The room's darkness was impenetrable, its touch all-consuming until a torch flared to life. Prim blinked rapidly against the sudden brightness, and felt as though she'd seen this stone chamber before, or perhaps it merely mirrored other Nordic ruins. There was little to distinguish the tunnel from others she'd entered, although the symbols decorating it were different. There was no smell of draugr either, and a crispness hinted at the cold water that trickled between the stones at her feet. There was a spring somewhere nearby, or perhaps this was merely runoff from higher ground. She knew not, and cared little as her boots ventured near the doorway through which Karliah had vanished.
Brynjolf set his torch into a barren sconce, and ran a hand through his hair. The buckles on his guild armor caught the light, his green eyes resolved, although their constant scanning suggested unease. He pressed a finger to lunar symbols carved along the doorway, and traced them one by one with interest.
"She'll try to convince you one last time," he stated, glancing at her.
"I've made my decision," Prim responded.
"Aye. I told her you wouldn't be persuaded, but this trinity means a lot to her."
"I don't hold it against her," Prim considered, her voice a whisper. "I understand why she wants this so badly, but after what happened with Mercer, surely she realizes that some of us..." She frowned, and stared into the darkness beyond the torch's light. "This is not a deal I'm willing to make. She led Gallus and Mercer into this, and look what happened to them."
"You're not Mercer, lass," Brynjolf spoke, voice firm. "Don't you ever think that what happened to him would happen with us."
"That's not what I meant," she murmured. "But this," she motioned to the doorway, "is part of what went wrong, Bryn. It sounded like a good idea, like it always does with daedra, and when someone decided the deal wasn't to their benefit, it poisoned everything...Or maybe that happened after other things went wrong."
Did the sequence even matter? She considered the question with a coolness that startled her. No, she decided. How the poison started to seep into the trinity's friendship no longer mattered, for whatever the details were, their problems had built and fed off one another. There were enough broken friendships in the world to fill libraries with tales of bitterness and unspoken words.
Perhaps Prim's morose thoughts were more apparent than she realized, for Brynjolf came closer, his voice softening as he studied her.
"Was it the shadows?" he asked. "You said that they showed you things."
"I've seen more than I should have," she admitted, shaking her head. "I know that we haven't talked about Mercer very much, but he had his reasons, Bryn. Just like I have mine for saying no to this offer. I've been telling Nocturnal no for awhile now."
"I support your decision, lass, but I didn't know that Mercer had anything to do with it."
"He doesn't," she countered. "But it doesn't help either. I won't even try explaining myself to Karliah. She will simply need to accept that I don't trust daedra."
"And I didn't speak a word more when she asked me about it in private," he offered. "She was a good friend of mine, but you can trust me to keep your confidence, Prim. I don't think she'd take well to knowing how intimate you and Mercer were, and a lot of time has passed. I barely know her anymore. She's...changed. If she knew about you and him, she might doubt you."
"I don't know about that," Prim considered. "The woman knows what it's like."
"I suppose she does, but until I know her again, I'm not taking chances. I won't have her causing discord where there's none. She'll need to find her place in the guild just like you did when you first joined. Only Delvin and I remember her now." With a puff of exasperation, he offered a wry smile. "This entire damned situation is going to take time."
He really would make a fine guildmaster. Prim thought nothing less as she considered his decision to swear loyalty to Nocturnal. How strange that he would now pledge himself to join both Mercer and Gallus in the afterlife, fate turning full circle to pull another generation of thieves into the Nightingales. Brynjolf would not struggle as Mercer had though. The thought struck with assuredness as the man stepped into the doorway, a curious gleam in his eyes. The guild needed luck, and Brynjolf would return it to them without shaking a fist at the sky in anger. His steadiness was deeper than she could have guessed in those first few days of knowing his charm and smiles.
"I hope, lass, that you do not think me foolish for this."
He stood in the doorway's shadows and turned, the light barely illuminating his face. A dull grating of stone somewhere ahead signaled that Karliah was returning from whatever task she had given herself.
"Never," Prim promised. "If ever there was someone to be a Nightingale, it's you."
She grabbed the torch, and its touch caught his roguish smile.
"The torch will need to stay here," Karliah's voice sounded. "It's a bit of a nuisance, but you'll understand why in a moment. There's natural lighting ahead."
