The northern reaches of Skyrim were still white, but the snow wouldn't be as thick, nor the wind as bitingly cold. The pines around Kynesgrove were already free of snow, adding a blanket of green along the base of the nearby mountains. Prim and Mercer would not be spending the night in the Braidwood Inn, nor even stopping in to say hello, not after Mercer had pilfered so many blankets on their previous visit. Instead, they continued late into the night, beyond the inn to settle in the forest. Divines, but Mercer was intent on reaching Karliah as soon as possible. They would need to slow their pace on the tundra, or risk exhaustion in inhospitable terrain.
Prim sat cross-legged before a small fire, warming the bread they'd brought from Riften. There was smoked ham and salmon to accompany it, and her stomach growled at the smell. Mercer was down near the road, standing on a boulder where she could see his dark figure. The man was no doubt staring northward and considering what might come. He had burned with a restrained energy all day, forever sharp-eyed and silent.
Karliah might have been his, she thought, recalling what the shadows had shown her. He claimed that the elf had never been his lover, and maybe he was being honest, but the potential had been there. Her glimpse into the past, however brief, had hinted at what might have been. Whether that had played a role in the falling out between friends, she could only speculate, but her hands held fragmented pieces of a tragic story, and she knew it.
She folded a slice of bread around ham, and began eating. At the edge of the camp, a shadow moved, too dark and well-formed to be a mere trick of the firelight. She frowned, and addressed it without reserve.
"There's nothing here for you."
The shadow didn't respond. Of course it didn't, but a strange tug brushed her consciousness.
"Karliah knows."
Prim stared as the shadow dissipated, concerned and struck by the oddly familiar voice that had whispered. Henric? She nervously finished eating, and wondered whether the shadow was still close enough to explain itself in images if not words. She was shadow-blessed after all, and while part of her admitted that this was probably unwise, she mentally reached into the darkness, focusing on night and rivers of black. There was a flutter of energy, and then nothing—nothing but a bottomless black that swallowed her whole. She closed her eyes against the compressing darkness, and when she next opened them, found herself inside Nordic ruins.
I should have known better, she frowned.
The stone chamber in which she stood was dimly lit by oil lamps, revealing niches in the wall where corpses rested in eternal sleep, or rather, what should have been eternal sleep. The dried husks of draugr held weapons as if ready to rise at any moment, but they apparently could not see or otherwise sense Prim. She was free to drift along the hallway, surprised when a cloaked figure appeared. The interloper was feminine in shape, and covered in leather armor beneath the cloak. Friend or foe, past or present, Prim couldn't tell, but then the woman threw back her hood, revealing purple skin and violet eyes.
"Karliah," Prim gasped.
As expected, the other woman did not hear her, and she drew closer to watch as the dark elf tied rope around bones. The macabre decorations were then strung across doorways and narrow passages. Traps, Prim realized. The woman was setting traps, and with lines showing age on an otherwise pristine face, Prim knew that this wasn't the past. Karliah knew that Mercer was coming.
Oh shit, she thought, backing away. It was time to return to the campsite, but the shadows were not done with her yet, or maybe they sensed her desire to see more, and were merely inclined to comply. She floated helplessly as the room crumbled away to reveal a different chamber, although where, she couldn't tell. She couldn't even move as the shadows carried her forward, her body a captive to whatever whim the darkness had determined. There was a man lying on the floor, gasping for air as blood seeped across the stones beneath him.
Gallus, Prim realized in horror. The man was expiring quickly, bloody and bearing slashes across his chest, but Karliah wasn't a swordswoman—had never fought with a sword according to Brynjolf—so why was this handsome man dying from such wounds? And the look of pain on his face! Not just pain, but anguish as his eyes rose to look at something or someone behind her. Prim could not turn, and found her eyes moist as the scene spun with emotions and words beyond her understanding. There was such a murmur in the air as to make her heart stop, and images assaulted her eyes.
Mercer as little more than a boy, bruised and beaten, slumped on a muddy street while Gallus offered him a hand.
Mercer and Gallus as young men throwing back drinks together.
Three masked strangers in dark armor with capes.
Gallus kissing Karliah while Mercer drank alone.
"Stop!" Prim yelled, overwhelmed, and once more, she was back in the ruins, watching Gallus's bloody lips move.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," the man lamented. "Never. Not between us."
