Author's note: My apologies for a shorter chapter, but I didn't want to cluster too many developments together and make it seem rushed. And thank you for all the feedback on the last chapter. You certainly gave me food for thought, especially since everyone has such different opinions on where this story should head. Your thoughts on how Prim should react were interesting, and I greatly appreciate everyone weighing in on that. Enjoy the update!
Eternity was disappointing. It was a small tent pitched on a snowy field, unless, of course, Hircine had planted her as prey in some game. Prim considered the possibility for a moment before realizing how foolish she was being. She wasn't dead, the pain in her chest and torso reminding her of just what had happened and whose hands were responsible. She experimentally touched her wounds, finding bandages beneath her clothing and a healing potion near her head. The tent housed two sleeping mats, making her wonder what stranger had stumbled upon and rescued her.
She drank the potion, and quickly laid back down, shivering despite several layers of blankets. She'd survived, but to what end? Her mind ached in time with her body.
Mercer, she internally sighed, throat constricting. He was probably already back at the guild, or maybe he was chasing Karliah out there in the wilderness somewhere. Would returning to the guild be safe for her now, after what had happened? He thought her dead, and if she turned up knowing the truth, there would be danger. A liability. He'd called her a liability, and it made her hands clench around the blankets. Was she truly a threat to him? Withholding the truth would be a betrayal of the guild, including Brynjolf, but sharing it would be the end of Mercer.
Stupid man, she thought, a tear sliding free. Part of her had known he wasn't innocent in the matter with Karliah and Gallus, and maybe she should have said something sooner. Maybe it would have changed everything, or maybe Karliah could have escaped Snow Veil Sanctum so that the matter returned to dust.
Maybe there's nothing to do but let justice takes its course.
"You're awake."
Prim jerked upright at the voice, searching for a weapon, but Karliah held her hands up to show them empty. Prim had little choice but to remain alert and let the woman take a seat beside her. The dark elf looked tired, but not hostile, a dagger clearly visible on her belt. Armor much like the guild's adorned her body, and a tentative hand offered a wineskin of water.
"Thank you," Prim cautiously accepted, drinking deeply.
"I am Karliah."
"I know."
The woman regarded her with curiosity, and Prim went limp in exhaustion.
"You have been recovering for three days. I wished to be away by now, but after what happened, I felt it my duty to see you better."
"You shot me," she stated.
"And you would have killed me at Mercer's side."
Mercer. Prim closed her eyes, and swallowed.
"Fair enough," she conceded. "Where is he?"
"Gone. Back to the guild, where he'll no doubt tell more lies to protect himself. You should be dead, but the poison on my arrow was meant to paralyze, not kill. I thought you were Mercer. I did not realize that he'd brought a companion with him. I should have looked more closely before firing. It seems my nerves get the better of me sometimes these days." She gave a tight, humorless smile, and located food for Prim. "Luckily for you, the poison also slowed your heart, and made it seem that you were near death. If it hadn't, I'm afraid he would have done more than stab you for hearing the truth. He's not a man to leave threats alive."
"He murdered Gallus, and blamed you."
"Yes. You are familiar with what happened?"
"More than you know," Prim grimly answered.
"Then now the full truth," Karliah softly spoke, no hate, only fatigue in her voice. "He went his own way. He betrayed a pact we made with Nocturnal, and began stealing from the guild. I knew some of what he'd done, but thought he would change if we talked through it. I should have said something sooner, before Gallus began to suspect something was wrong. He and Mercer were like brothers, and because of it, he took too long to realize the truth. One day, he asked Mercer to go on a job with him. He was planning to confront him away from the guild to make it easier, but instead..." Her hands tightened into fists. "Instead Mercer killed him. I had been following, and saw everything. We fought, but neither of us won, and he got to the guild first, poisoning them against me."
They lapsed into silence, Prim chewing on old bread, and finding her jaw stiff and unwieldy.
"The poison will linger awhile yet," Karliah explained.
"I feel like I died."
"I imagine so," the woman gently smiled. "...You have not asked me any questions."
"Should I?"
"I am merely surprised. You seem very resigned to what has happened."
"I am not sure there is anything to say," Prim quietly mused. "I have heard so many pieces of this story that I might as well have been there. I cannot change any of it, and the worst part is, I don't think anyone really got what they wanted. I certainly didn't."
"It will be made right, Prim," Karliah assured.
"You know my name," she noted, surprised.
"You woke up before now, more dreaming than conscious though. I am sorry that you have suffered in this, but the truth will be known."
