((1st of Morning Star/January, 4E 203))

I sat down at a table with Delvin, Vex, and Brynjolf. Mercer hadn't returned, and he hadn't taken any jobs. That likely meant he'd fled upon hearing news of my survival, taking the riches he'd stolen from the Guild with him. Unfortunately, without any guesses as to his location, we were stuck.

"We have to kill him when we find him!" Vex snapped, slamming her fist down onto the table. "He can't get away with this."

"And he won't," Delvin agreed, "but we can't kill 'im. Not yet. He's got to answer to the Guild."

"I agree with Vex." I gritted my teeth. "He destroyed your lives, and damn near ended mine. If I see him, I don't care if it's in the middle of town, I'm cutting his throat."

Brynjolf shook his head. "No, Delvin is right. He needs to face justice."

"Is 'Justice' the name of a weapon I'll get to shove through his miserable skull?"

Rubbing his temples, Brynjolf let out a long sigh. "No, Russet. Believe me, I want to see Mercer dead just as much as you, but we need to face this with caution. Mercer will pay the price." He looked at each one of us. "But to succeed, we need to work together and trust one another."

"What, like you trusted me?" I challenged, staring deep into his pleading eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed in frustration.

"Lass, let's put this aside for a moment. If you want Frey dead, then you have no choice but to trust me, and vice-versa. We all need to know what you learned while you were out in the wilds with Karliah, and I mean everything." The Nord spoke with confidence, and although I knew he was right, it couldn't stop me from snapping back with sarcasm.

"Well, Karliah dislikes leeks, I learned how to make rabbit soup, and-"

"Russet," Delvin warned. "You know what he means."

"Besides," Brynjolf interjected, "if you can get along with Saph, then you can get along with me." I neither confirmed nor denied his remark and took a deep breath before going with his request.

"For starters, Mercer killed Gallus, not Karliah."

Brynjolf cleared his throat and clasped his hands, leaning forward to speak. "Aye, I feared that was the case. From that last entry in Gallus' journal, it looked like he was getting close to exposing Mercer to the Guild."

I looked behind me at a clattering noise, but it was just an attempted arm-wrestle between Rune and Thrynn. I returned my wandering attention back to the others.

"Gallus, Karliah, and Mercer were Nightingales." Brynjolf, Delvin, and Vex were all instantly intrigued by this particular bit of information.

"What?"

"I didn't think they were real."

"Indeed. I've always assumed that was just a tale, a way to keep young footpads in line." Brynjolf stroked his stubble lightly as he thought. "Was there anything else?"

"Karliah was behind Goldenglow and Honninbrew. She was trying to split Maven from Mercer."

"Clever. Is that it?"

I stared him down. "I learned you're an ass. Does that count?"

Brynjolf sighed deeply, running a hand through his long red mess of hair. "No, lass, it doesn't. But please, let's move past this for now. I have an important task for you." I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. "I promise, once we're done with this, you can yell at me as much as you like."

"As if your 'promises' can be trusted," I muttered, kicking Brynjolf in the shin. As he flinched, Delvin took over speaking, aware I was reluctant to work with the Nord.

"We need ya to break into Mercer's home and search for anything that could give us a clue as to where 'e went. We know 'e ain't there, but there might be some kind of information at the least."

"Where is it?"

"Right here in Riften," Vex interjected, speaking up for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. "It was a gift from the Black-Briars after they kicked the previous family out. It's called Riftweald Manor. He never stays there; he just pays for the upkeep on the place."

Brynjolf looked annoyed. "He hired some lout by the name of Vald to guard it."

I rubbed at the cut on my neck while scowling at Brynjolf, my mind racing for a plan. "I don't think that'll be any trouble," I assured the trio. "Don't worry. You don't have any need to doubt me." This time, all three seemed uncomfortable, the most of which being Brynjolf. The venom in my voice made him look down at the table during the silence that followed. It became clear that they were all waiting for me to continue speaking.

He eventually looked up to stare at me again, and I made the mistake of staring back. His eyes, sad like a kicked puppy, were impossibly green and full of regret. A few strands of his long red hair, just a few shades darker than mine, framed his face, and I had the urge to brush it behind his ear as I'd once done. The scar on his cheek stood out with the flickering torchlight, cut across his cheekbones. For a moment, ever so briefly, I wanted him once more, to hold me and tell me it would be okay.

But that time was over. The possibilities had vanished, and no matter what my past with him was, he couldn't be my future.

I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut, ridding myself of the yearning that had trespassed within my mind. I locked up those feelings once more, unwilling to address them ever again.

"Be careful, lass," Brynjolf said gently, and I wondered if he'd known what I was thinking. "This is the last place I'd ever want to send you."

