Chapter Seven: Doubt
As the spring rolled on from the clear sunny skies of early spring to the harsh downpours of late Rain's Hand, life in Riften had become a bit of a challenge for the thieves. Even when the rain stopped, the city streets were still caked in a treacherous mud, which made hasty, poorly thought-out escapes hazardous to the thieves' health and continued freedom. Despite this, the Guild had settled into a new routine. Though they were no longer charged with the initial surge of ambition that had been brought from "reclaiming" Solitude, they were branching out and making a name for themselves once more – or at least that's what Brynjolf had been blustering on about for the past month. Truth be told, Tom still hadn't much mind for how the Guild was doing or how much power they held. Nevertheless, the considerable amount of coin that lined her pockets certainly didn't hurt her feelings toward her profession, and neither did the strange companionship she had begun to feel in the depths of the Ratway. As the weeks went on, she found herself wanting to spend more time in the Flagon and less time out on the road, and with every return to Riften, she fell more and more in love with the sight of the city gates, a promise that her home was within her reach once more.
While she certainly wouldn't call any of her fellow miscreants a friend – a term that implied honesty and intimacy and a general belief that they weren't going to stab her in the back if given the opportunity – Tom did hold certain guildmates with a special fondness that had been alien to her for far too long. After the mess that had occurred aboard the Dainty Sload that had nearly ended with her strangulation, she had taken it upon herself to better her combat abilities, particularly with the bow, which meant more time spent with Niruin, not that she minded. When not out on jobs, she ate her meals with him. He would spin tales and they would drink until Tom woke up in the sewer tunnels, with a nasty hangover and little recollection of the previous nights' events. Though she hadn't divulged any more hints of her past, Tom had kept good on her promise to work on her honesty with the elf, and she appreciated his patience with her. Other than Niruin, she spent some time with Vipir the Fleet and Rune, though the latter had been suspiciously absent from the cistern most days. A possible explanation for the young thief's absences laid in a rumor floating around the guild, which had been far too often recounted to her by a jealous and bitter Vipir the Fleet, that Rune and Sapphire were having an affair.
Still, possibly the most peculiar alliance she had made was her growing camaraderie with her fellow Breton, Cynric Endell. The strangeness of their relationship lay not in their personalities, as it did with her and the elf, but in the fact that, despite their similarities, he simply could not make up his mind on whether or not he liked her. More often than not, the old thief reminded Tom less of a person and more of a cat, from the low purr of his voice to his tendency to slink around the cistern seemingly undetected and yet still hold himself with such poise as if he owned the place. Likewise, his affections were just as fickle as a housecat's. He could go days without giving her so much as a nod of acknowledgment, and then he would be suddenly hit with a sense of sociability and invite her up to their perch on the stone wall near the cemetery, where they would share a drink and play this cruel and horrifically amusing game that involved throwing rocks at birds and small rodents.
"Think it's going to rain tonight?" Cynric asked on one of these outings as he chucked a pebble at a rabbit. It narrowly missed the rabbit by an inch or so, but was enough to send the poor creature scurrying in the opposite direction. Taking a sip from a bottle of cheap wine, Tom looked up at the cloudy evening sky and shrugged. Weather in Riften was always a fickle and frustratingly unpredictable whore. As much as Tom had come to loathe the snow, at least she always knew that Windhelm and Winterhold would be covered in the frozen slush no matter the time of year. Riften could be the sunniest place in the Nirn one minute and caught up in a thunderstorm the next.
"Probably."
"Shame," Cynric said as he grabbed the bottle from her. "I was hoping not to get mud on my boots tonight."
"You planning on going somewhere after this?"
"Yeah, gotta meet up with a man outside the Black-Briar Lodge once it gets dark," he said in a grumble. "Not even for real job, just some shady business deal Maven needs done. Shit, usually when they want someone to run useless errands, they get the damn elf to do it, but I think Vex's trying to punish me for something."
Tom watched as a crow flew back and forth between two trees, as if it couldn't decide which branch was more comfortable. She picked up a small rock and held it tightly in her fist, absentmindedly feeling it over as she waited for the bird to come within throwing range. It was a sick game, but it was something to pass the time that didn't involve gambling away all her coin. The crow finally landed on the ground not too far off from them.
"I can't imagine why," she said dryly as she readied the rock. Cynric snickered in reply and took another drink.
"Yeah, well, I'm still not happy about it."
