The Ragged Flagon was louder than usual as Prim and Brynjolf entered. Sapphire and Rune stood on chairs, hanging a string of lanterns across the ceiling, while Vekel proudly loaded his oven with unbaked loaves of bread. Most of the guild seemed to have gathered in the tavern, either watching the activities or participating, and there was a buzz of energy in the air. Vipir and Cynric were even winding thin bearberry branches into wreaths while Thrynn sat beside them, decrying the task as too 'womanly.' Prim merely wanted to know what was going on, and quickly jaunted over to join the group.
"Prim! Brynjolf!" Delvin called, raising his tankard in a salute. Of course the man was simply an observer. Vex sat beside him, watching the returning thieves with indifference, and her close proximity to Delvin made Prim smile. Delvin even sent her a wink when the Imperial wasn't looking. "You're back in time," the man grinned.
"In time for what?" Prim asked.
"The first day of spring," Brynjolf chuckled. "You didn't know?"
"I knew it was coming, but we do things differently in Whiterun," she mused, eyeing the extra lanterns overhead.
"It's tomorrow," Vekel stated. "The Ragged Flagon will celebrate just like any other tavern."
Of course the man would plan on decorations and a party, ever insistent that the Flagon was a legitimate establishment. Prim smiled and wondered whether there would be dancing and singing like in Whiterun, where the jarl's wizard usually set off colorful explosions in the sky as entertainment. Such displays were nothing compared to festivities in Daggerfall, but that meant little to her.
"We'll go above ground for the main event," Sapphire chimed in. "But we're all planning to come back here for the night. Vekel has promised dough rings."
"Dough rings?"
"By the nine, Prim," Brynjolf teased. "You've never had dough rings? They're only made for special occasions like festivals. Tonilia is the champion in our eating contest."
"They're round like this," Vipir said, holding up his wreath. "Sugary and fried."
"Sounds delicious," Prim beamed.
It was good to know that the guild had a strong enough sense of community to celebrate annual events, but she had to wonder what Mercer thought of the entire affair. He had treated the little party in Kynesgrove as a nuisance, but then again, none of the other thieves seemed concerned, so she wouldn't be either. Let the man sit in some dark corner, watching them dance and laugh. She hoped that he would at least be present to observe, even if he chose not to participate.
Brynjolf sat beside Delvin, and gave the man a subtle nudge, nodding toward Vex. No sooner did Delvin give a rogue smirk than Vex stood and moved to converse with Tonilia. Delvin watched her backside saunter away.
"No more slaps to the face?" Prim teased.
"The seasons turn eventually. Always do," Delvin stated. "The ice is melting."
"So you've managed to keep your hands to yourself?" Brynjolf goaded.
"It's killing me, but I haven't done anything since you two left, and she's been siting with me. I guess it's a good sign. Damned slow process, this wooing thing. Oh, Bryn," he remembered, his smile slipping. "Mercer will be looking for you. He found a hole that needed plugged—the hard way, that is."
"Hold the news a moment," Prim quickly spoke, taking Brynjolf's traveling pack. "I'm going to drop these by our beds. I'll be right back."
She left the group and wandered toward the cistern's tunnel. It led into silence with everyone gathered in the Flagon, the tunnel's lanterns having gone out without notice, and the cistern's soft sunlight drawing her onward. She was at the mouth of the tunnel when she spied Mercer approaching across the central walkway. She paused, regarding him and waiting to be reprimanded for her extended absence, particularly given the approach of spring. The land was still cold, and green growth had yet to appear, but nor was there snow in the Rift. Outside the city gates, snowbells were present in abundance, the flowers having grown beneath the snow and now showing their white petals.
"Hello, Master Frey," she greeted.
He stood before her with severity.
"You took long enough. Where's Brynjolf? Making wreaths?" He voiced the possibility with derision, and Prim matched his frown with one of her own.
"No, but he's in the Flagon...like everyone else," she added.
Fingers in his hair. She could imagine her fingers running through his hair. Karliah's fingers in his hair. His body curled against hers on the tundra. Hot breath on her ear. Heat rose in her cheeks at the thought as Mercer moved to walk by her, her sense of smell driving her crazy. She couldn't help herself. She leaned in as he passed and inhaled deeply, not even bothering to mask the movement or sound. She didn't expect him to respond—certainly didn't expect to suddenly find herself slammed against the wall. Her back collided with stone, stealing her breath.
Oh divines, she marveled, dropping the traveling packs. Mercer was pinning her against the wall with his body, a snarl on his face. He was either about to kill her or rip her clothing off. She couldn't decide which as he spoke in a whisper of steel.