His gaze froze, a last breath escaping his mouth before all was silent. Prim tried desperately to turn and see his attacker, instincts telling her that her expectations were all wrong, but the shadows had other plans, or perhaps Nocturnal did. She felt the daedra's touch as her spirit was plunged back through the darkness and to Tamriel's present. With a gasp, she was again beneath the night sky, grappling for air and bathed in sweat.
"What happened?"
Mercer's boots crunched across pine needles, and he knelt beside her, pressing a hand to her forehead.
"Don't tell me you're getting a fever," he grumbled, tone tentative as though he didn't believe it. His gaze was prying, and she stared at him in dazed thought. Was Karliah truly the one who had killed Gallus? She reached out and touched a hand to Mercer's cheek, his fingers quickly closing around her wrist to measure the pulse.
"I'm fine," she said, retracting her hand and sitting up. "There was a shadow."
"Shadows can manipulate light and watch the living, nothing more," he considered. "A shadow didn't do this to you."
"Sometimes they show me things," she stated. "When I went to Nocturnal's shrine..."
"You what?" Mercer questioned in a tight rumble.
Prim internally sighed, having not told him about the visit yet for this very reason. He wouldn't like it, and really, he didn't need to know that she'd been trying to learn more on her own either. He sat down beside her, and took food for himself, his movements swift and his gaze quickly returning to her.
"I just took a quick look," she explained. "There's a small shrine near Riverwood."
"You went with Brynjolf," he guessed. "What else have you been up to?"
"You talk like I'm up to no good," she scoffed. "Nothing happened, but ever since Henric blessed me, I see shadows sometimes. They take me into the darkness when they feel like it. I never see very much, just glimpses of other people and places." Like you. "Like now. I think it was Henric. He was talking to me, and then I saw Karliah setting traps. She knows we're coming, Mercer."
He stared at her without comment before a cold smirk touched his lips.
"Unbelievable," he mused. "You're fucking shadow-blessed."
"I've heard that before, but I haven't given myself to Nocturnal. The shadows simply see me."
"They know you," he corrected, words cutting through the night. "And you've touched them. It doesn't matter that you haven't given yourself to Nocturnal. The shadows are hers, but not mere puppets, and who knows what the daedra means by it anyway. There's no escaping it now," he intoned, watching her as though to gauge her reaction. "For the rest of your life, you'll see them."
"You see them too, don't you?"
"Yes," he admitted. "But they've never shown or said anything to me. I've only known one other person who could converse with them."
"Karliah," Prim realized. "That's how she knows we're coming. The shadows told her."
She fell back onto her sleeping mat, and stared at the stars, finding that of all constellations, the shadow was directly above her. She'd been born under the sign, but hadn't thought much of it, not until tonight. How strange that it had seemed a mistake of birth until becoming a thief. Her mother had been born under the sign of the Lady. Now there was a fitting symbol for a courtly woman as strong and fragile as any warrior, even as a monster had shredded the woman's mind. Perhaps darkness of one form or another was simply fated to overshadow her family.
"If Nocturnal is so wrapped up in this," she thought aloud. "She certainly isn't taking sides. Do you know that she spoke to me of one who betrayed her? But she didn't seem angry. She obviously doesn't care about the shadows talking to both me and Karliah, even though we're enemies. Some daedra get really involved, but Nocturnal seems more like Hircine, just watching and meddling when it suits her."
She closed her eyes as Mercer laid down beside her, nothing more needing to be said. They needed to rest for tomorrow, and both of them were too tired to continue conversing. It was comforting to have him close, even if they didn't touch, and even as she wondered at her most recent vision. It did not change how badly she wanted to tell him that she understood more of what had happened between him, Gallus, and Karliah than she should, but wisdom kept her silent. He would dislike her insight, and in the end, maybe it didn't need to be voiced. Some memories deserved to stay in the darkness.
Three more days passed, and the stone ring that marked Snow Veil Sanctum was visible from the hill where Prim and Mercer stood. Darkness was already descending though, and the rocky bluff behind them would offer protection from the cold. It would take weeks yet before anything grew through the land's snow, and even then, large swaths would never really thaw. Miserable land indeed, and while neither of them fancied sleeping in the elements, there would be no room for rest once they entered the ruins. The earth and snow would be their bedfellows for yet another night.
