They were taking the fastest route to Riften, and would reach the city tomorrow. Thank the divines, because they were ready for proper beds, and a potion or two would benefit each of them as well. Prim simply wanted to be done with it. She couldn't stand the silent nights, and waking each morning to see Karliah and knowing how much everything had changed. It would never be the same. Brynjolf had tried broaching the subject of guildmaster, but she couldn't bear the conversation yet. Perhaps she would be his second in command in the near future, but perhaps not. She kept to herself as their last camp was readied in advance of nightfall. She wanted desperately to see Delvin, and Sapphire, and all of the others, and to have the opportunity to speak to Brynjolf in private.

You can't hold this against Karliah, her mind warned.

And she didn't. Not really, but damn it, she didn't know what else to do.

"Prim," Karliah spoke, quietly as though aware that she was intruding on the woman's thoughts. "Perhaps it is not my place, but I must ask you a question."

Prim followed the woman's gaze to the bracelet around her wrist.

"Of course," she answered.

"Mercer," Karliah began. "You pushed him out of the way when I was aiming."

"I was attempting to get the key."

"You had time to strike him and take it, although he no doubt had a trick up his sleeve."

"Karliah," Brynjolf interrupted, calm but firm. "I think you'd best let this drop."

"Perhaps," the woman allowed. "But I deserve an answer. He was to die by my hand if possible. I did not want either of you to face that burden. Irkngthand was to be his grave."

"And it is," Prim stated. "Just not by our hand."

"Prim?" Karliah was hesitant, a glimmer of compassion but also tension in her eyes. "I waited too long to have that taken from me." Prim said nothing. "You owe me an answer for saving your life. I waited twenty..."

"Twenty-five years. Yes, I know," she interrupted, words flat. "You really want to know why?"

Prim felt her walls crumbling. All of the protection that she had built around herself since they'd set foot on Mercer's trail was coming to naught. Like dust, her defenses scattered to the wind, and she was left with nothing but raw emotion.

"I need to know," Karliah insisted. "You pushed him..."

"I loved him!" she bellowed, voice ragged. "I loved him like you loved Gallus, and now he's gone. You and Gallus made a deal and were content to let it dictate your life. He wasn't, but neither of you understood. You fell in love, and stood together, and left him on the side. He had nothing to gain by following the rules, and everything by breaking them." She inhaled roughly, knowing that she'd gone too far and said too much. She bitterly wished to take the words back, but settled for staring at the ground instead. "He cared about you," she finished.

Karliah looked away at that, a flash of guilt and pain on her face.

"He resented me," the woman corrected.

"Of course he did."

And with that, Prim left the camp. She heard Karliah sigh and move to follow, but Brynjolf intercepted the woman and held her back.

"Let the lass have some time alone," he cautioned. "You've said enough."

Prim walked until into the trees, and sat down against a wide trunk, inhaling deeply to calm herself. For a moment, she smelled or imagined Mercer's scent on the wind, but then it was gone, and she was alone once more. She did not return to the camp for several hours, and when she did, nothing more was said about her outburst.

They were only in Riften for the day. Come morning, they would leave for the Twilight Sepulcher to replace the key and be done with everything at long last. Prim sat on her bed in the cistern, and examined the artifact. It was no larger than an ordinary key, but breathtaking in its intricate designs. Karliah said that no door could withstand the skeleton key, but Prim had yet to test it on anything. She didn't need to test it—believed the stories and wasn't particularly in a thieving mood.

"We will meet again soon."

Prim internally scoffed at the daedra's voice, and tucked the key away, aware of light footsteps drawing nearer. Sapphire was beside her in an instant, sitting on her bed and offering a mug of hot ale. Prim accepted, and quietly sipped at it.

"How are you feeling?" the woman asked.

"Alright. I hadn't realized how cut up I was. Damn falmer." And Mercer.

