Prim parried and weaved around Vilkas, their swords striking and filling the training yard with metallic clangs. It was chill, but not so chill that Brynjolf required a layer beyond the outer robe of his merchant's garb as he sat and watched. The dark-haired man, Vilkas, wasn't being easy on Prim, but the lass was holding her own, stubbornly so, and not without brilliance. He had never seen her in full form with a sword before, and now realized just how formidable an opponent she made. Her light steps were those of a thief, but her steel that of a warrior. If she could get close, Karliah would be hard pressed to outrun or kill the woman.
Prim won't die, he vehemently thought. Mercer and Prim were talented fighters, and between the two, Karliah had little chance of winning. Unless she picks them off from a distance. But he owed his guildmaster and fellow thief more credit than that, and Prim would undoubtedly take watching Mercer's back seriously.
Brynjolf thought back to their conversation the night before, and wondered whether anything might have blossomed between himself and the lass. He'd thought of her in a romantic sense from time to time, and had flirted when it suited him, so why had nothing happened? He would have loved her. That much he knew, but her eyes had burned with focus on Mercer, purely in defiance at first, before she'd come to grips with the man's abrasiveness.
I lost my chance, Brynjolf realized. He'd continued old games while completely dismissing the possibility of Mercer doing more than tolerating Prim. If he'd known about the drawer and Mercer's research project, he wouldn't have been so lax. If he'd suspected just how deeply Prim was gravitating toward the man, he would have done more to spare her possible rejection. Now though, thinking about the guildmaster, perhaps this was for the best. Perhaps Prim could worm her way close enough to find the Mercer who'd sometimes risked his own safety for a nothing of a street kid.
"Have we started taking on soft townsmen now?" a female voice asked.
Brynjolf turned his head to eye the approaching woman. She wore leather pants and boots, a thick jacket trimmed in fur overlaying chain armor that gleamed in the morning light. His eyes danced across her sharp features and reddish hair, lingering on green eyes much like his own. She looked him up and down just as boldly while scrubbing a nail across her cheek to remove the last remnants of what looked like war paint.
"The name's Aela," she stated. "Either you're lost or you're Prim's friend."
"I'm not the type of person to get lost, lass," he smiled.
"Lass?" she questioned, eyes narrowing. There was a predatory element to the woman as she strode closer. "Just who do you think you're calling lass?"
"A beautiful woman," he easily replied, working the best of his charm. "As beautiful as she is deadly, I'm assuming. You're a companion?"
"Nothing less," she said, turning her attention to the yard. "And you are...?"
"Brynjolf."
"You came from Riften with Prim, did you not?"
"Aye. I've lived there my whole life. Have you visited?"
"No. The smell was enough to keep me away."
"It grows on you," he promised.
This woman had not been present yesterday or the day before, when he'd first come to Jorrvaskr with Prim. Perhaps she'd been out on a job, braving the wilderness of Skyrim with the sword so easily resting on her hip, or the bow across her back perhaps. It was a different sort that gathered on these grounds to pledge oaths and look for the next available fight. He was not entirely out of his depth, but cut from cloth ill-suited to this lifestyle. These were warriors, and proud ones at that.
"Have you been comfortable in our hall, townsman?" Aela asked, peering at him.
"Warm, well-fed, and very entertained," he beamed.
He shifted just enough that she could see the pommel and grip of the sword strapped to his waist. She eyed it and then him before her lips pulled into a smile.
"Why don't you show me how a man from Riften fights?"
"I'm not a warrior, lass, but maybe one day," he winked. "You wouldn't want to meet me in a game of my choosing."
She snorted very ungracefully, yet moved with unbelievable grace to embrace Prim as the other woman finished sparring with Vilkas. Prim's cheeks were flushed from exertion, but a smile was stamped on her face.
"You were hunting?" she guessed.
"There's no finer way to spend a morning," Aela returned. "I was hoping you'd join me before you depart."