And what right do I have to even dare think otherwise? None, Prim realized. The truth was going to come out, as it should, and that meant only one thing: someone was going to die. For all she knew, Mercer would consider her a target as well now, but part of her could not accept that. He had thought her near death, perhaps assuming that she would hate him for the truth. Perhaps she should hate him, if only because her survival might depend on it, but she could not salvage enough angry fragments to fashion hatred.
"What do you plan to do?" she asked.
"Clear my name. I made a mistake waiting this long, and I will not wait any longer. Perhaps I will die, but I am sure Mercer has continued stealing from the guild. I will go to the cistern, and argue my innocence—make them open the vault. And you must come," she spoke, solemn. "When they hear what happened from one of their own, they will truly understand, but you are in no condition to fight. When they find the vault empty, Mercer will not be able to return. Until then, it is not safe for you. If I fail and am killed before I can speak..." She stared out the tent, into the snowy tundra beyond. "If I fail, you must not return. It would be your death."
"You are so sure of that," Prim noted.
"Do you think Mercer would let you live? He has already betrayed those closest to him, and stabbed you. I am willing to risk my life for this, but I cannot speak for you."
She imagined Mercer behind his desk, glowering and telling her to leave him alone, and then his form sitting by the fire in Kynesgrove, their verbal games, and finally his lips all over her body.
"I will go ahead of you," Karliah stated. "You should go to the Bee and Barb when you arrive, just in case it does not go well. If I do not come for you the same day, leave the city and do not come back. Enough people have died over this."
The woman began packing her belongings, setting a pack of supplies by Prim, who forced herself into a sitting position. If this was how it ended, she wouldn't let it carry her along like some useless invalid. Fate was not meant to be met laying on one's back, and Mercer would certainly sneer at her if she responded so weakly. One thing she would not do is run. No matter what happened and what Karliah advised, she would not just disappear.
As if you could just walk away, she mused.
"You will be alright on your own?" Karliah asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Prim took one look at the woman, and saw an echo of the caring and affectionate elf she'd seen in Mercer's past.
"I'll manage. You have spent enough time nursing me."
Belatedly, Prim remembered that Mercer had taken her pendant, stripping her of it before dealing the blow that should have ensured her death. She threw back the blankets to dress in her armor, and saw Karliah's face blanch.
"What is that?" the elf spoke, voice strained. "On your wrist."
Prim looked down at a golden bracelet with a green jewel wrapped in its wires. She pulled it free and turned it over, finding a symbol on the back that would have meant nothing to most people, but which made her eyes light in recognition. It was the insignia of her mother's line.
"Mercer gave it to me," she stated.
"Oh, that bastard," Karliah exhaled, face pinched.
"What do you mean?"
"He tried to give that to me once. As a present. It was right after we'd had an argument. One of many near the end," she sadly recalled. "He thought that he could buy my forgiveness—that gems could make it all better."
"Maybe he didn't know how else to ask," Prim quietly mused, tucking the bracelet into one of her pouches. She couldn't bring herself to wear it, and wondered why Mercer had brought it in the first place. Had he been planning to kill her the entire time? Or maybe he'd meant it as a mocking farewell to Karliah.
"Maybe," Karliah allowed. "You are a kind thief, giving such allowances to a selfish man like Mercer."
"If he tries to kill me again, I might need to change that." She stared across the snowy expanse outside, and yearned for something to break its peace. "You should go. You've waited a long time for this. I can make it back to Riften alone."
"Shadows hide you."
Something was deeply and terribly wrong. Brynjolf felt it was soon as Mercer stepped into the cistern, the man's expression dark, and his gaze unwavering. The guildmaster looked at no one as he neared his desk and opened the drawer that so disturbed his second in command. A stack of papers landed on the wooden surface, and after a long moment of consideration, the man quite suddenly approached and threw them into the closest brazier. Parchment crackled and burned, and with them, Brynjolf's throat constricted. Prim was nowhere to be seen.
He hurried across the cistern and reached the desk—saw a map with a hundred x's laid across it, and a list of names and contact information close by. Mercer's expression did not shift, and a quick glance told Brynjolf that his presence was unwelcome, but he wasn't about to leave.
"Where's Prim?" he asked.
Mercer leaned against the desk, eyes pinned on the map, and said nothing.
"Tell me where she is," Brynjolf insisted. "Where is she?" He did not intend to raise his voice, but the sound carried around the room, thieves stopping their activities to stare. "Mercer, where...?"
"Enough!" Mercer roughly ordered, straightening. "You will keep yourself under control."
The guildmaster reached into one of his pouches, and dropped a golden chain and pendant onto the desk. Brynjolf's chest tightened at the sight of it.
"She's probably on Hircine's hunting grounds right now," Mercer spoke, voice hard but muted.