The sheer number of wounds she'd suffered while chasing and then fighting Mercer hadn't really hit her until they'd reached Riften, when Delvin had let out a curse in response to her appearance. The Falmer had slashed her arms and legs, and Mercer had cut her more deeply across the chest than she'd registered in the heat of battle. What flesh was spared had suffered bruises from falling and then climbing, and that said nothing of the blisters on her feet. They were bare now, and wrapped in linen.

"That's good to hear," Sapphire mused. "You still planning to leave tomorrow? Delvin says you need to appease Nocturnal in some way, but he didn't say how."

"I need to give back what Mercer stole. That's all. The sooner it's over, the better. I can't just sit around the cistern anyway. I think...I think I need a break, Sapphire."

"What do you mean?"

The worry in the woman's blue eyes was evident, and Prim quickly offered a weak although reassuring smile.

"I'm not leaving the guild," she promised. "I just need some time away."

"I understand," Sapphire frowned. The woman fiddled with her mug before continuing. "Vex saved you something, if you're interested."

"Saved me something?"

"Yeah. After you three left, there was a lot of anger, and we might have...burned a few things in effigy, but she grabbed this for you."

The woman held out a folded piece of paper that looked turn from a book. Delvin had mentioned something about Thrynn ripping out the "lying ledger's" pages and starting the whole burning incident, but this was most clearly a ledger page. It didn't appear to be anything special, and it wasn't, but on the edge, written in Mercer's tight scrawl, was the word 'idiots.'

"It's nothing really," Sapphire excused. "But it's so..."

"Him," Prim finished, tucking the paper into her pouch with the skeleton key. "Thanks. I'll thank Vex later too."

"Karliah feels like a right bitch, if you didn't know. She was saying that she shouldn't have been so hard on you, whatever that means."

"Did everyone leave a message with you?" Prim teased, running a hand through her hair.

"Well, no," Sapphire released with a tight smile. "But we know how difficult this must be. Some of them thought that you'd brush it off, and I guess you look alright. You were joking around with Delvin when you came back, so I thought nothing was wrong at first, but...well, some of us can see it."

"I'll get better," she promised, downing the ale. "I'll stay in Whiterun for a bit, and that will be the end of it."

The lie was almost convincing, and she wanted to believe it, but damn Mercer for leaving a scar on her like this. Part of her still didn't want to admit that he was dead, and the other half wanted to know why she was being such a dolt. Love was as painful as she remembered it being, but she again thought of that night in Riftweald, and mumbled conversations in the dark, and wondered if maybe she wasn't just a little blessed for having experienced the fall in the first place.

"Thanks, Sapphire," she spoke, sincere. "I'd better get some rest though. Wounded or not, I'm heading out tomorrow."

They spoke their farewells, and Prim quickly fell asleep, dreaming of a long corridor lined with locked doors, and in her hand was the skeleton key, begging to be used. She was not surprised to find that it was in her actual hand when she awoke.

The Twilight Sepulcher was not a place Prim wished to be, and once she stepped into Nocturnal's realm, her nerves tightened with caution. This was not a safe plane of existence, and the riddles and games with light and shadow only reinforced the point. She looked back the way she'd come, and could see nothing in the darkness of the room where she now stood, although for a moment, she heard Brynjolf and Karliah talking with one another. Brynjolf had tried to insist on accompanying her, but in the end, Nocturnal's orders ruled, and only Prim had been allowed inside.

Why can't she just leave me alone?

"I would ask you the same question, mortal."

The daedra's voice sounded through the shadows like a breeze, almost soothing in its tone. With a sigh, Prim thought of Kodlak and gifts from daedra, and wondered if she had anything to gain from accepting a deal with this particular one. Not really, she decided, but for a moment, she had entertained the possibility, and that was the first mistake. It always starts with wondering, she mused.