"We're probably surrounded by shadows right now," Prim muttered, setting the torch back into the sconce, and following footsteps into the room beyond. Thankfully, there were no obstacles or enemies, only the dripping of water and the faint drum of rain. A spring shower must have caught in the weather outside, erosion perhaps washing away dirt above the Nightingale's Hall to expose stone. The sound came and went with irregularity, until moonlight seeped into view. There, in the room ahead, were funnels of light that danced across an underground stream and pool. Rain dripped from the stone openings.
Prim's eyes were drawn forward, to stone platforms standing in the pool. Arches curved over the water to reach them, three smaller platforms each marked with a glyph connected to a central one. The cavern was cold, and the air suffused with a strange, dancing energy that made Prim feel as though someone stood behind her, constantly looking over her shoulder. Why had Karliah insisted she come, when she did not intend to take an oath to Nocturnal?
As if you would leave Brynjolf to make this journey alone.
She stood still as her friend and Karliah passed to the central platform. No, she would not have abandoned him to travel here alone. As much as he understood her distaste for daedra, he still wanted her to be part of this. Karliah thought that perhaps she would change her mind, but Brynjolf knew better, and still he had made it clear on no uncertain terms that Prim would share in the knowledge of the Nightingales, even if she chose not to partake.
"Look what the rain washed in," Nocturnal whispered in her ear.
No one else heard the comment, and Prim knew as much. She steeled herself, and took a few steps forward into the moonlight, if only to observe the room more clearly.
"It requires three," Karliah stated, looking to her. "You do not need to swear allegiance, but each glyph must be occupied. I do not think our lady's touch on the world is strong enough after Mercer's betrayal to respond otherwise."
"You didn't mention that before," Brynjolf shrewdly noted.
"I did not wish to cause alarm," the woman explained. "This is no trick. I would not ask either of you to do anything unwillingly."
"I will help you contact her," Prim stated. It wasn't like her presence was unknown to the daedric prince, and she probably had the shadows to thank for that, always running about and whispering, touching the darkness in which the daedra dwelled.
"This one is mine," Karliah continued, choosing a glyph. "That one," she motioned to the one beside her. "Was Gallus's."
So this was Mercer's, Prim mused, mounting her own platform. She stared at the symbol there, a moon like the others, and found shadowed humor in the whole affair. She now stood where Mercer once had, and even though she considered herself so very different from him, she couldn't deny that her misgivings at the moment probably echoed deeply of his.
"It's still Mercer's," the shadows shared.
Still? Even after his betrayal? So the trinity would be restored, although not in the manner Karliah expected. Or maybe the woman did know, and that was why there was such peace in the dark elf's expression. They were both shadow-blessed, after all, and the elf's connection with Nocturnal was so much deeper than her own.
Words were spoken, and almost belatedly, Prim realized that the daedra was among them. The prince's form was weak—wavering in the moonlight—but present nonetheless, and the words spoken were for all three thieves to hear. Prim ran eyes over the beings's raven hair and purple robes, and felt a flutter of wings pass her head as though the shadows had turned into raven's to encircle them. She was less affected this time given exposure to the daedra, but saw Brynjolf stiffen. A smile curled over Nocturnal's face as she studied the man.
"So much like Gallus," the daedra noted. "Facing fate with a grin. And Karliah, returned at last to make up for previous failures. You will have your chance. These hallways are empty without your singing."
"And you."
The daedra's gaze flickered to Prim as Karliah spoke of Brynjolf offering himself.
"Me," she mouthed.
"Not here for a pact, but here nonetheless. What a fitting glyph for you, but you would not use it the way he did. Foolish of you to forgo such power. Maybe you would still like a taste? No? But I would have you return the key. Karliah has no right to claim the honor after her desertion. Brynjolf, handsome mortal, will need to prove himself first."
Prim held herself without responding, although perhaps the thoughts running through her mind were known to the daedra. She hoped not, and did everything in her power to block any intruding shadows from her person. They kept their distance. Nocturnal merely continued addressing Karliah as though Prim were less than nothing—a spectator and not even an interesting one at that. Good. Let the daedra lose interest in her.
"Armor is waiting for you," Nocturnal was telling Brynjolf. "Come back when your task is completed."
"And my offer will stand for you."
Gods damn it, she hadn't been forgotten. Prim scowled as a trickle of unnamed energy slid across her shoulders and down clawed limbs. For a moment, she was startled to realize that she hadn't transformed into a werewolf, and checked her hands just to make sure. The wolf certainly seemed uneasy, and if two daedra were locking gazes above her, she didn't need to know.