There was no question as to sleeping arrangements this time around. Mercer molded himself against Prim without comment, and she pulled him closer still. Tomorrow came violence and death, and the thought stayed on her mind as her fingers wound through his. She was not scared to enter the ruin or fight, but remembered the panic of thinking Mercer fallen during their last trip. He would scowl if he knew her concerns, but they were hardly petty. Caring made battle more complicated than it otherwise was, even as part of her thrilled at the idea of fighting with him by her side. The wolf and warrior she'd become knew that he was more than an adequate shield-sibling.
"Sleep," he murmured against her hair.
She lifted his hand, and pressed a kiss against the knuckles. He answered by moving the hand to slide her eyelids shut, his fingers trailing over her face. She gently smiled as the digits crossed over her lips, and fell asleep soon afterwards, listening to the brush of drifting snow across the sanctum's rock barrier. In the morning, it stood stark against the landscape, a stone pit at the bottom of which a sealed door waited. Mercer made short work of the complicated lock, and soon they were swallowed by darkness, transversing tunnels with the aid of cylindrical vents that were punched through the ceiling, and which offered air and sunlight. Even then, the air was stale, and most passages remained utterly dark. Recently burned candles and oil lamps hinted at visitors.
They came upon a stone stairwell leading down into darkness, and Mercer paused at the top.
"There will be no more vents," he stated. "People aren't meant to visit the lower reaches."
"There won't be light either," Prim mused. "I can see in the dark better than most, and my nose helps, but if we need to fight, I'd like to see what I'm hitting. Karliah was stringing enough traps for whole bandit clan."
"What do you smell?" he questioned.
She closed her eyes and inhaled, focusing.
"Old flesh," she said. "Draugr. A woman was recently here. She smells like wildflowers."
Mercer moved to one of the stone coffins that had been commonplace in the ruins thus far, and pilfered several of the unlit oil lamps lining its edge.
"Here," he said, passing one to her. "The light won't bother the Draugr. It's the noise that wakes them."
"Don't worry about me. I know all about Draugr."
A flame danced on the tip of her finger, and she lit Mercer's lamp, then her own. A soft halo of light enveloped them as they descended, casting shadows across stone blocks and intricately carved doorways. The architecture spoke of a time passed, when Nordic artwork had reached unparalleled heights in sophistication. The general frame of the hallways might have been simple and practical, owning none of the elegant curves and arches of other lands, but the scale itself was impressive, and interlocking engravings of animals and dragons, humans and the elements, caught her eye as they always did in such ruins. The light in her hands cast such images in striking relief.
"Pressure plates," Mercer warned.
She followed his lead to avoid the troublesome stones with their subtle markings, and then passed through a gaping doorway into a tunnel crisscrossed with tripwires. Draugr slept in stacked niches that lined the walls, sometimes four or five in one column. She and Mercer maneuvered around them as quietly as possible, finally rounding a corner into interconnected catacombs. There was no telling which way to go, although her beast pawed at the ground, anxious to move on. This series of tunnels did not sit well with her.
We could easily get lost in here, she thought, brushing Mercer's hand. He glanced at her, eyes dark hollows in the lamplight, and motioned to his right. Without comment, she allowed him to choose their direction. He seemed to know exactly where he was going.
He led her to a stone door bearing the engraving of a hawk, and knelt to examine a series of stone disks beneath it, his hands ghosting over the symbols. There was little for Prim to do as he worked, each scrape of stone as he turned the symbols making her nerves tighten. She thanked the divines that none of the dead stirred, although a particularly dark doorway drew her eye. Was it a doorway? No, it was a tall, narrow hollow so deep that she could not see an end to its darkness. She drew nearer in curiosity, gently brushing cobwebs from her path. A strange smell came from within, old like Draugr, but with overtones of smoldering coals and something unnamed. Magicka? Maybe.
Mercer had better hurry, she decided.
She peered into the darkness a moment longer before stepping back, freezing as a soft gust of wind came from within and killed her oil lamp. Something in there was moving.
Not good. Not good.
She hurried to Mercer, and tapped him on the shoulder as he fiddled with the last symbol, the grating of stone signaling the door's unlocking. It didn't matter. One cracked and withered hand, then another, fastened around the edges of the hollow she'd fled. By the time a robed figure with a mask pulled itself free, her sword was already drawn, her eyes locked on the blue glow pulsing through the mask's slitted eye holes.