Tom flung the rock at the bird, missing by several feet, but the crow still flew off in a panic, cawing as it disappeared back into the forest. Cynric laughed and passed the wine bottle back to Tom. She took a slow sip. The eastern sky in front of them had grown dark, but it would be a while still before night fully descended upon the city. Night had always been a strange comfort for her. As a child, it had been a symbol of freedom. After the headmistress had extinguished the torches and retired to her chambers, the little Breton girl could sneak out if she was quiet enough, without worry that some guard in the marketplace would recognize her and send her back to the orphanage. Still, the port city Anvil had been a dangerous for a small girl, even one dressed as a boy, and sailors were a rowdy bunch with little regard for the lives of others, but dumb luck had always protected the pigheaded child as she roamed the night streets in search of the light of a room, high above the city, that called out to her like a siren. If she was careful, she could climb up the stone pillars, onto the balcony, and slip in through the window where an old friend would await her.
"Do you remember what I said earlier?" this friend had asked on a particularly warm summer night. Even at the young age of eleven, the young Imperial spoke with all the poise of a proper lady. She had been groomed since birth to be a woman of wealth, and it reflected in every bone of her body. "About the birds?"
"I do."
"My father is on good terms with the Count's wizard. We should have him transform us into birds. I could be a songbird, Caro, a gull, and you–"
"A crow?" the Breton child had finished bitterly. "A pest that feeds on the scraps of proper, civilized folks? A symbol of death, disease, and other evil things? Yeah, that sounds about right."
"I was going to say an owl because of your giant eyes and nocturnal nature, but yes, I suppose that works as well." – To calm her friend's sulking, the Imperial girl had taken a maternal tone as she tied the Breton's short dark hair up with ribbons. "Oh, don't be so sour. Have I ever told you the story of the raven and the king?"
For the rest of their time together, it would always be like that between the two. One would panic or despair, and the other would soothe their partner's troubles with stories of clever heroes and daring adventures. The tales of heroes and villains, good and evil, had been a steady constant in the chaos of life. Whenever times were dark, when food was scarce and fortune favored her enemies, the Breton could look to the tales and tell herself this was just the struggle of her character and she would soon conquer the great evils. It was this sort of thinking that had gotten her through Lyra's death and her own imprisonment. Even locked away in a cold cell, trapped behind bars for what had felt like an eternity, Tom had been certain that all of her hardships were trials, but it had never occurred to her that she may not be the hero. Never had she thought would come out of the darkness a coward and a liar, who hid from destiny and spent her time in the company of the wicked.
It hurt to think of the Guild as the villains, and that pain in itself was strange. Though she had been quick to judge them petty criminals at first glance, over the course of her time with them, Tom found herself thinking less and less of the thieves' flaws. They were an incorrigible, scandalous lot with little morals and many, many vices. That alone was certain, but they were not the lawless thugs she had initially taken them for, no better than highwaymen preying on unarmed travelers. They were men and women, who boasted about their larceny not unlike how a smith would brag about a fine sword he had forged, and for all their teasing and prodding and slighting, Tom had found that the thieves were exactly as they claimed: a family. And though they were not her family, they had taken her in and bewitched her through their roguish charms and odd affections.
Nevertheless, they were the wicked. Despite their charm, the Thieves Guild was indeed, as Bersi Honey-Hand often called them, the scourge of the hardworking and civilized men, but it was unfair to deem them evil. Few, Tom included, had been handed a decent lot in life. Where else were they to turn but to crime? The words "just business" were so often tossed around in the tunnels of the Ratway, that it could be easily mistaken for the Guild's creed. Still, she wondered where business ended and evil began. Questions like that, coupled with memories best forgotten, were what drove the woman to drink herself to sleep, lest she be up all night pondering the moral quandaries of her profession. Shaking her head, as if to fling the thoughts from her mind, Tom took another swig from the bottle and passed it back to Cynric.
"Did anyone ever tell you stories as a child?" she asked.
"My brother once told me he saw the guards chop a kid's hand off for stealing a loaf of bread. Does that count?"
Smiling, Tom shook her head. His lips pursed in a strange expression, Cynric tossed a rock at the ground below them and sighed. Tom recognized the sigh immediately. It was the same one she gave when Niruin had asked about her lineage. It was interesting to hear from someone else. During her time with the thieves, Tom had observed that there were two types of people in the Guild: those like Vipir and Niruin who would gladly spout off stories often without any provocation and those like Vex and Tom whose pasts were their business and theirs alone. Cynric toed the line between the two. Tom had gotten the condensed version of his story pretty easily, and he sometimes gave little anecdotes that if strung together created a vague outline of a man's life. Still, though more open about his past than she was, Cynric became rather cagey when it came to certain, more serious subjects.
"No," Cynric answered rather grimly. "Ma was always too busy for bedside fairytales, and I'm sure you can guess by my spectacular life choices that dear ol' Da wasn't exactly around. I don't know. I've heard the tales, but not from one person." He made a face. "Why are you asking about this stuff?"
"I just – the stories. They're always of heroes. Even when we brag to each other about our accomplishments over drinks in the Flagon, we still paint ourselves in this heroic light."