Prim shook her head, the women briefly meeting eyes before Aela nodded. Brynjolf pondered the exchange, but then Vilkas was dropping onto the bench beside him, sweating and the war paint around his eyes running. Prim and Aela followed suit, the four soon sitting in a circle and chatting about recent jobs. It was a conversation to which he could contribute little, although that unpleasant incident with a sabercat outside Riften suddenly proved handy. He could speak of playing a game with it in the forest, although at the time, he'd been very concerned about ending up as the thing's dinner. They didn't need to know that he'd been returning from a theft when he'd accidentally stumbled upon the animal. Prim's smile said that she already knew this story, or maybe the one about him fighting bandits on the pass toward Mist Veil Keep to meet one of Maven's underlings.
"I told you he's not just a soft hunk of meat," Prim crowed, nudging Aela with a grin.
"He doesn't look like he could fight a sabercat," the woman shrugged.
"Don't I now?" he challenged. "A strapping Nord like myself? Looks can be deceiving, lass."
He couldn't help but smile when Aela's gaze drifted over him ever so subtly, quickly darting to Prim as the woman prodded her about her recent hunt.
"I was down near Riverwood," she spoke. "I took the mountain pass directly south of it, aiming for a hagraven cave, but I must have taken the wrong trail. It wound deep into the stone, and ended against the mountain. Strange place. There was a stone wall as tall as a tree set right into the side of the cliffs. I climbed the boulders around it for a better look—was pretty sure there was nothing left of interest to find down there, but it was worth a look, if you know what I mean. I've never seen something so strange in my life. Right in the middle of the night, there was a woman up there on the tower, lighting candles around a statue of a woman with her arms stretched out and birds of some kind on them."
Nocturnal? Brynjolf said nothing, but caught Prim momentarily freeze. The daedra made the woman uneasy, and understandably so after the nightmares she'd experienced. He did not have such a gut reaction himself, the image of the daedra a familiar one from the shrine that had once stood in the cistern. He'd never paid much attention to it himself, only on nights when he'd helped Karliah with some celebration or other. Mercer had always insisted it was a waste, of course, and that his time would be better spent training.
"She saw me," Aela continued. "Asked me if I was a child of shadow. I don't know what she was talking about, but we spoke for a few moments. She's a watcher of some kind, and came up from Cyrodiil to meditate and think. Oblivion if I know what she was going on about. I didn't stay long enough to be ambushed or have some sort of curse called on me."
"Do you remember exactly where this place was?" Prim asked.
"I never forget once I've been somewhere."
"So you could mark it on a map?"
"You're thinking of going out there?" Aela questioned. "What for?"
"It sounds interesting, don't you think, Brynjolf?" There was no telling what she was thinking about behind that placid expression, but he nodded in agreement. "Brynjolf here is an explorer of sorts. It sounds like a shrine to Nocturnal, and I've never seen one."
"Suit yourselves," Aela accepted. "I'll mark it for you. Vilkas, are you asleep?"
The man opened his eyes and stood, stretching.
"I had a big breakfast."
"Right before fighting," Prim teased as he walked away. "He could sleep through a thunderstorm, that one." She called out with further jests as Aela went to retrieve a map, leaving Prim and Brynjolf to themselves. He leaned forward with interest.
"Just what are you thinking, lass? I would think a shrine is the last place you'd like to go."
"It is," she frowned. "But maybe this watcher can tell us something useful. Nocturnal is tangled up in this, Brynjolf. I'm sure of it. She was involved with the guild, Gallus, Karliah, and Mercer, and now we're stuck in the middle of it. If Mercer won't tell us more, I say we do a little poking around ourselves."
There was a fervent spark in her eyes. Dissuading her would be a gargantuan task, and he had little reason to bother with it. Perhaps she was right, and there was more to this than there seemed. There usually was in life. Karliah had shown the guild's shrine respect, telling him to honor the dark lady, and that the daedra's shadows would guide him. Prim had seen shadows—had lashed out at them. He contemplated the matter while she insistently continued.
"You must be curious. Mercer has told me a little, but not much."
"He wanted nothing to do with Nocturnal."
"But I don't think it was always that way. It couldn't have been, or he wouldn't have risked dealing with her."
Prim knew more, but held her tongue, almost shy in her downturned gaze. She was undoubtedly thinking about Mercer again and whatever the man had told her. Told her or confided in her? The guildmaster had better appreciate her favor, for divines knew she'd apparently been doing some prying of her own.