The daedra vanished as quickly as they'd arrived, leaving Prim furious at the unwanted attention as she walked stiffly from the platform. Brynjolf and Karliah waited for her, already on the move back toward the hall's more residential rooms, where worn and broken furniture remained from days when the hall had been actively used. Prim opted to wait in the mouth of the ruin's cavern while Brynjolf received his new armor, favoring the rainfall that blanketed the land beyond in a misty haze. It would be cold out there, in the dampness of early spring, and worse once they turned their feet northward to Irkngthand, where Mercer was supposedly heading.
She breathed easily now that she was free of Nocturnal's presence. The daedra did not mean her ill at least, although she did not think for a moment that her soul was secure against entrapment. Accepting anything from the realm of shadow, even the words of the shadows themselves, probably brought her perilously close to danger. She thought of Kodlak and his measured words, and wondered if she would ever fully make peace with the fate of her own decisions.
"Ready, lass?"
She turned, and broke into a grin despite herself. Brynjolf was covered in black, leather armor that exuded sleekness and stealth. The craftsmanship was beyond impeccable with its intricate designs, and the mask beneath its hood molded itself against the man's face, leaving nothing of his skin visible. This was a close to a shadow as living man could come.
"Wow," she exhaled. "That's some armor."
"Yours one day as well, if you'd like," Karliah spoke, appearing in the same garb. "Thank you, Prim, for helping us. I realize that you do not wish to be involved with Nocturnal, but she is not unkind in her view of you. You share the Nightingale secret now, and may come to the hall as you like. It cannot be easy to forget that I nearly killed you, and yet you are here."
"Just don't do it again," Prim weakly joked, earning a chuckle from Brynjolf.
"A spring shower before a storm," he smiled, gaze turning distant. Prim followed his line of sight northward. Oh, but for a moment, she'd pushed it from her mind. Of course reality would not be waylaid for long.
"It will be a sloppy day tomorrow," she stated, pulling her cloak's hood up.
"It's nothing a fire won't help us forget for the night," Karliah offered. "Shall we return inside and start fresh in the morning?"
"Aye, I think that's best," Brynjolf agreed.
"I'll get it started," the dark elf volunteered, quickly disappearing. "It is too long since these halls were occupied. Take your time. I will start food for us."
"Thanks, lass."
"I am too old to be called lass, Brynjolf."
The woman disappeared into the tunnel, leaving Prim and Brynjolf alone.
"I wonder what the guild will think of the armor," he told Prim. "Karliah said to be discrete, but if I look half as good as your expression said, I can't be keeping this from the ladies. It would be a disservice to all womanhood."
"Aela would like it," Prim decided.
"Would she now?" he considered with a lopsided smile. "I don't think a thief and companion have much to do with each other, lass"
"Well, look at me," Prim corrected, and she saw the gears turning behind his eyes.
She laughed gently into the night as he made a show of admiring himself, and knew beyond a doubt that this banter was very necessary. She would speak more with Karliah tonight as well. The three of them were going into danger together, and a sense of solidarity would keep them safe.
She eventually followed Brynjolf back inside, but not without a lingering eye for the rain clouds overhead. Her wolf itched to be free when the clouds revealed the moon, which was not unusual, but a strange vision of the beast disappearing into shadows struck her hard. The beast had never particularly favored the shadows, but did not seem so wary of the former nightingales lingering there now. She knew not what to make of it as the rain continued.
Mercer Frey sat in the ruined entrance of a fortress, listening to rain pelt the stone walls. An arched doorway afforded him a view of the Eastmarch forest beyond and the forgotten trail that led to the building where he now camped, hunkered down beside a small fire. The ceiling above had collapsed on one side, and the wooden floor was long since gone, but it would make due. He'd spent nights in far worse places. Staring into the rain, he recalled alleyways, prison cells, or perhaps the cramped room that a mage had once afforded him under the pleas of his mother. That hadn't lasted long, not after his lack of affinity for magic had become apparent.
He flexed his fingers against the cold, and stoked the fire higher. It was a chill night, and this time, there would be no one sharing warmth or blankets with him.
Prim, he thought, the memory of her body molded against his own coming to mind all too easily, obstinate in its refusal to be shaken. He dwelled on it, turned and examined it until his eyelids began to droop. She'd been his, but was now gone, probably with Karliah and Brynjolf somewhere in the wilderness, hunting him. They wouldn't win. She wouldn't win, and if she thought herself skilled enough to best him, she was fooling herself.
"Mercer..."
A farewell? The word had sounded like a plea.
