Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the responsible parties. Anything you don't recognize probably belongs to someone else. The particular way I've filed off this tale's serial numbers, though, is totally mine, and I'll be a mite ticked off if someone tries to claim it as theirs. That said, please don't sue me over anything in this fic. I don't even own my own soul anymore, so all you'd get is a bunch of legal fees.
A/N: So… I recently found myself bored and asked for a decent offline video game rec on Reddit that would run on my potato of a laptop. Some (kind? sadistic?) soul pointed me in the direction of Skyrim. And thus I was consumed – I'd never even heard of it before (yeah, hard to believe, I know, but my family has long joked that if the world blew up, I'd be the last to notice).
And this was born from that fucking repetitive endless line you get from Brynjolf following the conclusion of the Thieves' Guild questline. From what I've seen, it seems I'm not alone in my confusion on why we can't marry the sexy Nordic redhead (or, for that matter, the sexy vampire chica, but this story doesn't focus on her).
Warnings: Language and minor spoilers for the primary questline and the Thieves' Guild questline. Sickeningly saccharine ending, but before you get that far, plenty of angst (especially considering how short this one is).
Another Time
Chapter One: Delvin
Thieves being what they were, the Flagon was very much an inverse of the Bee and Barb up top. Where that particular establishment was likely just gearing up for an afternoon and evening of busily serving drinks and food, down below, its dark brother had shut down for the day as the hardiest of its patrons sought their bed after a night of revelry. Which is a very long way to say that it was two in the afternoon, and Delvin was sitting alone in the Flagon. He was one of the only ones in the guild who stuck to a strict schedule – though it hadn't always been that way. Now, however, someone had to be available during daylight hours, whether to run errands up top or to keep watch and make sure none of the Ratway's less-desirable denizens found their way in.
Delvin didn't mind all that much. The older I get, the less I sleep anyway, he thought for the umpteenth time. It gave him time to organize the jobs in order of priority, mentally assigning them to specific members, and to double-check Brynjolf's arithmetic in the ledger.
He was just finishing up with the ledger when someone traded the empty tankard at his elbow with a full one. "You're back," he said, surprised. "Figured you'd be gone another two, three days at least."
"It was Whiterun, Del, not Markarth," the new arrival said, taking a seat across from him.
"True," he allowed, making one last correction in the ledger, and then closing it. He finally looked up. "You look exhausted, Nick," he said, his tone blunt, though not unkind.
She shrugged and took a drink from her own tankard. "I am," she said, her voice almost inaudible. "But the books have been cooked at the Drunken Huntsman. What else do you have for me?"
Delvin shook his head. "Sorry, Boss," he said. "I ain't givin' ya another job until you look less like a bloody draugr."
The woman scowled. "I can sleep when I'm dead," she retorted.
Months ago, back when she'd first shown up, it would have been said in a teasing manner, complete with a cockeyed grin. Now? Delvin couldn't help but find it less a sarcastic comeback and more a weary promise. When did she stop smiling? he wondered. "Look," he said, "it'd be a good idea for our Guild Master to hang about for a coupla days. We got a few prospectives what need a lookin'-over, so it ain't like you'd not have nothin' to do."
Nick sighed. "Del… It's not a good idea. You and Vex and Brynjolf? You three can run things here. You always do. Honestly, I have no fucking clue why all y'all wanted me to be Guild Master to begin with. It's not like I do anything different than when I first arrived. Besides –" She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. "Never mind. You got a job for me or not?"
It was Delvin's turn to sigh. "Aye. But not until you get some sleep, lass," he said.
She winced, but before Delvin could comment on it, she said, "Fine," and headed off in the direction of the Cistern.
It was somewhere in the neighborhood of nine o'clock that evening when Nick returned. The dark circles under her eyes had managed to fade a trifle, though they were still there. Vekel greeted her with a mug of chava and a bowl of oat porridge, knowing better by now than to actually say anything. Delvin took the seat next to hers at the bar and waited until she'd finished two mugs of the chava and half her breakfast. "Feelin' better?" he asked as she held her mug out for a third refill of the black Khajiiti beverage.