"I'm game for a little snooping," Brynjolf decided. "We'll go, lass, and see what this watcher has to say. We'd best be careful and quick though. For all we know, she's some sort of crazy hermit. I've met one or two of those in life, down in the Ratway Warrens, and trust me, you don't want them in biting distance."
"Tomorrow then," Prim affirmed.
Maybe there would be answers one day, he decided. All these years later, maybe a flash of truth would shine through the murk that he'd learned to forget. Prim's grim but pleased expression promised as much, although how much easier this would be if Mercer were willing to share more. The man had either made a mistake or unknowingly released a burden from himself in dangling meat in front of this woman. Show thieves a single coin, and watch them hunt for more.
The land south of Riverwood was pleasant and shielded by mountains. Snow crusted the river along which the main road wound, pines peppering the rocky landscape, and chickadees flitting between branches as Prim stared into the forest. The road would grow steeper as it broke from the river, and this was unfamiliar territory to both her and Brynjolf. The red-haired thief stood beside her in his guild armor, a traveling pack strapped across his back. He unfolded their map and they studied it a moment before continuing. Aela had said that the river should eventually be at their back, and to take the first trail on their left.
"Did you hear that?" Prim questioned, pausing.
"Hear what?"
She stopped and turned her face to the wind, having sworn a woman's voice had carried across it. With a frown, she shook her head and pressed onward.
"Nothing, I guess."
"I've heard of Forsworn being spotted this far east of Markath," Brynjolf spoke, voice lowered. "We'd better keep our eyes sharp." He muttered a low curse as a tree shook snow on him, a great lump of white coating his shoulders. "I'm not made for the wilderness," he stated. "I never so much as stepped foot in it until Gallus trusted me with jobs outside Riften."
"I was the same way before I left Daggerfall," she shared. "But you'd better not let Aela hear you talking badly about the wilds," she slyly added. "You might lose the ground you've gained."
"Most women find city men charming," he countered. "And I'll have you know that I've spent many a night traveling Skyrim. Guild jobs have taken me everywhere."
"Hmm," Prim mused with a smile. The redhead drew even with her as she peered down an opening into the mountain, and then moved to block her view. "What?" she grinned.
"You look like a cat with a ball of yarn."
"Must be the same look you had when Aela changed into her evening robes. You know. The ones that dipped low like this." She traced the design on her chest, the huntress's robes having dipped between her breasts and showing more skin than most ladies in town would dare. If only Brynjolf knew what the woman lounged around in during summer.
"Oye, lass," he chuckled. "How could I not have noticed?"
"She likes you," Prim simply stated as she veered from the road and down the narrow way between boulders and trees. Some of the towering pines had grown from cracks within the rocks, their roots bulging between crevices and even splitting stone. The sunlight overhead was blocked, leaving the way shadowed and cold. "This must be it,' she said.
"Not much of a path," Brynjolf whispered.
They kept close together as the rock walls funneled to a point, converging and leaving but a crack through which a person might pass. It smelled of rabbits, their prints decorating the snow beneath Prim's boots. She turned sideways and slide through the crevice, able to see sunlight beyond. Within moments, she emerged into its embrace, stepping into a hollow space hewed from the surrounding rock. There was no way out of this place but for the crevice through which she'd passed, and there, at the far end of the small clearing, was the tower Aela had described. It was pressed into the mountain, three stories perhaps, and broken blocks were scattered about the base.
Prim moved closer and studied the surrounding boulders and debris. They'd apparently fallen from the mountain and damaged one side of the tower, although the resulting hole had been filled with rubble and rock, leaving no hope of entering. She instead scampered over the boulders and made her way to the tower's wall. The stones were old and ill-fitted, uneven in surface, and would provide enough grip for her nimble fingers. This was climber's wall.
"That's a dangerous climb," Brynjolf released, appearing beside her.
He was larger and heavier than her, and frowned at the tower.
"It doesn't seem like anyone's here," Prim said. "But we might as well take a look." She dropped her traveling pack, and tested various stones for a sure hold. "What do you think?" she questioned. "Are you a climber?"
"I can manage. I used to climb like this when I first started."
"I'm just going to take a quick look to see if anyone's here. You can wait, if you'd like."