"And?"
"I don't know," Tom said. "What we do – we aren't exactly the romantic thief, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor."
"Now, I wouldn't say that. I steal from the rich and give to myself, and I'm not exactly swimming in fine furs and priceless gems, so–"
Smiling slightly, Tom took another swig from the bottle and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "You know what I mean. A thief's life isn't what it is in the stories. We threaten people for money. We steal from the poor as well as the rich, and we aren't even allowed steal from probably the richest woman in this entire country. In the stories, it's all black and white – good and evil. But life here, it's all so grey."
"We're throwing rocks at animals for laughs, kid," Cynric deadpanned. "I think we've passed the line of morally grey and have headed straight into outright villainy. Next you know, we'll become powerful necromancers who want to enslave the Nirn with an undead army and be burning down orphanages and kicking beggars."
Tom couldn't help but giggle at the image. Smiling only for a second, Cynric twitched his lips and shook his head.
"You think too much, girl," he said. "Of course things aren't like the stories. I'd be dead by now if they were. Something ironic, I'm sure."
"I know. I just – you know as a kid you never consider that you might grow up to be one of the villains."
"Please, I'm not a villain. I'm one of the unnamed thieves who the hero kills while he's storming the Ratway, purging Riften of its infestation. You want a villain? Maven would make a damn good villain. Even Mercer's scared of her. You want a particularly tragic villain, there's Brynjolf and Mercer. Shit, those damned dragons are villains. You and me? We're hired thugs at worst, not cut out for real evil." He paused. "But you're not really talking about that, are you? No, you're getting all philosophical and pondering about morality and navels and meanings. Dangerous road, that, and it has no place in our line of work. You want to contemplate your existence? They got a whole damn society for that up on High Hrothgar. Hear it's a nice, tranquil place where you can lounge around all day drinking tea and finding your center. That what you want?"
Tom knew Cynric wasn't being cruel, not intentionally, at least. He didn't know the weight of his words. He couldn't know. No, he seemed to be speaking from experience. She wondered if he had to give this little speech to others or if it was he who had been questioning his morality. She doubted it was the latter. For all his faults, Cynric was a very self-assured person. Though not particularly decisive or ambitious, save for when it suited his ego, he spoke with conviction. He knew who he was, and as someone who waffled on even the smallest of matters, Tom admired that. Still, his talk of the Grey Beards hit too close to home, and Tom found herself feeling winded and weak.
"I don't want that," she said quietly.
"Of course you don't. That sounds boring as shit. Rather go back to prison than that. At least they drag you out of your cell and beat you in prison." Looking over at her, he noticed her unease and his smile quickly faded. "Look girl, I didn't mean to – shit. If it makes you feel any better, you bring in gold and your continued presence in the Guild is an insult to Vex. That makes you a hero in my book, kid."
There was a second of silence before the Breton man covered his face as he broke down laughing. Tom smiled despite herself and took another sip of wine. She was beginning to believe the man might be as mad as Niruin claimed he was. Finally, after his snickering subsided, Cynric held his hand across his blushing face in shame and exhaled loudly.
"That was awful," he said, still smiling. "Of all the trite, sickeningly sweet garbage I've ever said to keep a woman happy, that, uh, that right there takes the cake. I'm sorry. Don't know what got into me."
Tom weighed the bottle she was holding, the effects of which were beginning to hit her making her light and giddy, a dangerous combination. Alcohol was the enemy of the cautious man, but in her warmth, she found herself uncaring about her secretive pretenses. Her lips pulled in to crafty smirk, and she looked over at Cynric.
"From the looks of it," she said. "I'd say about half a bottle of wine's what got into you."
"Right, right. I'm clearly drunk. That's why I said it."
Forcing his face straight, Cynric straightened himself up in an attempt to regain some semblance of poise. A smile crept back on his lips for only a second before he turned his attention skyward.
"If it helps," he said, "we can't be all bad. I mean, Rune sees something in us, and I don't think I've ever met a nicer kid than him."
Tom hummed thoughtfully in reply as Cynric took the bottle from her. There was a truth to his words. If an outsider met Rune, they would laugh themselves silly when he told them his profession. Realizing how childish she must have seemed, she changed the topic of their conversation.
"You hear about him and Sapphire?"
"Is that true? I thought Vipir was just blowing smoke. Funny, always figured Saff for a younger version of Vex. Never thought she'd go for – well, Rune."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"When you've been in the Guild as long as I have, you start to notice that the kinds of women that join up with us, well, they've got a bit of type."
Tom had heard rumors of the kinds of men Vex had associated herself with and knew exactly what Cynric was saying, but she knew if she continued to press the subject she could get him to shove his foot in his mouth again and get him back for all the times he had flustered her. In the most innocent voice she could muster, she asked, "And what kind of type is that?"