I was thrown back into the sensible contempt I held for him. "Don't..." Don't act like you didn't think Oblivion was the first. "Don't worry. I won't botch the job." I need to keep my feelings out of my job. I can beat Brynjolf's ass after Mercer is dead. I had nothing else to say. Standing up and bumping the table with my thighs, I spun on my heel and stormed for the ladder. I have a job to do, and I'll be damned if I don't do it to the best of my ability.

"Oh, and lass?" I didn't bother turning around. "Go and see Tonilia for a new set of armor. That doesn't look like it'll protect you from so much as a knife."

I snorted and turned around to head for the Ragged Flagon instead. "Ah, of course. If only the Guild's armor could have protected me from you."

...

I began the job by surveying the manor. Vald was easily spotted lounging in the back. He stuck his pinky finger into his ear and dug around before bringing out a chunk of earwax, and I had to look away to avoid vomiting all over the place. I didn't want to look at the man, let alone speak to him, but I supposed I didn't have a choice. While I'd spotted a contraption at the back that would have granted me access, I no longer had a bow to hit the mechanism and bring it down.

When I approached the back gate, Vald spotted me and ran to the fence. "This is Mercer Frey's place!" he growled, brandishing his iron dagger. I wanted to laugh at his attempt to intimidate me, but I was here to persuade the idiot to leave the mansion behind. "He don't like visitors. Go away."

I adopted an irritated expression. "Mercer needs you in Markarth," I said gruffly, looking back and forth between Riften's gate and Vald.

Vald didn't seem to believe me right away. "What's he need me for?" he asked suspiciously.

"I don't know, but he didn't look happy. He said something about kicking you to the streets and sent me on my way." Thankfully, my claim was enough to convince the moron to abandon his post.

"Dammit," he murmured fearfully, twisting his hands nervously. "Is- oh gods, is this about the bandits inside? I don't know how they keep getting in there, I was waiting for the backup-"

"That's me," I lied. "I'm here to take care of the house while you're out and clear out the bandits. One of the Companions is already on his way."

Vald breathed a sigh of relief, but still looked nervous as he dug around in his pocket. "Here ya go. Hold onto the key for me, and don't let anyone in!"

"Don't worry, pal. I won't." I accepted the key and watched Vald run off, silently congratulating myself on a job well done. Of course... my real job is far from over. Vald had unknowingly given me another piece of information. Bandits had broken into Mercer's house, adding another level of difficulty to the assignment.

The key clicked noisily in the door, but the well-oiled hinges made not a sound. However, the bandits Vald had mentioned were rather loud, laughing and belching as they walked around the home. I considered sneaking around again, but decided against it. I didn't feel like creeping around. I wanted to drop every one of the bandits to the ground, slit their throats and watch the blood stain the wood below.

Tightening my hand on the black hilt of my sword, I charged forward with a shout. As soon as I did, bandits started pouring out of the various rooms, running at me with cries of their own. Exhilaration filled my body as I cut left and right, severing heads as my black sword turned crimson. There was no one to stop me from wreaking havoc in the home, and I felt no guilt over the deaths. Bandits didn't deserve to live.

Once I'd cleared out the house, my bloodlust began to fade. As I eyed the bodies littering the floor, I cleared my throat and began my search for any information about Mercer Frey's location. Luckily, I didn't have to look long. While the upper levels had obviously been empty, in the basement was what I assumed was the treacherous Guildmaster's study behind a false cupboard. The treasure that had undoubtedly filled the home had all been wiped out, but I figured the large stone bust of the legendary Gray Fox was worth something to the right buyers. Directly next to it was a large display case, an impressive blue glass sword left behind. It reflected the standard design of the Third Era glass weaponry, and I became curious about just what Frey had left in his house.

Instead of the shining green finish every other glass sword sported, this one was ice-blue and emitted clouds of freezing cold fog once I opened the case. I touched the surface and instantly shivered, rubbing my hands together to return the warmth that the sword had leeched out. I eyed the display case for a label, unsurprised when I discovered the name. Chillrend. The name was familiar to me. Figures that Mercer would claim the legendary sword of ice. Still, I wonder how he got it. As far as I knew, it had disappeared two hundred years ago with the Champion of Cyrodiil.

The desk had papers covering its surface, and I skimmed through each one for information. Most of it was useless trade information and correspondence with Maven Black-Briar, but there was one that caught my attention.

A crude drawing of what seemed to be a statue along with the map of a dungeon adorned the page, along with some messy handwriting. "Eves... of the... Elmer?" I squinted as I tried to make out what it said. "Wait... Falmer...?" Frustrated, I folded up the page and shoved it into my pack. "Gah! Forget reading Gallus' journal, Mercer's handwriting may as well be a separate language on its own! Hopefully, my favorite idiot can read it."