A broken leg would be a major problem, and she'd rather the man not risk it if he wasn't experienced at scaling walls. Every thief had their specialty, and this just happened to be hers. She wasted no time in lifting herself and climbing, fingers straining against narrow holds. It wasn't a great distance to climb given how high the boulders were stacked against the wall, and she soon reached the top. She hoisted herself over the edge, and looked down to see Brynjolf staring up at her.
"Anything interesting?" he asked.
She turned and stared at the statue of Nocturnal that rose from the tower. The daedra's image was every bit as graceful and threatening as she remembered, this one life-size, although it looked out of place. Its base was roughly wedged between heavy rocks, a corner broken free. It had been transported from elsewhere, Prim concluded, and apparently visited on a regular basis. The unlit candles about the daedra's legs smelled of smoke, and a woman's scent lingered in the air.
"Prim?" Brynjolf called.
"I'm looking around. There's just a statue."
She wandered to the base, and lifted a ruby for examination. Almost immediately, a shadow moved, and her hand reflexively freed a dagger, holding it ready as she glared into the dark recesses of a crevice to the statue's left. The narrow opening had been easy to miss, and someone was there, the edges of a blue robe slowly detaching from the darkness.
"Do you come to steal or give?"
Prim relaxed at the very human voice and form. This was not a shadow, but a real person—a woman draped in robes just as Aela had described, black hair braided away from a dark face. There was neither menace nor welcome as the two regarded one another.
"Not to steal," Prim stated. "But not to give."
She set the ruby down, and sheathed her dagger.
"I see," the watcher considered. "Then why have you come?"
"Curiosity. I am Prim, and my companion down there is Bryn. We are passing through on our way to Riften."
"Riften?" the woman questioned, voice lifting with interest. "A den of thieves, they say. Those days are done for me, but perhaps not for you." The woman walked closer with a brief bow of her head. "Pardon me," she implored. "You may call me Naya, the watcher. I attend the shrine here, long forgotten by everyone else, or so I thought. You are free to stay and rest as long as you'd like."
"Thank you," Prim spoke, keeping a careful distance as the woman walked to the statue's base. There was a delicate air to the Redguard, but not true weakness, not if the woman was surviving out here alone. Prim's gaze rose to Nocturnal's face, and a shudder passed through her. Did the daedra keep watch over this shrine, or were mortals so meager as to go largely unnoticed? Prim would have assumed herself beneath the daedra's attention if not for the dreams she'd suffered.
"I came for answers actually," she admitted.
"Answers?" Naya echoed, peering at her. "And what answers would you hope to find at the shrine of our dark lady? Do you honor her?"
"No, but I came anyway. I thought there might something here to understand."
Naya regarded her with dark eyes, a slight smile touching thin lips after a long moment's consideration. The Redguard was directly in front of Prim in an instant, one hand raising as if to touch her face, but merely hovering close to her skin. Prim wanted to step away, but held herself steady.
"My lady has been so silent lately," Naya whispered. "But sometimes I feel her shadows pass over me and offer words. She says to ask your questions of me, Prim Bleaksnow." The hand dropped. "What would you like to know?"
"Why Nocturnal asks for the souls of thieves."
"Oh, but that one is simple," Naya laughed. "Because she has what thieves want. Thieves come to our lady, not the other way around, although sometimes a mortal does catch her attention. You are a thief, so perhaps you know that she has a pact with the guild in Cyrodiil. That is where I dwelled as a young thief, before sickness marred my fingers. I knew of her pact and entered it. She brings us luck and powers of shadow, and in return, we give ourselves to her. There is no greater honor for a thief than to enter the shadows upon death."
"But bound to her service," Prim qualified.
"Of course. That is the nature of the deal. Nothing is free."
Had Mercer made a similar pact with Nocturnal? Prim turned the idea over and over, frowning as she wondered why the man clearly disliked the daedra to whom he'd surrendered himself. Naya stared at her all the more pointedly, tilting her head with a vague smile as though someone whispered in her ear. Perhaps coming here was not the wisest of decisions after all.
"You know far more than you think you do," Naya stated. "You are shadow-blessed."
"What?"
"I mean that you have touched the realm of our lady. The shadows recognize you. So few of them walk the land anymore, but why, I do not know. The gateway between worlds has been closed, leaving but a crack for them to use. Perhaps you would be wiser to ask your questions of the shadows."