Shadows take it, he inwardly cursed. Life stole far more than ever a mortal thief did. Prim had been his for a short while—had fucking belong to him, not Brynjolf or any of the others—which was more than he'd expected when she'd first walked into the cistern, and the sliver of her life that he'd taken would always be his. Or was it the part that she'd surrendered to him? Perhaps both, and the greed and emotions coiling within him sunk fangs into those memories. Even if she survived this, part of her would forever bear his touch. He hoped that her scar never healed—that she would never be able to forget him.
"Your path will always lead back to me," a voice whispered.
"Go to Oblivion, Nocturnal," he muttered.
This was the path he'd chosen, and it was his to bear out. The daedra merely claimed the end point. Everything before then, from the grand finale of his life in the guild to whatever followed, was his for the forging. He fell asleep to the sound of the rain.
The days were not kind to the three travelers that moved northward. Between spring rain and lingering coldness, they walked in discomfort, burdened by both the weather and their task. It affected each of them differently, Brynjolf sullen except at night around a fire, and Karliah always gazing into the distance as though it promised release from the emotional weight she carried. Prim did not envy the woman's burden, and looked upon the horizon with quite different eyes. Longing for an end to a terrible experience she understood, but Mercer was Karliah's nightmare, not hers, and the mark he'd left on her was of a different nature. Perhaps she didn't want to remove that mark either, but preferred keeping it cradled deep within. No one in the guild knew just how much had passed between them.
Brynjolf knows, she thought, looking to the man. He stood ahead of her, comparing the landscape to the map he held. He'd been wounded by the betrayal as well, perhaps with more cause than she herself had given how briefly she'd known Mercer, but the man shouldered it well.
"Time, lass. I've had years, and they haven't embittered me like they have Karliah."
Bitter? Yes, the woman was bitter, but not as sharply as Prim had anticipated. The dark elf was polite and kind, careful of not intruding when she recognized herself as an outsider, and there was more solemnity than bitterness, as though this were merely fated to happen. It was unfair that after longing to return to the guild for so long, such distance and suspicion greeted the woman, but like most in the guild, Prim wasn't entirely comfortable around her either.
She deserves more than we've given her.
But Prim wasn't willing to extend friendship to the woman, not yet. Perhaps never. She drew even with Brynjolf, and glanced at the map.
"There," he pointed. "Irkngthand should be straight ahead."
"I don't see anything," she said, squinting. They were west of Windhelm, and the region was still snowy, as it always would be, even in summer, and the landscape revealed nothing but jagged cliffs and boulders. The mountainous terrain was difficult to navigate.
"It's around that rock formation," Karliah stated. "Carved into the stone of the mountain. We'll be able to see it soon."
"You've been here before?" Brynjolf questioned.
"No, but I spent several years in this region. I passed it once or twice while hunting."
Brynjolf nodded, his features hidden by the Nightingale armor. It was strange to be unable to see either his or Karliah's faces. Not seeing his green eyes or easy grin while speaking to him was not to Prim's liking.
"Let's keep moving," he said. "The sooner we end this, the sooner we get out of this godforsaken snow. I'm freezing my balls off."
They followed the nearest cliff to its termination, stepping around its crumbling base to enter a cavernous hollow. Rock walls rose on all sides, enclosing the area where domed buildings and walkways jutted free from the mountain. The design was clearly Dwemer, and there was no telling how deeply into the mountains the chambers led, nor what their condition might be. Such ruins were generally well-preserved, but the outermost buildings were crumbling, collapsed roofs allowing snow to fill and block doorways. On first glance, Prim didn't see a single accessible entrance between fallen stone and the elements.
"The eyes of the Falmer will be deep inside," Karliah spoke. "Treasure like that is never near the outer walls."
"Then that's where we'll go," Brynjolf declared.
"There will be a lot of Falmer," Prim cautioned. "There always are in these places." Brynjolf looked to her grim face, and she nodded at the unspoken question. "I've been inside ruins like this several times before. The first time, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I just wanted to stay dry and find some gold."
"I've never actually seen a Falmer," the redhead commented, moving forward. "I guess there's a first time for everything."
"You'll never want to sell Falmer blood elixir again."
Nasty creatures, Prim thought. She was more concerned about what else might be lurking inside though. It would be smart of Mercer to leave or even activate Dwemer centurions to attack anyone following him, and he obviously knew they were coming. Her senses danced, attentive to the slightest sounds and smells as they approached a partially collapsed entrance. If Mercer had left signs of his passing, she would surely detect them before the others, although she could only smell damp earth and rusted metal as they stepped inside.