"Do you think I haven't noticed? All the stolen touches in circumstances where you know you're safe? Where you can get away with it?"
His hands fastened onto her hips, and her eyes bulged. Hands. Where was she supposed to put her hands? They hung uselessly as his body ground against hers, muddying her thought process.
"You had a chance to stop your little game after Kynesgrove," he continued. "I was sure you would. But you had to..."
His neck. She wound her arms around his neck, cutting his words short. For a moment, his jaw clenched and eyes closed as if bolstering himself to face some threat, but her fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck changed all that. His lips crashed into hers, grappling for dominance as she decided to forgo thought. Consequences be damned. She was too swept away by the taste and smell of him to care.
"Not a game," she murmured.
Oh, but his scruff against her face felt wonderful.
"If I'd known you'd be this eager..." his voice rumbled against her skin.
"Oh my gods," a voice gasped.
Prim immediately came back to her senses, glancing sideways to find Sapphire standing in the tunnel with a completely dumbfounded expression. The female thief looked paralyzed until Mercer peeled himself off Prim and leveled her with a stare that would have killed a lesser woman.
"P...Prim," Sapphire stuttered. "I was wondering if you had anything to wear for the festival."
"Do we or do we not look busy, thief?" Mercer growled.
"Busy! I'll just...
"Go away. Now."
"I'll talk to you later, Prim!"
Sapphire was making a hasty exit back toward the Flagon, and Mercer's lips were again on Prim's neck as one of his hands seized her belt buckle. Dear divines, was he going to take her right here, in the tunnel outside the Flagon? Anyone could stumble upon them. Prim's blood pounded with need as her belt came loose, but voices were sounding down the tunnel, intercepting Sapphire. Brynjolf and Delvin were clearly audible, and Mercer's face darkened.
"This," he growled, "is not over."
He slipped back into a cold demeanor with ease while Prim scrambled to collect the traveling packs and her belt. She was quickly away, frazzled and aware of Sapphire's footsteps right behind hers. Mercer and Brynjolf were already talking business. Divines, but if Brynjolf had interrupted them, she would be bright red. Instead, she found herself faced with a very curious sister thief who did not look inclined to let the matter drop.
"Prim, since when have you and Mercer...?"
"Don't tell anyone," Prim requested. "Not yet. We haven't...It's not like I was prepared."
"Oh...Did he force himself on you?"
"No! Divines, lower your voice!"
"Hmm."
The two women stood facing each other in a long, awkward pause before Prim seized upon a bag from her chest of belongings.
"I have something to wear. Nura gave it to me. Maybe you could help me with my hair for the festival?"
"Sure. Of course. We'll need to make you the prettiest woman to see."
"Sapphire, I'm not in the mood for your insistence on getting a lover."
"That's not what I meant. You've already got one apparently. Or maybe the deal still needs to be sealed?" The woman wore a suggestive smile that signaled a recovery from shock. Prim frowned and pulled a dress from the bag she held. Nura had found it in an old chest, the garment apparently coming from the Bleaksnow family, and the fabric rich in color and quality. "I can't believe this," Sapphire continued.
"Just...oh, never mind," Prim sighed, defeated.
Did that really just happen? And since when had Mercer possessed such pent up energy to attack her like that? He had never initiated unnecessary touch that she could remember. Thank goodness the Flagon and cistern were filled with thieves due to the upcoming festival, because the thought of being alone and open to attack left her tense and tingling all at the same time. Mercer didn't even look at her as he and Brynjolf moved to the cistern's desk. What in Oblivion was she supposed to make of this?
With a sigh, she flopped onto her bed. Sapphire just laughed.
Riften was a gray city, but she was putting on her best for the spring festivities. Lanterns were strung over the streets, but not yet lit in the early afternoon sunshine, and the smell of food was heavy in the air. Market stalls that would normally sell armor or groceries had been replaced with hawkers of sweets and colorful ribbons, and women snatched up the latter to wind through intricately braided hair. That was the way of things and the current fashion. The festival itself would officially start with the jarl, who stood on the court's steps, overseeing the arrangement of musicians and guards. There would be music, food, and lots of mead. Maven was going to make a killing.
"It starts with a speech and traditional song," Sapphire explained. "Then everyone eats, and the children can watch puppet shows. Look! Even the Khajiit merchants have been allowed inside."
Prim looked to the newcomers, who sat on a bench outside the Bee and Barb, gesturing and examining knives. She'd heard that they would be putting on juggling acts for coin and free food from the city. Already, casks were being rolled out of the meadery and lined up behind a makeshift counter of sorts. Maven, dressed to rival the jarl herself, was overseeing the work.