"I'm not here to invite trouble into my life," Prim quickly answered.
"Oh, but it might be worth your answers. Do you fear Nocturnal's eye? There is no reason for that. She has already seen you, and your service would satisfy her, but it is not required. Nothing is taken unwilling, but once signed, nothing can be taken back either."
This woman was as bad as Nocturnal herself with such cryptic messages, although with the touch of Hircine upon her, Prim understood all too well what was implied. It was difficult to imagine Mercer bowing to a daedra, but not so difficult to imagine him making what he considered a shrewd deal. She jerked away when Naya reached for her face again, one outstretched finger grazing her nose. Why were daedra worshippers always so sodding strange?
"I could open your eyes to the shadows," the watcher offered. "You have touched the darkness, and you walk through it. Seeing through them would give you answers I cannot."
"I don't know what you mean," Prim warded.
Behind her, arms grasped over the edge of the wall, and the top of a head appeared. Brynjolf was grimly frowning as he dragged himself over the ledge to kneel on the stones. His eyes darted between the two women, and Naya began mumbling in a language unknown to Prim.
"This isn't as easy as when I was a lad," Brynjolf muttered.
"Bryn, this is..."
Prim swayed as the world teetered. For a moment, she thought that an earthquake was rocking the ground, but no, only she was affected. The chanting. She had to stop that blasted watcher from chanting, and reached for the woman, but it was too late. Shadows dodged her gaze, flitting about her and closing hands over her eyes. There was a voice, but she could not discern its nature. Brynjolf was yelling something through it, and perhaps his arms were the ones to catch her. There was no way to tell as she tumbled into the darkness.
…
…
…
Where am I?
Prim sat up on a grassy swath of ground, feeling strangely light. She felt the ground beneath her, but not its temperature—could see a breeze sweeping in from Lake Honrich, but not feel it. Sensation was present but dulled, and the lack of smell unnerved her more than anything. She stood and looked across a Rift fully green in spring or perhaps summer, sunlight fading on the horizon.
Am I dreaming?
"Did you sleep in a barn?" a female voice laughed.
Prim spun and gasped. A very familiar man stood at the road's edge, arms crossed as a dark elf picked a piece of straw from his hair. The woman was lithe and pretty, her features petite and a laugh as smooth as a songbird's. Prim barely noticed her though, remaining rooted in shock as she stared at a Mercer Frey whose face was unmarred by frown lines. He was young, his brown hair almost blond in coloring rather than gray, and his features unworn by time. He looked less stern than she knew him to be, although a touch of disagreement remained as he stepped away from his companion.
He's missing scars, she thought.
"Mercer," the dark elf sighed. "Hold still."
Surprisingly, he did, and the woman moved behind him, her hands entering his hair. Prim strode closer, unseen and apparently unable to interact with them. She could only watch, stomach turning in discomfort, as this other woman attempted to tame the wild mass that Mercer's hair currently was. His eyes were just as deep and watchful. That, at least, was the same. Prim could not look away—was frozen in place by the strange scene and how his eyelids drooped as hands flattened his hair.
"What are you doing, Karliah?" he asked, swallowing.
"Making sure you look presentable. This is a goddess we're talking about. My old guildmaster made us wash and polish our armor before entering her presence."
The elf continued to rake fingers through his hair, and each stroke made Prim squirm. Karliah. So this was the Karliah that Mercer wanted to kill so badly.
"I knew you and Gallus were worthy the moment I met you," the woman preened. "The guild in Cyrodiil thinks you're all too young and inexperienced, and that you might not even last the next few years. They scoffed at Gallus being a guildmaster at his age. But they're in for a real surprise, aren't they? They don't realize that I know the sepulcher's location or that Nocturnal made a new pact with me when I found it. There have never been Nightingales outside the Cyrodiil guild before. You and Gallus will be the first."
Karliah moved around to Mercer's front, and straightened the collar of his tunic, which peeked out from beneath leather armor. With a smile, she even licked a finger and smudged dirt from his cheeks.
"I just got back from a job," he dismissed. "This is fucking unnecessary."
"Shut up," she playfully corrected him. "There. Ready?"