"Mercer!" she urgently whispered.
"What did you wake up?" he growled.
She didn't have time to reply, nor to launch an attack. The figure had fixed its glowing gaze on them, and with a deep inhalation of air through broken pipes, lashed out with words strange and powerful. A ripple in the air made Prim dive to the right, hitting the floor hard as the stone above her shattered. Debris and dust scattered over her body, and the force of magicka reverberated through the stones beneath her.
What in Oblivion was that?
She scrambled to her feet as hisses and brittle creaking echoed through the catacombs. The draugr were waking up, and Mercer's lamp had gone out, leaving the tunnels in complete blackness. She knew that the robed figure advanced on her only because of its dragging cloth and glowing eyes. She cursed under her breath, and launched forward with her sword, striking toward the head.
Her blade struck metal, then flesh, a blow against her chest slamming her backward into the wall. A sharp pain indicated cracked or broken ribs, but there was no time for that. A second intake of air warned her of attack, and forced her to dodge sideways. There was no ripple of unseen power this time though, but a ball of fire that erupted and briefly illuminated the corridors. Holy divines, there were draugr everywhere. Things were moving all around, darkness against darkness, and the sound of clashing weapons rang in her ears. Somewhere in the dark, Mercer was fighting.
"Fos..." That thing with eyes like burning ice was speaking again.
"Go to Oblivion!" she bellowed, lunging forward.
She skidded low to the ground, beneath the thing's mace, and stabbed upward through its torso and out the back. It hissed and flailed, and she was forced to abandon her sword to avoid injury. The large rock she found on the floor would need to make due. The creature was already on its knees, grappling to pull her sword loose, and that was all the time she needed. She aimed for its blue eyes, and smashed its face, relentlessly hammering away as it writhed and the mask came loose.
She was killing an ancient deathlord with a sodding rock. Stranger things had happened in life.
When the thing finally stopped moving, she set it alight, needing to see the remaining draugr that she knew were closing in. Flames burst from robes and leather flesh, and she retrieved her sword, gaping at the creatures struggling with one another to reach her. Vilkas would love to hear about this one, and he would hear about it.
With a yell, she hacked and slashed, baring teeth as she used the narrow tunnels to her advantage. Shots of fire kept the dead burning—kept the battleground visible.
"Pathetic!" Mercer's voice snarled.
He was alright. Of course he was. She found him in a tunnel, felled draugr littering the floor around him. His dual blades were as impressive as she remembered, and soon the thieves fought at each other's backs, rotating and clearing the space. The final enemy died with a rasp, cursing them perhaps.
"So much for sneaking," she commented.
"No thanks to you," Mercer noted, sheathing his blades. "Injuries?"
"A rib or two, I think," she grimaced. "But not broken. I'll be fine."
They returned to the now open doorway, flames still burning behind them. Her chest ached, but that was the price for not moving fast enough. At least the way ahead was illuminated by sunlight filtering through grates. Were they nearing the surface again?
"She's close," Mercer stated.
"How do you know?"
"The puzzle door. They usually protect the last rooms in crypts like this."
She pressed a hand to her chest, and caught his attention in doing so. Wordlessly, he moved her hand aside, and pressed his own against her armor, grimacing as though he were undertaking a distasteful task. A coolness fanned across her skin, making her jump.
"Hold still," he ordered.
She did, calming as the coolness melted into her bones and eased the pain, driving it back to nothing. It was not an unfamiliar feeling. She'd been healed before, but had not expected as much from Mercer. Her face must have betrayed surprise, for he scoffed at her.
"I'm a Breton," he reminded her. "Before the master decided I didn't have enough talent and kicked me out, he drilled me on minor restoration."
"Does anyone in the guild know?" she couldn't resist asking.
"Why would they?" he dismissed. "Magic isn't my trade." She stared into his eyes with interest, but he quickly turned away. "Stop staring, and pick up your feet."
You still know so little about him.
"When we get back to Riften, I think a warm bed and explanation are in order," she mused.
"You should be thinking about what's beyond this door," he reprimanded, making her exhale with a wry smile. He was right, damn it.
She waited in silence while he worked on the puzzle door, stunned that he didn't require the usual stone claw to open it. He even made an offhand remark about the doors being simple to open. Arrogant to a fault sometimes. She shifted, unable to stand still when Karliah was somewhere beyond the stone barrier. When gears turned, she and Mercer stepped through the doorway into a cavernous room of pillars and alters, the ceiling high above them, and the sheer size meaning an archer could be anywhere.
