure he believed me."

"He came looking for me." I wasn't sure how to feel, but all at once, a wave of emotions nearly knocked me over, putting me into a daze. He must have gotten my letter...

"What letter?" The warning in Karliah's tone brought me back to the present.

I pressed my lips together tightly, unaware I'd said my thoughts aloud. "Um... I may have sent Brynjolf a letter." Karliah peered at me, curiosity and frustration in her frown. "I- I wanted him to know that I was okay. Mercer probably would have told him I was dead, and-"

"You may have jeopardized this entire operation!" Karliah snapped furiously, rubbing her temples. "Nocturnal's grace, what have you done?"

"I- I needed him to know I was trying to get back to him!" I told her desperately. I saw a harsh flash of understanding in Karliah's eyes, and she backed away from me.

"Russet, you foolish child," she murmured. "You're in love with him."

"No! No, I'm not! He-" I choked on my own words, unsure why my denial seemed so empty. My heart tightened in my chest, emotions fighting logic at every thought. "I don't love him," I croaked. "I can't love him." Karliah seemed just as lost for words as I was. I forced my voice to stay firm and even. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Karliah opened her mouth to reply, but Enthir interrupted before the Dunmer could say a thing. "While this conversation of yours is riveting, ladies, I should inform you that I've completed the translations." While I was left to fight with myself, Karliah's attention immediately turned to Enthir. "The contents of this journal are intriguing, yet highly disturbing." He flipped to the first page of the journal and cleared his throat. "It appears that Gallus was suspicious of Mercer's allegiance to the Guild for months."

"What? Mercer is a traitor?" I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. "I'm shocked."

Enthir looked up for a second but didn't respond to my comment. "Gallus had begun to uncover what he calls..." Enthir put his finger on the journal's pages, reading the sentence aloud. "'An unduly lavish lifestyle replete with spending vast amounts of gold on personal pleasures.'"

"I cannot fathom why Mercer would believe Gallus' death was an option at all." Karliah pounded the table with her fists. "That n'wah!" she thundered, volume the loudest I'd heard from her thus far. "Does the journal say where the wealth came from?" Enthir continued flipping through the pages of the journal until he came upon the passage he was looking for. "Yes. Gallus seemed certain that Mercer had been stealing funds from the Guild's treasury without anyone's knowledge." The Bosmer began to sweat as Karliah stared him down.

"Anything else? Anything about the Nightingales?"

The Bosmer nodded and turned to the last page that had writing on it. "Yes, here it is," he responded. "The last few pages seem to describe 'the failure of the Nightingales,' but it doesn't go into great detail. Gallus also repeatedly mentions his strong belief that Mercer desecrated something known as the Twilight Sepulcher." Karliah took in a sharp breath, and when I looked at her, she had tears of dismay and loathing in her eyes.

"Shadows preserve us," she rasped, trembling with a terror I couldn't understand.

Keen to know more, Enthir leaned in. "I'm not familiar with the Twilight Sepulcher. What is it? What has Mercer done?"

Karliah turned around, facing away from her friend. Her arms were limp at her sides. "I'm sorry, Enthir. I can't say. All that matters is that we deliver your translation to the Guild as soon as possible." The Dunmer put her face in her hands, apparently composing herself before looking back at Enthir. "Words can't express..." Her attempt to control herself failed, and she choked on her words.

"It's all right, Karliah." Enthir waved it off with a sorrowful smile. "You don't have to say a word. Gallus was a good friend, and I'm glad to have helped him one last time." The dainty Dark Elf embraced Enthir before heading up the steps, clearly intending for me to follow. Before I could leave, the Bosmer spoke up. "Russet, was it? Listen, please." I lifted a brow and waited for his explanation. I was eager to leave, both for my revenge and to figure out whatever my head and heart were battling over. "All I want is the truth to be revealed to the Guild. They respected Karliah once, and she deserves better. Do whatever you can, and I'd consider it to be a personal favor." The timbre of Enthir's plea was wistful, and I almost laughed out loud. Karliah had tried peering into my heart but couldn't see into Enthir's enough to notice he harbored a love for her.

I half-waved to Enthir. "I'll do whatever I can," I promised solemnly, shaking off my amusement.

"And one last thing... if trying to rid yourself of stolen goods becomes a burden, and you happen to be in Winterhold, come visit me at the College. I've been known to handle items of questionable interest, and I will see what I can do." He chuckled to himself. "And I'll be sure to let my colleagues know you're welcome within our walls."

The memory of the snobby Altmer at the bridge came to mind, and I held back a snort. "Thanks, Enthir... for everything." Journal in hand, I ascended the stairs while deep in thought. Karliah met me at the door, silent as the snow. "He's willing to fence for us," I told her lowly, just barely loud enough for her to hear. "It's time to return, then? To bring the proof and-"

"Not yet. The-"

"What?!" My shout of dismay made Karliah frown as well as draw unwanted attention.

"Follow me," Karliah demanded hotly, opening the door with a little more force than necessary. I obeyed and trailed behind her for about a mile before the frustrated Dunmer whirled around to face me. "It's not that I don't want to go back to the Guild, Russet. My poison isn't complete."