"Loose hair," Sapphire cautioned, tugging a few strands back into Prim's braid.
The women had braided each others hair as was traditional, and had then wound the braids around their heads like crowns. There were blue ribbons for Sapphire, and red for Prim to match the crimson and white gown she wore. It wasn't the most popular style of dress, but elegant and trimmed in green. Her gold pendant hung down the center of the neckline.
"Ladies," Delvin winked, strolling by with Maul.
"I hope those two don't get drunk together," Prim smiled. "It never ends well."
Her attention was drawn away by the blowing of a horn and the jarl's voice. Lawgiver delivered a short speech to welcome spring, and a bard struck up a solemn tune about seasons passing. The crowd shifted in impatience, ready to get on with the festivities, although a few silently mouthed the lyrics along with the bard, hailing Spring's arrival. Then the horn sounded again, and people scattered, ready to eat and be busy. There would be no work today for most of them, although plenty of gold would exchange hands and line tavern pockets. It wasn't long before musicians let loose with a raucous tune that had children running through the crowd and twirling ribbons while people clapped.
"Come on!" Prim grinned, grabbing Sapphire. "Let's dance!"
They held hands and twirled one another to the beat, soon separated as men cut in. Prim lost count of how many hands she passed through, laughing and dancing with each taker, sometimes to their own steps, and sometimes in group dances where women and men wound between one another with bows and curtsies. A mage named Marcurio kept interrupting her dances, and then there were her fellow thieves who wanted turns as well.
"Prim!" Delvin chortled, grabbing and sweeping her into a spin. "Maramal cornered Vex!" He spun her to face where the priest had Vex looking utterly disgusted. "He's blessing her in Mara's name."
Prim sputtered a laugh as she found herself a flask of mead, and dropped onto a bench at the market's edge, exhausted.
"Go rescue her," she ordered. "Quickly!"
Delvin strode off, and she found herself alone for a moment. Divines, she'd even danced a little jig with Haelga, but where was the person she most wanted to see? She was acutely aware of his absence, and for a moment, was disappointed to think him in the cistern, ignoring the celebration altogether. But no, she spotted him. He was leaning against the blacksmith's shop, behind the forge, where the barrier afforded him some privacy. It had been one day since he'd unexpectedly grabbed her, and it was all she could think about. She wondered if he was intentionally doing this to her—intentionally holding back to revel in the threat of a surprise attack or to teach her a bit of her own medicine.
A game. He'd called it a sodding game, as if she'd known what she was doing to him. How was she to know that all those stolen touches had been stored in his memory?—that he'd viewed her with more than just passing lust and interest? Knowing that her brief encroachments on his person had not been brushed aside made her body hum as she studied him.
Jumping from her seat, she interrupted his peace and quiet.
"Master Frey," she smiled. "I didn't know you like festivals."
"Plenty of targets."
"Yet you haven't pickpocketed one."
He sipped on a bottle of mead and eyed her. It would be easy to slip away together, and they both knew it. She considered strolling away to see if he followed, but what if he didn't? And where would she go? Riftweald? Did she dare let him see her enter the manor to wait for him? But if he didn't come just to spite her, she would look a fool. He looked too controlled right now, like she was nothing but an annoyance to his current state.
"Prim!" Brynjolf called, waving. "You've spared a dance for everyone but me."
She faced the redhead as he walked close, his hand taking hers. She could feel Mercer's gaze burning a hole in the back of her head.
"Don't go anywhere," she told him. His expression fell flat, and he did not answer as Brynjolf swept her into dance. At this rate, everyone would be drunk and too tired to move come evening. Maybe there would be a break for dinner and a play. She didn't know—didn't care as her feet kept pace with the music, her eyes searching for Mercer with each circle around the market. He was there, watching from his quiet spot, until suddenly he wasn't. Brynjolf released her with a laugh, and she found Sapphire at her side.
"You've danced with every man in the city," the woman whooped.
"Not every single one," Prim exhaled, finally locating Mercer. He was leaving the market, strolling toward the Bee and Barb, and then he disappeared around a corner. This couldn't end before it even began, and with a rush of urgency, she sped after him. Her dress fluttered with a breeze as she rounded the corner of the Bee and Barb. Mercer was about to cross a bridge over the canal, to the opposite side of the city that would eventually lead him to Riftweald. She planted herself on the bridge in front of him, blocking his path.
"Mercer," she puffed, catching her breath. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Home. You're in the way." He tried to sidestep her, but she matched his movements. His critical expression made her squirm. "Unless this is guild business, I suggest you move."
"No. I need you to go back to the festival with me."