Words deserted Brynjolf. He stared at the pendant, his chest tightening until he thought it might rupture, and his mind screaming that this was not possible. He did not know why Prim would be on Hircine's plane, but the implication was clear enough. His eyes implored Mercer to take the comment back, but the man said nothing.
"Was it Karliah?" he finally asked.
"Arrow through the chest."
"Shadows take her!" Brynjolf spat.
This was the second person that bitch had stolen from his life. First Gallus, now Prim, and once so long ago, almost Mercer as well. The old anger returned in a flare—the rage that had made a young boy smash plates around the Ragged Flagon until Delvin had restrained him. He'd struggled with tears in his eyes, finally stopping when exhaustion took over, and even then, it had only been throwing himself into helping Mercer that had calmed him. What had the man told him that one night, when he'd been brooding behind the cistern's desk, propped against the wall and surprised to find a recovering Mercer staring down at him? That's right, he recalled.
"Death is the greatest thief of all, and a fucking showman."
His anger had sharpened into revenge after that, but the years had passed. That anger had died, and its return dismayed him. He would not go back to that place. Never. Death was part of life. He'd known that Prim or Mercer might not come back, even if he hadn't seriously believed it would happen.
Don't lose yourself to anger, he ordered himself. You can't go through that again. You're not a boy anymore.
"Did she die well?" he ventured.
"You're talking like a Companion rather than a thief," Mercer sharply replied. "Dead is dead. She fought, if that's what you want to hear. She killed a fucking deathlord...With a rock," he added, grim humor briefly coloring his tone before it devolved into bitterness. "If Karliah had aimed but a hair lower, she would have instantly died. The bitch must have used some sort of poison. Prim didn't react at all after she fell."
"And Karliah? Is she dead?"
"...No." Mercer leaned against the desk once more, such intensity lining his face that Brynjolf marveled the woman still lived. It must have killed the guildmaster to admit his failure. "She used an invisibility spell and disappeared, just like last time. But she won't survive, not again."
He thrust the list of contacts toward Brynjolf, who glanced over it with raw determination.
"I want every single person on that list to be on the lookout for Karliah. If they so much as see a female dark elf, I want to know."
"What if she flees to Morrowind again?"
"She won't," Mercer intoned. "It took twenty-five years for this to finally end, and to run again would be so far beneath even the lowest thief that it would break what remains of her heart. She was always sentimental. She can't afford to keep this game going any longer. She'll die, Brynjolf," he stated, the finality of it dreadful and reassuring all at the same.
"I'm going with you," Brynjolf vowed. "I was too young to go with you last time. Not anymore." Mercer slowly locked gazes with him, a thoughtful tilt to the man's head. "Do not deny me this request, Mercer."
"Are you hungry for a little blood, Brynjolf?" The challenge was accompanied by a note of interest and humor so twisted and vague that the redhead wished to be done speaking with his superior. "Fine," the man decided. "You will have your chance for vengeance."
"Thank you," he replied, wondering if he had ever said such words to Mercer before in his entire life. No, he thought, at least not with such deeply felt sincerity, and the promise of putting an end to Karliah relieved the anger that had threatened to take the reins of control.
"Get to work on that list," Mercer ordered.
"Aye. Consider it done."
Brynjolf watched Mercer sit down to brood over the map, and almost said more before thinking better of it. He turned, and left the man to his own devices, moving straight for the Ragged Flagon. Everyone would help spread the word about Karliah, and by everyone, he meant even Vex would stoop to carrying messages if need be. His boots were heavy on the Flagon's stone floor.
"Hey, Bryn," Delvin greeted with a smile. "I heard...What's wrong?"
The older thief pushed out a chair, and motioned for Brynjolf to take it, but the redhead didn't think he could stand sitting right now. He stood by the table, and dropped the list of contacts onto it, knowing how easily Delvin could read his stiff posture. Shadows take it, but everyone would be able to read him right now, even Dirge, who had little luck interpreting posture and emotions. He'd been in the Flagon mere moments, and already Vekel was setting a bottle of mead on the counter for him.
"Oye, what's this then?" Delvin asked, eyeing the list. "Are you alright, Bryn?"
"She's gone, Delvin."
Silence. The tavern went silent, all eyes on Brynjolf. Delvin leaned back in his seat, and rolled a toothpick between his fingers.
"Thieves usually have short lives," Vex commented from where she leaned against a stack of crates. "We all take the risk."
"She didn't botch a job," Brynjolf swiftly replied, voice hard.
"Let's not draw daggers," Tonilia calmly intervened with a small frown. "Vex didn't mean anything by it, Brynjolf. It's just the way it is."
"Aye, I know," he mused, finally sitting by Delvin.