The Dwemer hallways must have been magnificent once. They were still impressive, and the gas lanterns that sputtered with life and flames spoke of enduring technology. Everything was stone and metal, finely crafted and larger than necessary. Prim wondered if the Dwemer had built their homes with the express goal of intimidating visitors, or if it was merely to create a sense of openness in their underground cities. They certainly hadn't been a peaceful people, not given the traps that the three thieves were bound to encounter.
"Step lightly," Karliah whispered, pointing ahead. They had entered a large room with metal posts dotting the floor. "Those will shoot fire if activated."
"Pressure plates?" Brynjolf questioned.
The woman nodded as Prim moved ahead, taking the lead, and sidestepping the worst of the stones that she suspected were triggers. A faint whiff of oil and gas made her nervous, even as she cleared the area without difficulty. This, at least, was testament to her work on stealth since joining the guild, and she peered down a flight of stairs while waiting for the others, detecting a faint hiss. The sound ghosted through an air vent, and made her wolf growl. Falmer were close, perhaps in the adjacent rooms or straight ahead.
"What is it, lass?" Brynjolf asked, drawing close beside her.
"Falmer. This place reeks of them." She glanced over her shoulder to where Karliah was navigating the pressure plates. The woman was fleet and graceful, but a bow would be no use in close quarters. "They're fast, Bryn, and they favor blades. They might not look like much, but they almost always attack in numbers. If even one detects us, this place will be swarming with them."
"Stealth over force then," he mused.
He tilted his head, and Prim caught a glimpse of green eyes.
"If things get ugly," she intoned. "I have a backup weapon."
"Backup weapon?"
But Karliah had joined them, and Prim wished to say nothing more in the woman's presence. They descended the stairs, and navigated the series of rooms and tunnels beyond, sneaking as was their art. Centurions sometimes puffed steam and rolled about on patrol, but they were easily avoided. The few that did detect them were quickly dispatched, leaving metal husks on the floor in the wake of the three companions.
Three, just the like the three lockpicks on a table waiting for them.
"Bastard," Karliah spoke, lifting one. "He's playing games with us."
"Too bad you don't know all the rules," a voice commented, snide and amused.
Mercer. Prim stiffened, and turned to where the sound had originated. No, he was using an echo to his advantage and to hide his location. He was close, but not close enough to reach. She raised her eyes toward a series of pillared walkways, and caught his form leaning from a shadow. The others had not spotted him yet, and with a brief head tilt of acknowledgement in her direction, he was gone.
"He won't go down quietly," Brynjolf murmured under his breath.
Neither would you or I. Or Karliah, Prim considered. They left their traveling packs there, nestled behind a column where they might remain hidden and be retrieved on their return journey. Now that Mercer knew of their presence, it couldn't be long before they were pitted against enemies. Prim was tense with the expectation as they continued down the long corridor, two open doorways greeting them at its end. An ornate column of metal stood between the two tunnels, gas lights making its copper finish gleam.
"Which way?" Prim questioned, examining one of the entrances.
"I wouldn't be surprised if they reconnect somewh..."
Karliah never finished her sentence as a high-pitched creak tore the air.
"Out of the way!" Brynjolf yelled, pushing Karliah aside as the metal column broke free from the wall, pulling stone and earth with it. Prim dove into the tunnel closest her, and covered her mouth as dust and debris formed a cloud around her. She slowly opened her eyes to find herself alone, a barricade of rubble blocking her path back to the others. She pressed hands against the barrier, and stared upward at the thin space that remained of doorway through which she'd fallen. It was too small for her to squeeze through.
"Prim?" Brynjolf called from the other side.
"I'm alright. What about you two?"
"We ducked out of the way," Karliah offered. "I don't think we can reach you though. We can't possibly move this."
Prim stared into the shadowed tunnel ahead of her, and sighed. She assumed Karliah and Brynjolf were discussing what to do as she inhaled, detecting no Falmer for the moment.
"Prim," Brynjolf again called. "Karliah says that Dwemer tunnels always connect to a central chamber or hall somewhere. You should be able to find a way back to us, or us to you, if we keep going. If it's a dead end, you'll need to come back here, and...we'll figure something out."
"She's right," Prim assured. "I've been in enough ruins to know we'll meet up somewhere. Be careful."
"Aye. You too, lass."
There was reluctance in his tone, but what could he do? Prim continued on her own, through corridors that smelled vaguely of Falmer. She was almost certain that she smelled Mercer as well, but not close by, as if he'd merely passed ahead of her. She avoided the few centurions that she encountered, and remained undetected until she found herself looking down a hallway littered with Falmer. Some slept in strange huts that appeared made from dark, metal plates, and others strode about or squatted in groups, communicating in odd hisses and grumbles that sounded nothing like language to her.