My body shook with anger. "With every day that passes, that's another day that Mercer has a chance to destroy the Guild. Are you willing to take such a chance?"

Karliah glared at me, not bothering to answer directly. "My poison needs more time to settle." She eyed me strangely, then looked down at my hand. "And I think you do, too." With that, she whirled around and headed out into the wilderness. While I wondered what she'd meant by that, I looked down in curiosity at what she'd taken notice of.

Brynjolf's amulet was wrapped securely around my left wrist, the talisman clutched securely in my fingers. I realized that I'd been holding it for the past three hours, not once letting go.

...

Later that night, I joined Karliah in her Winterhold camp with my mind no better off than before. A pot of stew bubbled on the fire, and although I was hungry, food wasn't at the front of my mind. She poked at the embers with a stick while I sat on the other bedroll. Her violet gaze traveled to me when I started fiddling with the amulet.

"What's that?" she asked quietly. I glanced at it briefly.

"A necklace. It's a dog or something, but it... it came from someone important to me."

"Brynjolf, I take it?"

"...Yes." The fire crackled as I fell silent.

"I was thinking about what you said earlier, by the way." She looked at the green bottle in her hands before tucking it into her pocket. "And I suppose you're right. We must hasten to Riften before Mercer can do any more damage to the Guild." She looked at me out of the corner of her eyes. "And you have unfinished business with Brynjolf."

"Maybe, but it's not any of your business," I growled irritably, popping the cork of a bottle of mead and tipping it down my throat. "But there's something that I do need to know before we head for the Guild. Gallus' journal said something about the Twilight Sepulcher. I know you weren't willing to explain it to Enthir, but I think I deserve a little more information." I tossed the empty bottle of mead aside.

Karliah appeared to fight inwardly with herself before sighing in reluctant acceptance. "You've come this far, and without your help, I never would have managed that translation. I suppose there's no reason to conceal it any longer," she conceded. "The Twilight Sepulcher is the sacred temple of Nocturnal."

"Aren't the shrines themselves considered temples?"

"In a way, but the Twilight Sepulcher is different. It is meant for Nightingales alone." She gazed off into the distance as she spoke. "It is what Nightingales are sworn to protect with their lives."

"And I presume Mercer didn't keep that vow?" Karliah's expression turned sour.

"No one expected betrayal from within our little circle." I wanted to comfort the Dunmeri woman but didn't quite know how to. Her love was dead, and her entire life had been destroyed thanks to a man she'd considered a close friend. "The Twilight Sepulcher wasn't built to be desecrated." She was tense with sorrow. "It wasn't prepared for an inside attack."

"Then why bother creating an elite force?"

She shifted her position on the bedroll and stirred the stew in the pot. "Everything that represents Nocturnal's influence is contained within the walls of the Sepulcher. Now it seems that Mercer's broken his oath with Nocturnal-"

"And defiled the very thing he swore to protect," I finished, earning an approving nod as she filled a bowl with the stew and handed it to me. It felt good to fill my belly with hot food, something I hadn't had in what seemed like forever. "Even so, thieves and temples just don't add up. We're pickpockets, scoundrels, and dishonest smugglers. It's not like we're doing what we do to become priests or monks."

Karliah laughed to herself as she poured herself a bowl of food. "I felt the same way when Gallus first revealed these things to me," she confessed. "I think, given time, you'll understand what I mean." There was a tinge of something beneath her words, and I grew cautious with the understanding that she was still hiding something from me.

"I'd understand better if less mystery was involved," I stated pointedly, making her aware I knew she wasn't telling me everything.

"As a Nightingale, I have been sworn to secrecy regarding the Sepulcher. I've already pushed my luck, telling you as much as I have. I know the Guild doesn't do much to foster faith, but I'll have to ask you to continue to trust me."

I contemplated her answer, disliking the riddles. Even so, I had no choice but to follow Karliah's lead if I wanted Mercer to pay for his crimes. "Very well," I consented reluctantly, pushing a strand of my red hair out of my eyes. "We'll do it your way for now."

The Dunmer sighed in relief. "How about this: we travel separately to attract less attention. I'll make for Riften first and scout the situation to see what Mercer's up to. When you're ready, come meet me in the Ragged Flagon. In the meantime..." The same strange look she'd given me earlier returned. "You should think about what you're going to say to Brynjolf when we get back."

The rest of the night was quiet, Karliah and I having said all we needed to. She soon laid down to rest, but I was wide awake with my thoughts. Although I didn't want to admit it, there was much more to my feelings for Brynjolf than friendship or admiration. I remembered what I'd once had with Farkas, but it somehow didn't compare.

In the end, I didn't know what I'd say to Brynjolf when I got back. Everything I'd gone through with him ran through my head as I laid down, and my last thought before I drifted off to sleep was a memory.

"...Do you..." An unsaid thought had followed, but he'd known what I meant as clearly as if I'd said it aloud. He'd taken my head and kissed its top, soft green eyes gleaming with a tender yet devilish passion.

"...Come back safe, and I'll tell you."