She suddenly realized that there were stars overhead, and they seemed to twinkle in pleasure at her thoughts, but Prim hadn't come so far to drop her resistance now. She moved beneath a walkway, and realized that she was on a balcony overlooking a river of black. She remembered this from before, especially the jewels that winked in the water's depths.

"I completed your tests," Prim frowned. "Where do I put the key?"

Almost instantly, the balcony dropped from beneath her feet, and Prim panicked before a second blink landed her in a corridor of dark marble. The hallway's center was the river, and its sides were lined by doors of extravagant design. The closest one appeared to be solid gold, and bore figures of grinning men and dancing women. She recoiled from it with a frown, and moved forward, each footstep leaving a ripple on the river's surface although she remained perfectly dry.

"Have you never thought of using my key?" Nocturnal asked.

Prim spun and found the daedra behind her, the being as beautiful as ever, and striding forward with a vague smile. There was no malice in the other's gaze, and so Prim let herself relax. There was nothing she could do if the daedra decided to harm in in this realm anyway.

"I don't know what I'd do with it," she admitted.

"He experimented with it for years," Nocturnal shared. "You have no idea what he unlocked. He has no idea what he unlocked. Maybe he will fully appreciate it in time, but there is no promise. Of course," the daedra smiled, drifting to the closest door and touching it. "He's a smart one, so he must have an inkling of just how deeply he delved."

"You're talking as if he's still..." Prim choked on the last word.

"Alive?" Nocturnal slyly offered. "There's little division between life and death to one such as myself."

The brief flicker of hope in Prim died just as quickly.

"You always talk so cryptically."

The daedra actually laughed, the sound a ripple of pleasure through the air.

"So blunt," the being spoke. "Defiant. Blunt. But I did not come here to goad you mortal, whether you believe me or not. I think you deserve a reward. It's not every day that something so interesting happens in the mortal realm, and the past few days have been most diverting."

Before Prim could protest, Nocturnal motioned down the hallway.

"Pick one," the daedra commanded. "And choose wisely. You are no longer in my realm, if you haven't noticed. You might have time to open one door before your friends find you."

Prim looked at the key in her hand, and swallowed.

"What do you wish for most?" Nocturnal gently pressed.

More importantly, what's the cost?

"It is your choice."

Brynjolf's voice was audible in the distance, and Prim wondered where she was if not in Nocturnal's realm. She strode along the doors with little intention of actually accepting the daedra's offer. A part of her soul was probably already claimed purely by her journey into the being's realm and then carrying out a task like returning the key. Perhaps part of her had already been traded, but this...well, what did she truly want?

Nocturnal was gone, and she was again alone. Each door was so different as she passed them, some promising wealth or emitting magicka. One was drenched in blood, and bore the seal of the necklace that Mercer had taken from her, the one that had belonged to the dead king. With a sudden tightening of her nerves, she realized that each door spoke to her personally. There was meaning here, and if so, then was this place within her own mind?

Prim blanched as she spun and suddenly found herself face-to-face with a door of black ebony. Shadows whispered around its hinges, and a great lock of silver kept it sealed. It was the engravings along its surface though that most caught her attention, from a manor to coins, and weapons, all interlocking and ever-shifting—morphing into new shapes and secrets, words of shadow.

"Mercer," she thought aloud.

"You're a natural," Nocturnal whispered. "So was he. He understood the subtle language of the key's magic."

Prim inserted the skeleton key with reluctance. She did not know where the door led, but was willing to take a gamble as she fiddled with and then heard the satisfying click of the lock's release. She grabbed the door's handle and pulled, stepping through the doorway into...Whiterun?

She turned and found the door gone, and was left standing on the main street that cut through the city. It was night, and there was no one outside except herself and a lone wanderer who was approaching Breezehome. She frowned as she moved forward, intent on seeing who this trespasser was, when the lock on her home's front door was picked. The man stepped through the doorway, and she followed, passing right through the wooden barrier as it closed in her face.

What in Tamriel just happened?