Mercer was at her side as she stepped around a pillar to better survey the interior. One step. One moment of suspended belief as an arrow punctured her body.
"Archer!" she shouted.
She dove behind a pillar, limbs sluggish as she swept eyes over her surroundings. She didn't know where she'd been hit—couldn't tell as her neck stopped working. Mercer was crouched behind the pillar next to her, staring at her, his lips pulled back into a snarl more suited to a werewolf than a man.
"Karliah!"
His voice boomed through the chamber. He would fight, and Prim told her body to get up and help him, but it refused to listen. Even her mind felt sluggish as it descended into a fatigue so deep that she feared she would never recover. She had to be dying. That was the only explanation as she squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to focus. When she could not again open them, she panicked.
"Long time, no see, Karliah," Mercer drawled from somewhere nearby.
"Mercer," a female tersely greeted. "I see you're still dragging people who trust you into danger. I suppose you've been raping the guild's coffers this entire time as well."
"Trying to insult me?" he challenged. "I haven't waited twenty-five years to trade barbs with you. Get your ass down here and fight."
"I'd be a fool to cross blades with you."
An arrow struck stone somewhere, but Prim remained helplessly prostrate. Her heart should have been pounding with panic, but instead, she lost its beat. She'd come close to death before, but it hadn't been anything like this, and all she wanted to do was scream at the top of her lungs.
"Is that the best you've got?" Mercer snarled. "Don't think I'll let you fade into the shadows for another decade or two. How many years did it take you to find the courage to meddle in Goldenglow? How about Honningbrew? My, my, wouldn't Gallus be so impressed."
"Don't speak of Gallus!" Karliah replied, voice filled with just as much venom as his.
They were friends, Prim mourned, an image of a bloodied Gallus again in her mind.
"He had his wealth, and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way," Mercer spat.
"He couldn't, not after our oaths. Even if we hadn't..." The woman choked on the words. "You will pay for your betrayal, Mercer Frey. Do not think you will get away with it this time."
"Don't you walk away from me," he sneered. "Karliah!"
Silence. For a moment, there was no sound, and Prim marveled that she had not yet succumbed to death. Then there were footsteps, and a hand rolled her onto her back, searching her neck for a pulse. He wouldn't find one, she knew, for she was nearly dead now. Or maybe she was already dead, and her soul simply hadn't departed yet. Maybe the divines were allowing her the pleasure of his touch one last time.
"She was supposed to die," Mercer stated, voice muted. His hand stilled and pressed down hard on her throat. "Not gone yet," he murmured. "But soon."
Fingers grazed her lips, and then touched the collar of her armor, sliding beneath it and finding a golden chain. My pendant, she thought, feeling it pulled over her head. Something cold slid onto her wrist, but what, she did not know. She didn't know what to think about anything, Karliah's words ringing in her head, and Mercer's departing touch making her long to say something to him. Karliah hadn't killed Gallus. The betrayal hadn't been hers, and after everything she'd witnessed, was Prim surprised? No, not at all. It all made horrible sense.
"I suppose you'd be a liability now," Mercer coldly spoke. "Knowing the truth, would you say your trust was worth the gamble, thief? All those foolish notions you cherished like gold? Look where they got you."
The edge of a blade touched her chin. Akatosh have mercy, but what was he planning to do? Frustration, anger, and sadness engulfed her in a maelstrom. Mercy? The gods weren't being merciful by letting her feel his touch one last time; they were ensuring that she died hearing the very worst in Mercer's voice: contempt and fury. But why should he be angry with her? She was already as good as dead.
"Karliah will not take one more thing from me," he growled.
Pain erupted in her torso as a blade slid into her. Even in death, there was pain. In her mind, she cursed the aedra and daedra, and cried and laughed at the horrible ugliness of it all. Her mother had died better than her, at least choosing her fate, whereas her daughter would lay in a ruin, slain by the man she loved and left unburied for scavengers. At least the final hand to take her was someone worth fighting, and not an archer whom she both pitied and loathed as shadows played memories over her eyelids. Was it her pain, or was it Karliah's? Maybe Mercer's?
Prim lost consciousness.