"And why would I do that?" She held her ground as he bore down on her, swallowing when a dangerous glint entered his gaze. "Is it a personal goal of yours to flounce around with every man in the city?" he darkly questioned. "You're even giving Haelga competition. Funny." He looked down at her cleavage. "I didn't realize you'd been taking lessons from her."
"You...You..."
"Or maybe you were just trying to get attention," he considered. "Mine? Cynric's? Brynjolf's?" he coldly contemplated. "Have you let anyone do more than touch your lips and hair? Teasing men but never letting them near? You're worse than Sapphire, and she's locked up like a fucking fortress. That key got thrown out a long time ago."
"Mercer Frey," Prim objected, laying a finger on his chest.
"Thief, if you don't move right now, I am going to fu..."
"Mercer! Be quiet or I won't tell you why I followed you over here."
Surprisingly, he listened. He loomed over her, eyebrows quizzically raised, and she stared at her finger where it touched him, tapping it twice in thought.
"I need to kiss you," she stated.
He had no time to react as she latched onto his lips, wrapping arms around his neck and pressing into him. He recovered quickly and took control of their movements, pulling her backwards with him against the Bee and Barb. Divines, she was stupid. She was so stupid, but he was kissing her numb, and when his hand wrapped around her waist, she lost any remaining logic. His other hand went lower, running over the contours of her backside.
"You taste like mead," Mercer breathed, tilting his head to better expose his neck as she nuzzled against it. She was running kisses along his jaw, sucking on skin as she reached his collarbone.
"Mountain brew. I left a bottle near Maven."
He smirked, and with an arm wrapped around her waist, pulled her through the Bee and Barb's front door. The people inside were too busy to notice them slip upstairs, and Mercer gave her no chance to protest as he continued his assault on her lips, hands roaming freely. Couldn't they just go to Riftweald? Apparently not. He seemed intent on not wasting another minute as her back was pushed against a door. His arms wrapped around her, picking the lock as she groaned into his mouth.
"What are you doing?" she exhaled.
"I've waited long enough," he ground out, pushing the door open.
He all but slammed it shut behind them, and then his hands were on her dress, untying the laces across her back and pulling it over her head. She laid a palm on his chest and pushed him away, keeping a few steps between them as she removed her blouse, leaving her in nothing but smalls. He made no move to touch her as his eyes ran over her body, prickling her with goosebumps and lust.
"Take it off," he ordered.
With a coy smile, she wrapped thumbs around the strings holding her smalls in place, but made no move to remove them. Hands everywhere. Throw yourself into it, her mind whispered.
"You're wearing too much clothing," she stated.
"Oh?" he challenged.
His boots hit the floor, then his pants and tunic. He was more toned than she would have expected, a thin trail of hair leading down his chest to areas still hidden from view. He disposed of the last obstacle, and gave her no choice but to follow suit as his hands wrapped over hers, forcing her smalls down over her hips. He was pressed against her, an arm pulling her against his body. She was acutely aware of being out of practice as he took a moment to rub a thumb over a nipple, making it harden.
"That scar..." she murmured, staring at his chest. There was a circular scar near his heart, old and smoothed over, but still apparent. She tentatively touched it as though it might hurt him.
"Karliah," he stated, closing a hand over hers. He guided her lower, her fingertips trailing over his flesh. "Stroke it," he ordered.
She complied, touching him as he pressed into her grip. Her body was flushed with want as he slowly walked her backward to the bed. Then she was laying on it, and he was above her, holding her chin and keeping her gaze focused on him as he nudged himself between her thighs. Her heart beat faster when his other hand found the small of her back and angled her hips upward to meet him, her entrance brushing against him. A man hadn't touched her like this in so very long, and divines, but this was Mercer Frey. She wanted him so sodding...
"Mmm," she hummed, closing her eyes as he pressed against her, teasing her. His fingers bit into her chin, making her eyes snap open. Only then did he sink into her, and the pressure against her body's gentle resistance made her groan in pleasure.
"Wasn't expecting that," he grunted. "When was the last time someone had you?"
"Awhile," she dismissed, preoccupied with his rolling hips.
He rumbled a response in his throat, releasing her chin and keeping his hands braced on either side of her head as he stared down her, moving tortuously slowly. She was used to him now—could relax and let herself move to meet each thrust. He looked insufferably controlled, making her want nothing more than to shatter and make him moan. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer.
"Faster," she urged.
"Oh, I don't think so," he denied with a smirk. "I'm going to take my fucking time. Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to bend you over and take you right on the fucking pier after you stole from Sibbi?" He pushed deep and held himself there, a finger running over her lower lip. "Or when you danced around the fire in Kynesgrove? Of course you don't."