Damn, she thought. She couldn't sneak through that.
Suddenly, a Falmer shrieked, the sound echoing from another room, and soon the creatures were all afoot. They scrambled away from where she hid, funneling from view as she wondered what had caught their attention.
Brynjolf and Karliah.
She tensed and slid forward cautiously, following them into a grand room that must have been a central hub for the city at one point. She was an ant beneath the great ceiling, and watched in dismay as the Falmer charged forward, trying to breach the stairway where two darkly armored figures fought to keep them at bay. The fighters were only saved by the narrow access of the stairs, and even then, Falmer archers were taking up position.
"That's a shame," Mercer's voice sarcastically drawled.
Prim spun to find him no more than a few steps behind her, leaning against the wall with his sword drawn. He eyed her like he expected her to attack, but she merely stood there, breath hitching. His voice was smug, but his expression cold.
"Did you plan this?" she demanded.
"Me?" He arched his eyebrows, considering. "Maybe. I have no interest in fighting Brynjolf. Karliah...well, if she gets herself killed by Falmer, all the better. You and I will have plenty of time to settle this on our own. We can get the whole revenge matter out of the way now, if you're ready."
Her eyes darted in concern to her fellow thieves, who were still holding the Falmer at bay. She could not charge in there heedlessly without backup. There were simply too many Falmer for her to challenge on level ground, and if she did, surely they would turn from the stairs for easier prey. Her hand curled around her sword in thought.
"You can't be serious," Mercer scowled. "Don't waste your time."
"I'm not leaving them like you would." She began unbuckling her armor, and looked at him in question. "Will you try to kill me from behind? While I help them?"
"I was hoping to take this somewhere where there's time to do it properly," he considered, voice sharp and gaze critical. "Don't be stupid."
He raised his sword, but she ignored him as she finished removing her armor and clothing, leaving her naked in the dim light of an overhead fixture. The transformation was already starting, her teeth lengthening.
"You won't," she spoke, eyeing his annoyed expression and sword. "If all three of us die here, you don't get your grand exit."
She didn't wait to hear his response, if he even had one. Her body morphed into that of a werewolf, a howl escaping her as the Falmer momentarily wavered between who to attack. She didn't give them much choice as she barreled into them, claws making wide sweeps with a force greater than her human self. She tore through their armor and weak flesh easily, and quickly created a stain of red across the floor. She was larger, her reach abnormally long compared to their short swords, leaving her body largely untouched by their seeking blades. They only had numbers on their side, and those were quickly thinning as Brynjolf and Karliah attacked from the opposite side.
"Shit!" Brynjolf cursed as the last Falmer fell.
Karliah had an arrow trained on Prim's chest, small slashes peppering furred arms and legs. Prim felt their sting as her wolfish features began to retract, leaving her to stumble and fall as a human once more. Was Mercer still watching? She looked to where he'd been to find it empty. Why did he want to fight her so badly? Would killing her give him genuine satisfaction? She refused to linger on the painful thought as Brynjolf helped her stand.
"Lass," he breathed. "That was...I didn't know that..."
"It's alright," she exhaled. "I should have told you sooner."
"There are werewolves in the guild now?" Karliah asked, although her tone held no judgement, only interest. Prim shrugged it off, and retrieving her clothing and armor, redressed. The taste of Falmer was an earthy rust that was mildly revolting. She spat as she avoided Brynjolf's gaze. She should have told him sooner, and wasn't about to mention that Mercer had known about her secret for some time.
"It doesn't matter," the man softly spoke. "We need to keep moving."
Their journey remained uneventful compared to what they'd just endured, and eventually led them into more cave-like depths. The ruins melded with uncut rock, and opened into a natural cavern were water leaked in abundance. Prim eyed the water snaking down a nearby stalactite, and inwardly growled in displeasure. There was a great deal of water somewhere nearby, above the giant statue they now faced if she had to guess. It was a snow elf, a giant statue of the once proud creatures, and looking over the ledge where they stood, her gaze dropped to its base. There was quite a drop to floor.
"You finally made it," Mercer called, appearing near the statue's head.
He had a sack thrown over one shoulder, and hopped along the statue to the stone book resting in one of its hand. He dropped the bag onto the book's surface, and drew his sword and dagger. There was a great divide between the statue and the ledge where the three guild members stood. They would need to climb down from the ledge, and then navigate the staircases flanking either side of the statue to reach their target.