She shrugged. "Suppose," she allowed. "Now – about that job?"
"You really oughta stick around a bit," Delvin tried again. He was genuinely worried about her. Tired thieves make mistakes. Fatal ones, even. "Got enough folk to cover all the vital jobs, if that's what's drivin' ya. Guild won't suffer if her Mistress takes a few days off."
"Alright," she quietly agreed, a note of defeat in her voice that did little to ease Delvin's worry. She drained her mug and sat it next to the bowl, then slid off the bar stool and headed back towards the Cistern.
Delvin watched her go. He should be relieved she agreed to take a little time off, but his gut was screaming at him that something was wrong. He resolved to speak with her about it in a couple of hours. Hopefully, by then he'd have some idea as to what was bothering him about it. Maybe even have an idea on how to fix it.
After checking in with both Vex and Brynjolf, then taking the time to sort through the day's mail, Delvin set out to fulfill his earlier promise to himself. But Nick wasn't in the Cistern. She wasn't in the training room, either, nor had anyone seen her.
With growing dread, Delvin headed towards her partitioned-off bed.
It had been stripped and now supported several leather-wrapped bundles and a couple of parcels. On top of all of it lay a parchment envelope. It was heavier than Delvin expected, but addressed to him. He broke the wax seal. The Amulet of Articulation spilled out, landing on one of the boxes on the bed. He let it lay where it landed, more focused on the letter itself.
Delvin,
I can't stay. I had hoped things would eventually work out, but I know now that was a foolish hope. Like I said earlier today, you and Vex and Brynjolf are more than capable of leading the Guild. You don't need me. Not any more.
No one who comes to the Guild has a wonderful past, I'm sure you know this already. If we did, it's vanishingly unlikely we'd be what we are to begin with. My own past is catching up with me, and none of you need that sort of trouble. It's time I turned around and face it. I think I'm ready. The hardest part, realizing that I'm not allowed to actually have what I truly want out of life, has been hammered home.
You should pass along my thanks to Brynjolf for that last. Along with my apologies. I never wanted to hurt him, but I know I did. He saw me kill a man he thought of as a brother, after all, and even knowing Mercer had betrayed him, had betrayed the Guild – it can't erase a lifetime of kinship. He's avoided me ever since then, had you noticed?
Anyway, I'm straying very far from the topic, aren't I? I came to the Guild almost by accident and would have happily stayed forever, but family isn't something I'm allowed. I think I know why, too. I just hope that Nocturnal doesn't take her ire out on you all when she realizes that my soul wasn't mine to barter with – it belongs to someone else, and always will.
I know you're a sharp one, Delvin. But just in case, I'll come right out and say it in so many words: I honestly don't expect to survive the task ahead. But what's the value of one life when compared to the whole of the world? I have to do this. I have no choice. But if my death buys life for all of you, then I pay it gladly.
Please make sure Karliah gets the Nightingale equipment back – I won't need it where I'm going, and tell her I think that Rune would make an excellent third. She'll know what I'm talking about.
Vex gets the contents of the smaller box. There's twenty-three in there, so there's only one more out there in the world. Maybe y'all can find it.
The guild armor, of course, should be remanded back to Tonilia's care. Again, I'm not going to need it where I'm going. Not only would it be insufficient to the task at hand, but it would make things more difficult than they are already – that's the one downside of the Guild growing powerful again, our armor is rather a dead giveaway as to what we are, isn't it?
Since you're the one who tends to deal with the folks up top most often these days, I leave the Amulet in your capable hands, though I doubt you have much real need for its enchantment.
The larger of the boxes is just basic gear. Make sure it gets sorted into the common stores, would you?
And if Brynjolf asks about me, about where I went, I'd appreciate it if you said this to him exactly, "Sorry, lad, but I've got important things to do. We'll speak another time."
I already miss you all. You were a family when I really needed one. Raise a glass in my memory every now and then, will you?
Love,
Nicole
A/N2: One down, three to go.