"I was ready yesterday."
She grinned, and he smirked without malice. It was almost a real smile, and Prim tried to distance herself from the two, even as her feet remained still. This had to be a dream, or a memory perhaps? Someone else's memory. A shadow's, she realized.
"And to think that you were so resistant to this but a few days ago," Karliah spoke.
"Gallus and I talked through it. If she can grant us as much influence and power as you say, we'd like to at least speak with her." But he did not sound entirely convinced, his smile disappearing even though his voice remained light. "We'll roll the dice and see what happens."
"Always willing to run on the knife's edge," she approvingly noted.
"It's the only reason I've survived this long," he spoke, dismissively as if it were nothing. Karliah peered up at him, dusting one last bit of dirt from his armor before finally stepping back. At that moment, another man walked into view, young like Mercer and Karliah, and clearing Imperial with his raven hair and olive skin. That was Prim's first realization, quickly followed by thinking the man incredibly handsome. He held himself easily, almost intentionally lackadaisical as he swept a hand through his hair.
"Gallus," Karliah greeted. "You're ready as well, yes?"
"Born ready."
"You two are so full of yourselves. Let's go."
The woman led the way as Mercer walked even with Gallus.
"She's not nearly as serious as yesterday," he noted.
"She's just excited that we're willing to hear Nocturnal's offer. We can make a final decision once we hear it in person. Stop looking so dour. You agreed to this last night. I saw the way your eyes lit up when she mentioned how much gold we could make with the shadows on our side."
"If the daedra can really offer that. I've heard stories."
"Stories, you say," Gallus laughed. "Look. It's like we discussed; we'll just have to see what happens. Either we step into this together or not at all."
They looked at each other with solidarity, and pushed onward into the night. Prim found she could no longer follow them. She was forced to watch them disappear into the forest, heading west from Riften. The three seemed so jovial together as Karliah called the men slow, but all Prim could see were the woman's fingers running through Mercer's hair, just as hers had so recently done. Her digits curled into her palm, and deep inside, a bell tolled in sorrow.
…
…
…
"Gallus."
Mercer's voice called Prim to consciousness. She opened her eyes and found herself in the cistern, standing in front of the guildmaster's desk, only Mercer was on the wrong side. He stood where she normally did, the desk between him and Gallus. The shelves behind the desk were stocked with artifacts and goods, and enchanted items glimmered in the familiar interior of the place. Prim reached out and swept fingers across Mercer's still youthful face, but felt nothing more than a ripple of taut energy.
"Did you have a successful run?" Gallus asked.
"The gold speaks for itself," Mercer replied, dropping a heavy sack onto the desk.
"Excellent! Did you use that trick again? Making the guards fight each other? I remember the last time you did that, up near Solitude. Damned funny thing to watch."
"No. I didn't need to," Mercer dismissed. "Maybe a good thief doesn't need such tricks."
His voice held something dark, but it went unnoticed by Gallus, who flipped open the ledger and upended the bag, counting coins. How had the man missed the undercurrent in Mercer's words? Prim moved closer, able to see that more lurked in Mercer's eyes than his friend had noticed. For a moment, he even seemed to meet her gaze, but no, he was staring through her.
"You are one of the best," Gallus beamed. "I think you, me, and Karliah are some of the best thieves in all of Tamriel. What do you think?"
"We've learned a lot since starting the guild."
"Sometimes the hard way," Gallus wryly added. "I guess you can't go through life without falling off your share of horses. Karliah was looking for you by the way. Something about visiting the sepulcher. Oh, there she is," he pointed.
The dark elf appeared in the vision's murky edges and walked closer, eyes lingering on Gallus as a smile touched her face. The guildmaster returned the gesture, a private moment in public that Prim easily caught. They certainly weren't hiding their relationship, and just how many years had passed since the last vision? Quite a few, she decided. The cistern would not have changed so much overnight, the place now resembling the hub that Delvin had once described to her. This strange dream of hers was creeping into clarity, blurs becoming people as everything grew more defined. She even caught sight of a young Delvin playing cards with a large Nord.
Prim returned her attention to the three friends, Gallus fully immersed in counting coins. "Gallus said you were looking for me?" Mercer asked, tone flat.