"I had no...oh," she ended when he sat back, taking her hips with him. She arched onto the bed as he held her waist and worked it against him, guiding her movements to match his. She would give Nocturnal her soul on a plate right now if it would keep him from stopping. She gasped, and he held himself still, eyeing her critically.
"Not yet. Not for you," he growled, suddenly thrusting faster.
His breathing increased, mouth open as he lost his rhythm. She pulled herself up onto his lap and ran hands over his chest and back, winding them into his hair as his control finally cracked. He pushed her back into the mattress, and landed on top of her, pushing and holding himself deep as he exhaled and his muscles contracted. Divines, it was marvelous, yet she was so close to her own release without promise of reaching it as he ceased moving.
"Mercer," she groaned in protest, moving against his still hardened member.
"Hush," he spoke, rolling onto his back. He snaked an arm around her and used the other to lift her leg over his waist. She didn't know what he intended until his fingers pressed into her, curving upward to rub her still aroused body.
"Gods," she moaned, grinding onto his hand.
"Easy," he cautioned, maddeningly smug.
"Mercer. I need you to..." He rubbed a thumb over her entrance, and retracted his digits, leaving her to scowl. "You horrible man."
"It gets worse," he promised. "Hold still."
She did as he continued his ministrations, his movements slow and thoughtful, as though he were studying every little patch of skin. He certainly looked serious as he continued his examination, finally rubbing her in the manner she most wanted. Not moving was torture, but oh so delightfully arousing.
"That's it," she decided, moving her body more fully on top of him and grinding to her heart's content. He threw back his head with a smirk, and let her do as she pleased, her body tightening and then bursting with release. She collapsed on top of him and remained there, snuggling against him as one of his hands cupped her ass and pulled her to be eye level with him.
"Satisfied?" he asked.
"Very."
She pressed her face against his neck, breathing him and content to be wrapped around him. Whatever happened next, she captured this moment in her mind, gilded and set it on a neat cushion for future reference. She couldn't decide whether this was a culmination or a beginning, perhaps both or neither. She wasn't ready to move when he shifted from beneath her and stood, soundlessly dressing while she remained where she was.
"Don't pretend to regret this," he warned her, buckling his belt.
"Is that what you think I'll feel, or what I should feel?"
"I'll let you decide. Lady's prerogative." He took a step closer and lifted her chin. "But if you deny enjoying this, we'll both know it's a lie."
"Divines know I'm not very good at lying," she scoffed, rising and dressing. Her hair was a mess, so she let the braid free as she followed Mercer downstairs. She didn't know what would happen next, but the cool air outside was refreshing. She viewed the market and caught sight of Brynjolf, who smiled and motioned to where Delvin and Thrynn were playing some sort of throwing game. Mercer was already gone, or so she thought. She began walking toward the redhead when a hand wrapped around her waist once more, the guildmaster's mouth grazing her ear from behind. She watched Brynjolf freeze and stare.
"Thieves are covetous," he whispered.
Then he was gone, and she inwardly frowned, knowing that the display had not been for her. Brynjolf said nothing about it as she joined him and the others, for which she was grateful. His soft smile said enough, but all she could do was distantly watch the men continue at their sport, strangely at peace and lost in her own mind.
Nothing had changed. Prim dabbed her damp forehead with a cloth, and returned to a fighting stance, determined to give Brynjolf a challenge. Four days had passed since the festival, and in another two, Mercer intended to leave for Snow Veil Sanctum, their final destination in the hunt for Karliah. That was all fine and well, but nothing had changed. Absolutely nothing.
"You're not paying attention," Brynjolf admonished.
"Want to bet?" she asked.
They grappled and punched, using forearms to block and deflect blows, and both of them tired and sore. They'd been at this for the better part of the afternoon, the practice giving her mind a much needed distraction. Today would be their last training session, the remaining days until departure intended for rest, and she wanted to be ready. She felt ready—knew that she had enough fighting and stealth experience to be confident—but the entire situation with Mercer wasn't helping.
"Got you," she grinned, clipping Brynjolf's chin.
The man stepped back, and rubbed the place where she'd hit him.
"Oye," he grumbled. "And you remember the disarming moves I taught you?"
"As if I'd forget," she smiled, releasing her fighting stance. "I've had my fair share of hand-to-hand with the Companions, you know. I just haven't relied on it since getting a sword."
"I think we'd better call it a day," he suggested. "I don't want you sore for the trip north."
She silently agreed by flopping onto the floor and stretching out her legs. Thrynn was also present, working his blade against one of the wooden dummies. The man didn't need the practice, but apparently liked the feel of hacking wood. Prim found it strange, but the former bandit missed combat, and wielding a sword calmed him down, especially when he was in hot water with Vex. He'd only completed half of his last job.