"He already has the eyes," Karliah lowly commented.
Prim didn't care. She was busy eyeing the numerous archways and staircases lining the room, and wondered what the sound of Mercer's booming voice would attract.
"It took you long enough," he continued. "The coward, here to avenge her lover. The idealist, here to save his precious guild. And the wolf," his voice lulled, gaze fixed on Prim. "Here for..."
"I came for myself," she barked, her frustration over the entire mess returning. His mess.
"And all three nightingales," Mercer sneered. "Am I right? I knew Brynjolf would sell himself in a heartbeat, but you? You know better. Nocturnal doesn't give a damn about any of you, and she never has."
"Which is why I didn't accept her offer," Prim growled.
"Easy, lass," Brynjolf cautioned. "He's trying to rile you up."
But over the expanse between them, she imagined Mercer's gaze to be approving.
"Enough!" Karliah shouted. "This ends now, Mercer."
She released an arrow, and broke the calm. Just like that, Mercer swung onto another rock and jerked his arm—moved or hit something on the wall—and the shriek of Falmer could immediately be heard echoing through the surrounding archways.
"Oh shit," Prim breathed.
She didn't want to half-climb, half-jump to the floor below, but had little choice. She had to reach Mercer before either Brynjolf or Karliah. It was a numbing but insistent thought—that she must be the one to fight him. Perhaps Karliah had the greatest claim to it, but she would not let the other woman near him for reasons that made her gut wrench. She didn't bother trying to rationalize her actions or emotions as she clamored for the stairs ahead of her, the ones that would lead upward to Mercer.
"Brynjolf can keep Karliah busy," the man growled, a ripple of darkness in his tone.
"Karliah!" Brynjolf yelled, voice taut with bewilderment. "I can't...I..."
Prim turned to see him attack the woman, the two still on the ledge above, where Falmer were now converging. Gods, but what was going on? She couldn't help them as she reached the stone book where Mercer stood waiting for her. His eyes were fixed on the sword that he tapped against the statue, face set and as unreadable as she'd ever see it. Slowly, his gaze lifted to find hers.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No."
Their swords met, and the force of the first blows rippled down her arms. She tried to breach his defenses while barely remaining beyond his blades, earning nicks across her arms and shoulders when she moved too slowly. He was just too damned fast, and stronger than her as well. With a growl, she realized that he was forcing her toward the edge of the book, and quickly jumped to the stairs, daring him to meet her on uneven ground. She had the advantage now, forcing him to come at her from a lower position, but the steps were worn and tilted, threatening missteps for them both. Soon blood fell from both thieves, red meeting red on the stone.
"Bitch," Mercer spat, stepping back and touching a cut on his forehead.
Someone is going to die, Prim's mind screamed, anguished.
With a mighty blow, he staggered her backward, and her stumbling left her open to his next attack, earning her a slash across the shoulder. She hissed in pain, and collided with the cavern wall. They were on an upper ledge now, at the top of the stairs near the statue's head.
"You're holding back," Mercer accused.
Someone is going to die. Had she really hoped it would turn out differently?
"Just give me the skeleton key, Mercer. For the guild."
"So that's what you came for," he considered. He sounded disappointed as he studied her, blood trickling down the side of his face. He'd lost his dagger during the fight, and thank the divines for small blessings. "Come and take it then," he invited, patting one of the pockets on his armor.
She hoisted her blade, and his eyes flared in warning. They could end this now, if he would just surrender the key to satisfy Brynjolf and leave. Only Karliah would insist on pursuing him beyond that.
"Stop insulting me, and do your worst," the man intoned.
"If that's what you want."
They were both ready to attack when a rumble shook the cavern, making them stumble and fight for their footing. Rocks and earth fell from the ceiling, dusting the room in a cloud of debris that was quickly smothered by a gush of water.
"Oh divines," Prim gasped, watching as a section of rock crumbled and released a waterfall above the statue. Rocks continued to fall, crushing Falmer on the ground below, all while the stone beneath Prim's feet was covered with liquid. Water was forcing holes into the cavern roof, a multitude of leaks bursting free, and with a final rumble, the statue was completely drench, a curtain of water blocking the other half of the room from view, including Karliah and Brynjolf.
Prim blocked a downward slash from Mercer, and kicked out with her foot, sending him backward toward the stairs. He might have regained his balance but for the water that slicked the surface, and so he tumbled from view. She clamored to the stair's edge, and watched him hit the stone book below before he rolled into a crouch. He flipped soaked hair backward over his head, and glared up at her with bared teeth.