"Yes. Come on," Karliah prodded, tapping his shoulder with a friendly smile. "Let's go for a walk. I'll be back, Gallus."
Mercer's eyes rose to Gallus, thoughtful, although the man wasn't looking at him. He slowly turned and followed Karliah, and Prim kept pace with them. From the cistern, they entered the graveyard and strolled into the heart of the city. Riften was cloaked in a warm night.
"You've been spending a lot of time at the sepulcher lately," Karliah noted.
"I've had a lot to think about."
"Don't you always? One day it won't be content to stay in that skull of yours." The woman smiled and drew him into the mouth of an alley, where she leaned against a wall, face veiled in darkness. "Is everything alright, Mercer?"
"Of course. Why shouldn't it be?"
"You tell me." When he said nothing, she sighed. "You're so difficult. Fine. I'm asking because I saw what you did. You moved the skeleton key."
Skeleton key? Prim had no idea to what the woman referred, but was close enough to see Mercer's stare harden. He remained perfectly still before moving to mimic Karliah's pose in leaning against the wall opposite her.
"I put it back," Mercer stated.
"I know, and that's why I haven't said anything to Gallus, but Mercer, do you realize what could have happened? If Nocturnal decided to punish us, the guild...think of the guild!" The woman's voice was hushed but insistent. "She is our guardian, and we promised to protect the key for her."
"Our guardian?" Mercer tartly questioned. "She holds our souls, and we traded them for a bit of luck. Be honest, Karliah. How long has it been since her gifts were necessary for you to pull off a job? It would have been a better deal to take the fucking key and tell the daedra to keep her enchanted armor."
"Mercer!" Karliah's exclamation was filled with shock and hurt. "You don't mean that. Look at what the guild has become."
"Do you even know what the key can do?" he pressed, unrelenting. "She's dangling it in front of us like a dare. It..." His thought hung unfinished as Karliah moved swiftly to leave. He seized her arm, pulling her back into the alleyway. "Stop," he ordered, voice gruff before drifting into a wisp of regret. "I'm sorry." She said nothing. "Karliah, I'm sorry."
"Promise me you'll never touch the key again, Mercer."
"Karliah..."
"Mercer, I need to hear you say it. Gallus doesn't know, and I won't say anything if you never touch it again. The three of us pledged ourselves to her! Belonging to the shadows is a blessing for a thief. What more could we want than to end as that which protects us?"
"I do not object to joining the shadows," he lowly spoke.
"Then what?"
"...We're playthings."
"I don't understand."
I do, Prim thought. Hircine loved setting a challenging hunt for his followers—reveled in having the strongest join his ranks and the weakest succumb to the beast, fate twisting and making them both hunter and prey by turn. He gifted them with power, and in turn staked his claim. Prim's throat tightened with emotion as she stumbled back to avoid Mercer walking through her ghostly form.
"I will not take the key, Karliah," Mercer said.
"Thank you," she whispered, her thanks so genuine that it made Prim's stomach twist. What had happened to this group of friends? "I am sure Nocturnal has forgiven your curiosity. We are thieves, after all. Come," she suggested, although she kept her distance from him. "Shall we go back to the guild?"
"You can. I'm sure Gallus is waiting for you."
"Alright. Shadows hide you."
Karliah departed, leaving Prim facing a stoic Mercer. The man stared hard into the night sky, alone in the middle of the street. She was already fading from the vision, Riften descending into a fog that filled her eyes and throat. Somewhere in the murk, Mercer's voice reached her, a curse and the breaking of something wooden making dread pool in her stomach.
"Fuck them both."
….
…
…
"Prim! Wake up, lass!"
"She is fine. The shadows opened their paths to her, and she travels them to her desired destination."
"You're talking a bunch of nonsense, watcher. Don't touch her."
Prim opened her eyes to sunlight and Brynjolf's green, green eyes. He was leaning over her, and gave her cheek a gentle slap, jarring her into alertness. This was real, she realized. The stone beneath her and her fellow thief was real, not some imagined reality. She sighed with relief and sat up, head a jumble of thoughts too numerous to digest. Brynjolf steadied her by fastening onto an elbow, but he could not possibly fathom the reason for her silence.