"How are you feeling?" Brynjolf asked, sitting beside her.
"About the trip? Alright. I'm anxious to get it over with. Sitting around the next two days is going to be hard."
"And how's everything else?"
"...Fine, I think. I shouldn't expect anything to change. He seems to think that I'll regret it."
"Do you?" Brynjolf queried, calm and open.
"No, but I don't know what to expect either."
Brynjolf looked about to speak, but kept his mouth shut, seemingly lost in contemplation. She'd tactfully dropped a hint that she and Mercer had been intimate, but had said little else about it, and not to anyone except Brynjolf. Now, in the aftermath, she had no idea how to proceed. Her past relations had never gone beyond a single night, and poor Brynjolf had been at a loss for advice after the festival.
"Don't go soft," he finally said. "Whatever happens between you two, keep it out of guild business. He'll expect you to do jobs and address him properly in front of others just like before. He won't give a toss whether they know or not, but don't expect a...oh, how to say it? I don't want to depress you, lass, but don't expect a public change. Maybe not even a private one," he wryly added.
"I wouldn't expect special treatment," she said, thinking through the matter. "But...nothing's changed. Nothing. I wish that I at least knew whether he intends to keep doing this."
"I wouldn't worry about that," Brynjolf lowly mused, a hint of apprehension in his voice.
As the thief had told her, the guildmaster did not keep women around. In the past, Mercer had made use of a member or two, saying that a free fuck was as good as any, but the man quickly moved on, preferring the business transactions to be found elsewhere in Riften. For vague reasons, Brynjolf didn't seem to think that such would be the case here—didn't think that Mercer would toss her aside so readily. In fact, the thief seemed a bit concerned at times, although he hid it well.
"Have you considered that maybe he's waiting to see what you do?" he asked.
"Me? I've clearly expressed my feelings on the matter."
"But it sounds like he thinks you might change your mind."
Prim pondered the matter, and decided that maybe Brynjolf had a point.
"Maybe," she allowed.
"I'll leave the rest to you, lass."
She spent the rest of the day thinking too much and napping. It was soon dark outside, and Mercer had not shown his face in the cistern once the entire day. She climbed into Riften's night air, and meandered beneath the Temple of Mara, pausing as Riftweald came into view. The backyard's gate was spiked and screamed for potential intruders to beware, but more than that, the entire structure felt threatening as she studied its exterior. The shifting of shadows due to a passing guard's lantern made her think of Naya and being 'shadow-blessed.' If she reached out to the shadows, would she find them, and would they allow her to see beyond the manor's walls?
Don't touch Nocturnal's domain more than you need to.
Seeing Mercer's past was in many ways an intrusion far too personal, and even as she considered the shadows, she felt nothing of their presence. Perhaps Naya had opened the doorway a fraction wider, but Prim was no longer at Nocturnal's shrine, and the darkness no longer felt quite as alive. She didn't know whether her brief journey into the shadows would have longer-lasting effects as she approached Riftweald and allowed herself inside.
She quietly shut the door, intent on being as silent as possible. Her boots were light on the stone floor and then the stairs, tiptoeing to the master bedroom. The door was open, and the room bare. Mercer was nowhere to be seen, but where else would he be if not the cistern or here? She considered the room with a frown, her plan already backfiring. She was here now though, and maybe she just needed to wait for him. Her intent would be clear enough either way, but what about going soft? Would she look silly just sitting on his bed, hoping for him to show up?
Oh, but she had an idea, a very risky but brilliant idea.
Prim stripped until she was naked, and left her armor on the floor, her clothing on the bed. She didn't exactly intend to end up rooting through Mercer's dresser, but she needed something darker than her lightly colored clothing. A black tunic. Perfect, and it was long for her, covering a fair amount of pale skin. The manor was dark enough that she didn't worry about the rest as she crept back downstairs. She waited in the darkest corner she could find, smiling to herself. Oh yes, brilliant.
How long she waited, she didn't know, but one moment she was alone, and the next, Mercer was striding through the house. She hadn't heard him enter at all, and she was close enough to the front door to know that he hadn't come from there. Where then? She puzzled over the matter, delighted that the master thief wasn't bothering with candles. He was quiet, but hardly sneaking in the confines of his own home, and so she could hear his path across the wooden floorboards overhead.
The stairs. The hallway. The threshold of his room, and then nothing. The silence lasted too long. Surely he'd seen her belongings, and realized that she wasn't in the bedroom. That could only mean one thing, and she peered into the darkness, slowing inching her way around a corner. Mercer Frey could be anywhere.