In the back was a hatch leading below, the Shadowmark for Danger etched into the wood. Interest piqued, I opened the trapdoor. The familiar stench of the Ratway hit me, and I nearly heaved from both the smell and the dust. If it was just the front of the Ratway, it would have been the easy route, but it was the next level of the dank tunnels- the Ratway Vaults. I almost shut the door and headed back upstairs, but my heart dropped into my stomach at a sound I'd somehow missed in my search.

"Looks like more than a break-in," said a voice I recognized as Gonnar Oath-Giver, the captain of the Rift's Stormcloak guard. "This is murder. Spread out, men."

I nibbled on my lip, slightly nervous now that the guards were involved. Suppressing a groan of aggravation, I slid down the hatch and disappeared into the Vaults.

...

Despite having to kill a few more lowlifes in the Ratway Vaults before reaching the Ragged Flagon, the trip through the Vaults was easier than the assignment. It would have been better to speak with Delvin or Vex, but as the second-in-command, Brynjolf was the one I'd have to speak to. I reluctantly followed protocol, walking up to the table where his back was turned. Karliah sat on the opposite side of him, but if she saw me, she made no mention of it. A wicked thought occurred to me, and although it was petty, I'd enjoy it quite a bit.

With a few dainty steps, I crept up behind Brynjolf with Gallus' journal in my hands. With a gleeful grin, I whacked the arrogant Nord in the back of the head before making a careless remark. "You'd think the second-in-command would pay a bit more attention to his surroundings." Brynjolf looked pissed until he realized I'd been the one to 'assault' him. Still avoiding his gaze, I slammed the plans onto the table and returned Gallus' journal to my bag before plopping down next to Karliah.

Karliah was the first to look at the plans, but she must have had as much trouble as I discerning Mercer's sloppy writing as she handed the parchment to Brynjolf. He picked up the plans and started reading over them, apparently having no issue with the handwriting. His brows furrowed together, worry began marking lines on his face.

"By the Eight," he breathed, straightening the parchment out to re-read it as though he'd read something he couldn't comprehend.

"Well? Spit it out."

"He's going after the Eyes of the Falmer!" While I stared perplexed at Brynjolf, Karliah seemed to understand the weight of Mercer's plan.

"The Eyes of the Falmer?" she squeaked, violet eyes wide. "That was Gallus' pet project!"

I waved my hands around to get their attention. "Hold on. What are the Eyes of the Falmer?"

Karliah was the one to answer. "The Eyes of the Falmer are massive gemstones the size of a man's head. They're flawlessly cut, worth more than some thieves earn in a lifetime." I was infuriated by Mercer's audacity. Selfish, cruel, and treacherous, the anticipation of killing Mercer filling my mind. I was going to rip out his eyes, crush his neck, break his bones-

"Lass, what in the fifteen hells are you doing?!" I returned to reality, and upon seeing Brynjolf's jaw hanging agape, I followed his eyes down to the table. Striped red and white, my hands were holding what was once an iron tankard that had been unfortunate enough to be nearby. "I just looked over and saw whatever that is, and I just-"

"I was thinking about Mercer." I shrugged casually while Karliah gave Brynjolf a concerned glance. "Oh, didn't you know? I'm not fun to deal with when I'm angry."

Brynjolf appeared hesitant to speak. "I... I'm well aware, lass." He gestured to the deformed hunk of metal. "How in the hell did you do that?"

"I dunno." I tossed the misshapen tankard over my shoulder uncaringly.

"Well, then." Brynjolf coughed into his elbow, though it was more for show than actually clearing his throat. "Now that we're on the topic, we need to figure out how to stop Mercer now that we know where he's headed. He's stolen everything the Guild had left, and to go after the greatest heist in all of the history of Skyrim's chapter is just an insult." He gave Karliah the side-eye. "I've spoken to Karliah and made amends to how the Guild's treated her."

I leaned in and stared into Brynjolf's eyes without blinking. "Good for you."

"...We, uh..."

Karliah pushed me back into my seat. "We've spoken briefly about it, but agreed it would be best to wait until you were here to discuss it in depth."

"In depth? Well, my plan is to jam a corkscrew up his ass." Although Brynjolf looked at me in undisguised horror, Delvin audibly chuckled behind me. "He's already lost."

"Russet, defeating Mercer won't be so easy as a few swings to the throat," Karliah warned, mouth turned down in a worried frown. "He's faster, stronger, and has the advantage in more ways than I can tell you. There's only one way to defeat Mercer. We need to meet him on equal footing." She held my gaze apprehensively, then turned it to Brynjolf. "But I doubt you two are going to be so willing."