She touched her body, and felt physical enough, but the intruder had not noticed her, and her hand passed through the bookshelf that she reached to touch. Perhaps this was another vision, yet she was free in her movements instead of being restricted to a shadow's former path, and as for the intruder, her heart lurched.

Mercer Frey tossed a bag onto the floor of her home, and moved to the storeroom to rifle through her belongings. He looked rougher than she'd ever seen him. His hair was disheveled, his armor damaged from where she'd slashed it, and dried blood was crusted to its surface. The damage became more apparent when he tossed the armor aside and helped himself to her meager potion stock. He drank and gagged, probably from a lack a food prior to consumption, and finally flopped down onto a chair by the empty fire pit.

"Mercer," she spoke, and for a moment, thought that he'd heard her.

He looked to the place where she stood, but then set about tending his wounds. She always kept linen and herbs on hand for such purposes, and there was water in a cask for bathing or cooking. She didn't know what to do as the man cleaned and then bound the wounds she'd given him. Some of them were clearly not her doing though. The massive bruise on his right shoulder was likely from falling debris, and it wouldn't surprise her if it had broken, and he'd drained what little magicka he had in order to heal it.

Mercer Frey is alive.

Mercer Frey is in my house.

Prim wondered if she could sit, and was delighted to find that she could, even if she didn't feel the need to do so in her current state. There was no fatigue. No smell. No pain. It was almost as if she had become a shadow, able to reach and touch in a superficial sense, but not truly. The thought gave her pause, and she might have been horrified if Mercer's every movement weren't so distracting.

"I suppose she's returned the key to the sepulcher by now," the man roughly spoke. "So now your kind are free to roam again."

He looked up, directly at her this time, and with a focus that spoke of seeing more than others would. She again felt the tight stirring of emotions in her chest, and squashed them. With a derisive hum in the back of his throat, Mercer tossed his bloodied clothing to the floor, and moved upstairs. There was spare clothing from when Brynjolf had stayed, and he quickly found the garments and dressed. She watched him throughout, remaining seated as he turned to the fire pit. It was voyeuristic, yes, and she didn't know how to feel, but she wasn't exactly sure how to undo her current predicament either.

What if I'm stuck like this?

Now she was horrified.

"Go watch someone else," Mercer rumbled, staring at her once more.

"Can you hear me?" she attempted, but he did not respond.

"Or perhaps you're watching for Nocturnal," he mused. "Here to rub it in perhaps? It doesn't matter," he intoned, arranging wood in the pit. "I don't need the key anymore, and I have the guild's wealth. All she gained was a single Nightingale—Brynjolf—and what's that worth? How badly did the bitch want Prim?" He shook his head with a grim smirk. "She didn't get her either."

He looked exhausted as he fell back into his chair, and searched his armor's pockets. Perhaps he was looking for flint, for there was none in the house. Prim had never needed it, and without thinking, she leaned forward and held a hand to the wood, a simple flame sparking to life on her fingertip. It wavered, weaker than usual, but then caught on the splintered edges of a log. Soon fire danced across the pit, and oddly enough, it did not burn her. She barely felt the heat.

I'm a shadow, she grimly thought.

"Who are you?" She looked up, and met Mercer's eyes. He was staring at her hard, a calculating tone to his voice. "You're no ordinary shadow."

"Next time you break into my house, I'll set the whole thing on fire, you insufferable man," she stated, exasperated with her entire existence. There was a flood of relief to see him well, yes, but if she was stuck like this, she was going to beg Hircine to take her soul to the hunting grounds and get it over with. Deep inside, the wolf actually howled, a vision of it disappearing into shadow unnerving her. If it liked the shadows now, she was in way deeper than she'd suspected.

Somewhere, Brynjolf's voice was closer than before. Prim turned to face the direction from which it came, and whirled through a sea of blackness. Disorientation was quickly followed by cool stone and the roof of a cavern. She was on her back in the Twilight Sepulcher, the skeleton key firmly in hand. She released it as if burned, and ran hands over herself and everything around her. When Brynjolf appeared to look down at her with a creased brow, and words rushed out and ran together.