That little minx. Mercer lifted the clothing from his bed, and dropped it onto the floor. She wasn't in the bedroom. That much was clear, but then where exactly was she without any clothing? He'd come from the confines of the manor's hidden chambers, and what were the chances that she'd spotted him? Oblivion take it, but he hadn't expected anyone to sneak into his home, not that he ever expected such idiocy, and for all that was unholy, he couldn't decide whether this boded ill or good. There was a naked woman lying in wait for him somewhere, and it aroused him to no end as much as he snarled over the possible ramifications.
"Damn woman," he grumbled, exiting the bedroom.
She came back for more.
He crept among the upper rooms, and did not find her, leading him back downstairs. For all he knew, she had found the hidden door within the basement, and was sprawled somewhere, injured by his traps. What a ruined evening that would make, but she wasn't there. No, he caught a glimpse of pale movement, but not as much as he'd expected. She wasn't entirely naked. That would make this too easy.
He anticipated her movement into the dining room, and circled ahead of her, entering from the opposite side, but she quickly retreated, disappearing back the way she'd come. He smirked and gave chase. This was a losing game for her, trying to out-sneak a master thief with years of experience on her. There was no reward for effort, as she was about to discover.
Not fast enough. She was already upstairs, keeping ahead of him and betraying herself by stepping on a creaky floorboard. He again circled around her, and this time, drew close without her awareness. His hands ensnared her waist from behind, making her jump, and her body tensed for a fight, but he would tolerate none of that. She finally stopped squirming with an annoyed huff of air.
"What," he demanded, "are you wearing?"
"One of your tunics."
He released her, and she spun to face him. She was smiling. He couldn't see her face clearly in the darkness, but just knew she was grinning. He lifted the bottom of the tunic she wore to survey her long legs, all his for the taking. And she was his now. Her being here sealed the matter, and he wasn't about to let her forget it. Want pumped through his veins as she stepped closer, touching toes with him.
"You lose," he stated.
"I intended to be caught, so not really."
He snorted dismissively, removing his tunic from her. Nothing about her said regret as she swayed away from him, heading back to the bedroom without ado. Last he'd checked, the winner was supposed to dictate the rules, and he reminded her of it as he entered behind her and opened the curtains. Moonlight spilled inside, highlighting the best of her curves. He never allowed women here—didn't want them thinking it was an invitation into his home or life—but he'd be damned to get rid of the flesh dangling so tempestuously in front of him right now. He sat on a chair by the window.
"Tell me," Prim teased. "What would a master thief consider a worthy prize for winning?"
She strolled close enough for him to grab her hips.
"Sit," he ordered, pulling her onto his lap so that she straddled him.
Shadows take it! It wasn't like she hadn't intruded on his residence multiple times already. She ran thoughtful hands through his hair, making him wonder what was going through her mind. There was no reason to rush, and he relaxed into the gentle ministrations. He hadn't spent time like this in a woman's embrace for over two decades, and had forgotten just how soothing it could be. Prim was so trusting as she leaned against his chest. It was utter foolishness to give so much to another person.
"Have you never been used or betrayed?" he asked.
"I've stopped counting how many times," she mused. "In Daggerfall, I was used. After I left...I made a lot of mistakes."
"But not anymore?" he sarcastically queried.
"No, of course I still make mistakes," she sighed. "I'm just more careful about the gambles I take. I need to decide it's really worthwhile first."
She pressed a kiss against his cheek, sweet and undemanding. It made him cringe and yearn for pure, primal arousal, but this was a rare moment, and he was a thief. He understood the value of rarities, and decided to tolerate delay awhile longer yet. Perhaps she'd come here purely for physical release, but as her nose grazed the underside of his chin, he knew it was far more complicated.
"I'd miss you."
But others had cared, and they'd turned away as was apt to happen among their kind. He lifted the pendant that hung around her neck, and ran a finger over its smooth surface. He liked it on her—liked that she'd obtained it through stealth and violence.
"Have you had many lovers?" she asked.
"Not something women usually want to discuss," he noted.
"Maybe I'd like to know how I compare."
He felt her smile against her neck, and dropped the pendant.
"You'll make do."
She chuckled, calling his understatement and sitting up to hold the collar of his tunic.
"I suppose you have many thieves breaking into your home and running around naked," she teased.
Enough was enough. He wrapped an arm under her butt and stood. She in turn wrapped legs and arms firmly around him, allowing him to carry her to and deposit her on the bed. He made short work of his clothing, and then laid down, saying nothing as she climbed on top of him and initiated contact. His hands held her thighs, body humming as she began moving. Maybe she'd never used this position before, for she was tentative at first, experimentally wiggling this way and that. He didn't mind. She could take as long as she wanted. He was comfortable, and a young, beautiful woman was straddling him. Not bad for an otherwise boring day.