Why couldn't he just give her the damned key?
"Why I came?" she bellowed, descending the stairs to him. "You want to know why I came? I wished we'd killed Karliah back in the sanctum, and that the truth had stayed buried."
She didn't mean the words, even as she spoke them, but her emotions were a jumble of fury and hurt, and the sight of his blood mingling with the water cascading from the book didn't help. The entire lower chamber was now a pool, and the water level was rising ever closer. Mercer raised his sword, ready to continue to the end, and she would oblige him. He didn't look nearly as exhausted as she herself felt, and it worried her as their blades again met. Perhaps she would be the one to die.
Karliah appeared along the far wall of the chamber, climbing toward an upper platform. Prim followed the woman with quick flicks of her eyes, and knew exactly what was coming. The woman notched an arrow and took aim at Mercer's back while Prim kept him busy. Her heart pounded in a burst of fear and dread.
No.
She had mere seconds to make a decision as Karliah stared down the shaft. She pushed Mercer's sword aside with the last of her strength, and decided that she really was a complete idiot. She was a total sodding idiot. Her hands grappled with Mercer's armor as she released her sword, and rammed him off the edge of the book, the momentum taking her with him. They hit the water, and tumbled beneath it, her hands struggling with the pockets of his armor while his seized her torso. It was almost an embrace, but a mockery of one, and a deadly one at that as they fought and kicked toward the surface.
Her hands found a metal object, although perhaps not the skeleton key. There wasn't time for a second try as she separated from Mercer and broke the surface with a gasp. She gulped at the air, and turned, searching for him, but Mercer was nowhere in sight. It made her sick as she clung to the cavern wall, sore and cold. Belatedly, she realized that the skeleton key was in her grasp.
"Prim!" Brynjolf yelled.
She looked up to see him on an upper ledge, his left arm limp. Karliah was nearby, clinging to the wall and pointing upward to where a hole near the ceiling promised a way out of the room. The other tunnels were no doubt already flooded, and there would be no transversing the room to reach them anyway. With a grunt of pain, she hoisted herself out of the water, struggling for slippery holds on the cavern wall.
"Come on, lass," Brynjolf encouraged, reaching for her with his good arm. She grasped it, and soon they were easing toward their escape, Karliah helping Prim get Brynjolf up and over the last ledge. They struggled through a thin path in the rock, and barely beat the rising water as they stumbled through a cavern rich in lichen and moss. The water stopped behind them, forming a pool on the tunnel floor as they stumbled into sunlight and fresh air.
"Where's Mercer?" Karliah asked.
"I don't know," Prim breathed, squeezing her eyes shut.
"He couldn't have made it out," Brynjolf thought aloud. "We barely made it."
The three of them looked miserable—soaked and shivering, uncertain what to do with themselves. Prim wrung out her hair, and stared into the cavern, where the surface of the water didn't so much as ripple. Brynjolf was probably right. Mercer's body was probably floating somewhere in the cavern, the man killed by water rather than a blade. Her grip on the skeleton key tightened until her skin throbbed in protest.
"Damn it," she hissed, unsure what she was damning. Everything maybe.
"You got it," Brynjolf stated, staring at her hand.
"Yeah," she said, loosening her hold. "It was a gamble, but I got it."
And she didn't even care. She tucked the key into one of the pockets on her armor, and flopped onto the ground with a wince.
"Then it's over," Karliah spoke, quietly as she stared into the distance. "It's finally over."
"We need to rest," Brynjolf stated, cradling his broken arm, and Prim felt guilty for not thinking of it sooner. It hung uselessly at his side, and she quickly moved to assist him in removing his armor. They would splint it until further medical attention could be given in Riften, and in the meantime, a fire would do nicely. Without a word, they ended up camping there, near the mouth of the tunnel, a fire drying them out, and Karliah hunting snow hares for a meal.
"Do you really think Mercer drowned?" Prim asked while Karliah cleaned the hares.
"It's hard to imagine, isn't it?" Brynjolf spoke. "But it's possible. He was mortal like us." He leaned in closer so that Karliah wouldn't hear over the crackle of the fire. "There was nothing you could have done differently, lass."
Wordlessly, he gave her hand a squeeze, and she smiled sadly. Karliah kept tossing glances at her, but nothing was said, and she didn't care to ask what was wrong. She turned away and curled into a ball beside the flames to sleep. Perhaps the whole ordeal was over, but she didn't feel any better for it.