"Can you see me?"

"And why shouldn't I be able to see you, lass?"

"Thanks the gods," she sighed, standing.

"We didn't even hear the portal open," he stated. "We didn't know you were back."

Prim groaned as she stood, and quickly spotted the holder for the key. She was all too eager to deposit it in Nocturnal's hold, and quickly backed away, standing beside Brynjolf in silence.

Mercer's alive.

"Where's Karliah?" she asked.

"Speaking with Gallus."

Her expression must have looked surprised, for he chuckled and rubbed a hand through his hair.

"That's the old Prim I like to see," he spoke. "Gallus was guarding the shrine here. He's fading now that his task is done, but there's a bit of time left. I can't imagine how much needs to be said between them, and where's that leave us, lass? Oye." He sat down, looking as tired as she herself felt. "I guess we'll just have to wait."

"She deserves all the time she can get with him," Prim agreed, joining him on the floor.

All she could think about was Mercer sitting in Breezehome, alone and healing. Her first urge was to go there and shout, rage, kiss, talk—all of it. But rationale told her to be slow and really think it through. What was there to be said? After the betrayal and fighting, she didn't know whether there was anything to salvage, and hearts were treacherously eager and blind.

"You should have Riftweald," Brynjolf commented.

"And do what with it?"

"Make it your home. It's guild property now. Maven turned it over to me by pulling a few strings, but I don't want it. I'll stay in the cistern like I always have. If you don't want it, just say so."

"Maybe you'll want it one day, when little Brynjolf's come along," she joked.

"Maybe," he allowed with a smile. "But I'd rather not have his property in my name. Think about it, and let me know when you come back from Whiterun." She glanced at him in question, and he shrugged. "You've been talking about taking a rest away from Riften, and I figured that's where you'd be going. I hope you weren't thinking of going further afield, lass."

"For the last time, I'm not leaving the guild," she huffed. "I don't plan to be gone long."

"Promise?" he pushed.

"Promise."

"Then I guess you have leave to go."

She nudged him with a smile, and immediately regretted it. She was going to be sore for days yet, but that wouldn't stop her. Her decision was made. She was going to Whiterun, or would spend the rest of her life wondering 'what if.'

Breezehome was empty. Mercer was gone, and likely had been for a day or more at least. Prim found his bloody clothing on the floor, and any coins she'd had hidden around the house were gone. He'd even found her stash beneath the floorboards, the bastard. She was annoyed at first, irked that once more the man had evaded her and had the upper hand, but then she went upstairs. Maybe he'd left muddy footprints and his clothing downstairs, and maybe he'd stolen her gold, but as soon as she flopped onto her bed, she forgot all of it. Nothing was as important as the fact that her bed smelled exactly like him.

"You're a fool, Prim," she mumbled, burying her face in a pillow.

Hate him? Had she once tried hating him? His scent smothering her clicked her jumbled conflicts into place. She couldn't hate him, not even if she truly tried. She was doomed, pure and simple, and she slept in later than usual the next day, just to keep her nose buried in the sheets where he'd so recently slept.

On the sixth day, Brynjolf showed up to make sure that she was still coming back.

On the seventh day, she couldn't find the redhead or Aela.

On the eighth day, he stood on her doorstep, arms folded across his chest.

"Are you ready to go home, lass?"

"I guess so," she mused, gaze sweeping across Whiterun. She leaned against the doorway of Breezehome, and sighed. "There isn't anything else to do, is there?"

"Not a thing," Brynjolf assured.

"Alright," she nodded. "Let's go back to Riften."

Prim looked down at the bracelet encircling her wrist, a constant reminder of what she and Mercer had shared for but a brief moment in life, and retrieved her traveling gear.