She eventually found her rhythm, and tilted her head back, hair spilling over her shoulders. He drank in the sight of her, and when he could no longer stand it, flipped her onto her back. He took the lead from there, preferring the dominant position as she writhed beneath him. The way she reacted sent a thrill down his spine, his name a whisper on her lips, but he still wasn't in a hurry. Again he turned her, this time onto her knees so that he could pull her backside flush against him and watch her back arch. An almost wolfish growl escaped her lips as a new energy animated her movements, urging him on as he groaned and pounded into her.
"The wolf must approve," he murmured, bending to fondle her breasts.
"I..." She didn't finish the reply as she tightened around him, throbbing wonderfully against him, and his release soon followed. He usually avoided releasing inside a woman, but only pushed deeper as he emptied himself. He wanted it inside of her. The instinctual urge coiled through him as they wound up on the bed, side by side.
She hummed his name as she curled against him, one leg hooked over his torso. Already the chill air was making goosebumps rise along his skin, but he didn't move. Her breath and sated body were too much of a distraction.
He frowned when she eventually slipped beneath the blankets.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.
"Staying warm. It's much warmer under here, you know."
He joined her beneath the blankets, and stared at the ceiling as she scooted closer. They weren't quite touching, but he felt her body heat, her movements touching him through each pull and shift of the blankets. He should kick her out, but hardly intended to stop this business between them tonight. Not for a long time, he mused, looking at her.
"I'll leave in a moment," she yawned, followed by what sounded suspiciously like "Mercer muffin."
A moment, he scoffed. The woman's eyes were already closed, her chest rising and falling deeply as sleep descended. He made no move to wake her, but thought about it, envisioning her scowl and another intrusion on another night. He continued to think about it each time she moved and unintentionally woke him up, but morning came, and only then did Prim depart, hastily and with a fleeting kiss on his lips.
You're mine now.
Prim sat on the walkway crisscrossing the cistern, feet dangling above the water. She watched ripples carry across the surface as she dropped a pebble into the darkness, and wondered what might lay at the bottom after so many years of occupation. She could imagine the cistern as it had once been, and hear Karliah and Gallus bantering back and forth, a young Brynjolf trailing behind and badgering Mercer with questions. She refused to think about it too much, her heart burdened enough without dwelling on a past long gone. Maybe Mercer would tell her the whole of what had happened one day, but not right now.
"Prim," Sapphire called.
She looked up as her sister thief sat down beside her.
"Hey," she greeted. "How was your job?"
"Good."
Sapphire loosened her hair from a bun, and sat combing it out with her fingers while a secretive smile played about her lips.
"Out with it," Prim sighed. "Whatever it is."
"Vex and Tonilia were talking." Not a good sign. "Because Delvin made a comment to Vex, because he'd been talking to Brynjolf, and..."
"Fine!" Prim blurted, quickly dropping her voice to a whisper. "It's true."
"Not that I didn't see it coming, but Vex doesn't believe it. Now that I have your word, I can put that to rest, unless...are you trying to keep it quiet?"
"Does anything stay quiet in this guild?" Prim smiled wryly, and glanced over her shoulder to where Mercer was working. They would leave for the north tomorrow, and he was making sure everything was taken care of in advance of his absence.
"Good," Sapphire beamed. "I don't know why I feel so strongly about it, but it's good. Just be careful, huh? Vex told me about how he is with women, and I don't want you to get hurt or anything. Rune and I just had a talk about...you know. What happens next. And it's awkward. It was like trying to put a troll in a dress. I can't imagine how hard it would be with him, if he'd ever even think about something long term."
"I don't think he would," Prim mused. "I'm just taking it a day at a time."
Sapphire hummed in agreement, and for a moment, they simply sat side-by-side, staring into the cistern's water.
"Does it last, Sapphire?" Prim softly asked. "Does something like this ever really last?"
"I don't know. It never has for me, but I hope it will with Rune. Hey," she prodded, leaning closer. "It's too early for you to be thinking like that."
"I'm not worried, just thinking. I do that."
"Do you want it to last?"
"...yes."
"Then do your best to make it happen."
You're officially my sister, Prim thought with a smile. They sat and talked quietly for the rest of the evening, because who knew when they would next speak? Once this business with Karliah was taken care of, perhaps guild life would return to a more normal routine. Prim hoped so, but before then, there would be travel and fighting, and idly, she wondered what kind of woman Karliah was now. She almost didn't want to know as morning loomed closer.