How had Gallus and Karliah not seen what had eaten away at Mercer? And divines, but what had Mercer done? How had Gallus ended up murdered, Karliah on the run, and Mercer near death? She felt sick, although it was probably just an effect of being sucked so violently into another plane of consciousness. Damned shadows.
"Are you alright?" Brynjolf pressed. "Prim?"
"I'm here," she blurted. "What was that?"
"The shadows allowed you to walk their path," Naya supplied. "Did you find your answers?"
"I'm not sure." She stood and frowned at nothing in particular. "It was the past."
"I do not know," the woman answered. "I did not see. Only you did."
"The past," Prim repeated, almost to herself, even as she looked to Brynjolf. "I saw Karliah taking Mercer and Gallus to Nocturnal. And something...they were arguing about something." She couldn't decide what, but knew it involved Nocturnal. A glance at the daedra's statue revealed nothing, just as expected, although Prim wondered if the being was aware of what she'd witnessed. "I think we should go," she said.
"I couldn't agree more," Brynjolf said. "Home to Riften."
Home to Riften. Mercer would have expected their return days ago.
Mercer dipped his knife into a bucket of water, and swirled it until the last of the blood was gone. Sven Straight-Bow would not be relaying any further information to the guild's enemies or allies, including Maven. Oh, Black-Briar thought she was clever, using the man to keep her informed of all things guild-related, but when her playing piece had decided to make extra coin by selling information to other bidders, the woman had come to her favorite guildmaster and spoken as though she'd been wronged. As if he didn't know that the mess began with her! She'd whetted Sven's appetite for wealth in the first place, and a gambling addiction hadn't helped keep the man loyal.
Luckily for Maven, Mercer had already known about her tool informing on the guild, although not to Karliah. He was always one step ahead of Riften's unofficial queen. She just didn't know it.
He turned Sven's corpse over with his boot, and studied the man's loose expression. The elder could have easily lived out his days in peace if he'd known when to be content. Of course, when had Mercer ever limited himself for the sake of contentment? He scoffed and left the body to be discovered by guards when the smell reached other tenants. No one saw him glide from the building and over the walkway of the canal, then upward to the city's dry side and Riftweald.
The manor was silent as he entered, the master bedroom a world of gray in the moonlight. He lit a candle, and tossed boots onto the floor. A pile of dust along the underside of the bed caught his eye, and for a moment, his face pinched in annoyance as he considered hiring a maid. No one was ever here except him though, so if the dust didn't bother him, a maid was pointless. He wouldn't trust some cleaner in his home anyway. There was little decoration or gold in the open, but that didn't mean he was without expensive taste. There was always a stock of imported wines and the finest potions, and his bed was covered in finely embroidered blankets of a quality never seen in Riften's markets. He didn't need any of these things, but with the amount of gold he'd acquired, he wasn't against ordering what he fancied.
He changed into loose clothing and reclined on the bed, candlelight catching a gem on the nightstand. It was forest green and wrapped in golden wire that braided together to form a bracelet. On a gold plate fastened behind the gem, almost illegible, was a Nordic insignia that had once represented a prominent family in Riften.
The Bleaksnows, he mused, lifting the piece of jewelry and idly studying it as he had for the past four nights. This was all that remained of the vanished family's wealth. He'd sold everything else, cleaning out the jarl's hold much to the court's dismay and the guild's delight, but this he'd kept. Oh, he'd intended to pawn it off like everything else, but Karliah had loved this shade of green. Offering it to her had been an attempt to ease the discord between them, but Gallus had grown suspicious in his own right by then, and had undoubtedly been speaking with her. Those two had shared everything.
Mercer tossed the bracelet aside with contempt. It'd lain beneath a stack of parchment in the basement, forgotten until the last of the Bleaksnow's line had wandered into Riften. Prim and Brynjolf should have returned several days ago, which meant that either the job in Whiterun had gone wrong—unlikely—or that they were taking their time. With winter lifting, it irked him all the more. What was that infernal woman thinking, planting a kiss on his forehead in farewell? Had she been drinking again? She was only free with her hands when plotting or impaired, although if she thought her unwarranted affection could continue indefinitely without consequences, she was fooling herself.
He snuffed the candle's flame with his fingers, and lounged unmoving in the darkness.