Vex swiped the bottle of mead from the counter, and walked closer, holding it out to him. He nodded in understanding, and accepted it, wasting no time in downing the first gulp. Delvin muttered something beneath his breath, and scratched a hand across his jaw.
"Was it Karliah?" the man asked.
"Karliah?"
The shocked question rang through the tavern, and Brynjolf wasn't even sure who'd spoken. Perhaps the reaction had come from more than one of the thieves, and suddenly there was a charge in the air that crackled against the stones. Most of them didn't know why Mercer and Prim had left, only that there was an important task to complete. Vex's eyes sharpened, and she peered at the list, reading through the names.
"These ones," he instructed, pointing. "They're close enough to reach by foot. I want them to know today," he emphasized. "Get Vipir and Thrynn to help."
He would write letters for more distant contacts, and in the meantime, indulged in his mead. The Ragged Flagon was eerily quiet, although conversation had resumed. He ordered another bottle, and found Delvin regarding him with a frown.
"How's Mercer?"
"Fine," he replied. "Karliah wouldn't fight him."
"That's not what I meant."
Realization dawned on Brynjolf, wrapping around his insides with burning fingers, or maybe that was the mead. He ran a hand through his hair, and closed his eyes. Here he was, soothing his own loss, and he wasn't even the person whom Prim had grown closest to.
"Shit," he breathed.
"Then again, it's Mercer," Delvin shrugged. "The man's not going to say something to the likes of us. That's for sure. Lost cause worrying about it." The bald man set his bottle on the table, and exhaled. "I like to think the sweet thing got under his skin. She got the bastard out from behind that damn desk at least."
And had survived intruding on Riftweald, and had somehow enjoyed being snowed in with the surly man. She'd probably gotten more conversation out of the guildmaster than any of the other thieves. Brynjolf stood, and retrieved a third bottle of mead from the bar.
"I'm a fool," he pronounced, although whether because he'd only thought of this now, or because he was going to open his mouth, he wasn't sure. He entered the cistern, and approached the desk, setting the mead down in front of Mercer. Maybe the man didn't need comforting. To Oblivion if Brynjolf knew, but the guildmaster was abnormally still and silent as he regarded the bottle, and if nothing else, Brynjolf needed to say something for both of them. No one else would, not to Mercer, and the newer members could not possibly understand just how deeply this entire affair struck.
"I'm sorry she's gone," he spoke.
Mercer slowly took the mead, and fixed gray eyes on his second in command. With a slight nod, the man drank, and Brynjolf left it at that. The hard edge to his superior warned against anything further, and perhaps this was enough. Mercer would find Karliah. They would find Karliah, and she would die, because there had to be end to this. He could not tolerate another open grave, and yet, he did not picture Prim in a grave. In the hollows of his mind, she smiled and laughed, and that was how he chose to remember her.
Days passed, and no word was heard of Karliah's whereabouts. Mercer was moodier than ever, and rarely in the cistern. When he did appear, no one dared to approach him, and the gears turning behind his eyes made even Brynjolf wary. Still, he spoke whenever the man appeared, both to report and merely say a few words. The man had just lost both a thief and his lover to Karliah, and someone had to make sure there was human interaction of some kind. The man could not persist on pure silence while waiting for the chance to even the score. Brynjolf had seen the results last time—insomnia and an obsession that he'd thought gone until finding that drawer brimming with letters and information. The thought of ever-controlled Mercer slipping back into such a pit troubled him more than the thought of Karliah's continued life.
The guild cannot afford an absentee leader.
"No word yet," he stated, passing the man's desk.
"It's only a matter of time."
Mercer left almost immediately. The sooner Karliah died, the better.
Brynjolf entered the training room to speak with Delvin, but the older thief wasn't present. Strange. He'd been sure someone had entered here, and he'd thought it Delvin, but there was no one. Only as he turned to leave did he sense movement. His sword was drawn, meeting air as a leg tripped him. He fell to the ground, and found a knife at his throat. Eyes trailed from the weapon to a face he had not seen in so very long. Shock and outrage filled him, hands begging for a weapon.
"Brynjolf," the woman softly spoke. "You're all grown up."
"You made a mistake coming here," he threatened. "Go ahead and kill me, Karliah, but I'll at least have time to yell. The guild will rip you apart."
"Such anger," she breathed, sounding pained. How dare she sound hurt by his words! His hand inched toward the dagger at his belt. "Don't," she warned. "I am not here to kill anyone. Listen to me, Bryn."
"Do not call me Bryn."
"Listen to me, and if you still think I lie, I will let you go to Mercer and the others. Perhaps I should start with something to make you value my life. Prim lives." He stared, disbelieving but hopeful as the knife was removed from his throat. "I see that I have your interest now."
"Aye. That you do."