"A questionable one."
The firmness of his words indicated that not only Cynric knew exactly what the girl was trying to do but that he was not going to play into her little trap. Unrelenting from her goal, Tom giggled and grinned slyly. "Of course, but you, on the other hand, have very sound taste."
"Nothing's as sound as having profitable taste," he deadpanned, "and you should know by now not to engage me in games of wit. I'll always win, girl."
"All right," Tom conceded, "but I'll have you know that not all the women here have Vex's type. I certainly don't."
"Heh, of course, you don't. I'm still not convinced that you even like men."
"Oh, you're so clever."
"Now, you sound like the elf," Cynric replied. "You should spend less time with him, or his sickening friendliness will rub off on you and you'll end up a pushover for some woman you don't even want to sleep with."
"Nice to know I'm not up to your impeccable standards," Tom said with a sardonic tongue, but she took no insult from his words. It had been a long time since she wished to be desired by anyone, much less by someone she didn't trust as far as she could throw.
"Didn't say that." The man smirked and scratched under his chin. "If I was younger and you weren't such paranoid whelp of a woman – sure, why not? But you're about as sane as Vex is kind, and I'm not Brynjolf and I don't bed women half my age."
"I'm not that young."
"Oh, don't think I haven't noticed," he said. Blindsided by his statement, Tom stammered and whipped her head around to face him. There was a frustratingly knowing smirk on his lips which just flustered her even more, but before she could find the words she needed, Cynric looked away from her. Turning his attention out onto the horizon, which was growing darker by the minute, he pursed his lips and hummed thoughtfully.
"I should go," he said, quelling any hopes Tom had of finding out what he had meant. "It's getting dark, and I don't want to keep Maven's boys waiting. I mean, I know Maven's renowned for her limitless patience and understanding, but it'd be rude to take advantage of her hospitality, you know?"
"Yes, yes, hospitality." Tom repeated the word resentfully as Cynric gathered his things and began to climb over the side. He stopped and strained his muscles to hold himself in place at the top of the wall. He smiled at her, and she couldn't find it in herself to stay bitter.
"Well, guess I'll see you around, girl."
"Good luck, boy. Don't let Maven's dogs rough you up too hard."
Cynric let out a loud laugh, and Tom watched he scaled down the wall a few feet before repelling off the side. As always, he landed on the ground in a tumble, but he was admittedly getting better at not hurting himself. Once he got back on his feet and brushed himself off, he gave her a mock salute and headed off into the forest. Shaking her head, Tom finished off the bottle. She found her mind growing restless as she replayed their conversation in her head. As always, it repulsed her how childish she had been, but that was a habit of hers she had become accustomed to dealing with. So long as there was someone to point out her foolishness she could promptly adjust her behavior to better fit what was "socially acceptable," at least until she was alone. Once she was alone, she could quickly slip back to her panic, letting her fears and anxieties eat away at her until there was nothing left but the shell of a wide-eyed child, too terrified to function.
Just as she was about to slip too far into her mind, Tom was pulled out of her thoughts by a familiar taste on her tongue, She found that in her inattentiveness, she had picked off a scab on her lip and now a small trickle of blood was now running down her chin. Muttering under her breath, Tom pressed down on the cut with her thumb to stop the bleeding. She made a mental note that that if she didn't break this habit on her own accord soon, she was going to have to start coating her fingers in a weak poison in order to deter herself from picking at her lips. Carefully shifting her balance, she pulled her feet up atop the wall and nuzzled her nose between her knees. It occurred to her that she should probably go back to the Ratway before it started raining, but she wasn't ready to return to the cistern, not while there were things still on her mind. She told herself it was better to let herself get carried away and fall into a panic away from the Guild than it was to force herself out of her mood, only slip back into it later in front of the others. They already thought she was mad as it was. There was no reason for her to give them any more reason to distrust her.
It bothered her how quickly Cynric had managed to charm her away from any negative emotions. It was a trait he shared with Niruin. They both had this frustrating ability to distract her from her darker thoughts and kept her mind at ease, which was admittedly a welcome relief, and as much as it bothered her, she was growing softer with each passing day. Still, she wasn't yet certain if these distractions were a step forward or backward. After all, from fondness came safety, and people always made the worst decisions when they felt they were safe. Tom had let herself feel safe before, and it blinded her to dangers. Attachment was a weakness she couldn't afford to risk, but it called to her all the same. It was a way out of her head. Solitude had left her a broken woman, who could barely remember to eat or sleep.
Tom sighed and lifted her chin. All this brooding never got her anywhere. All it did was lead her in circles until she lost her breath to the madness and passed out somewhere inconvenient to explain. She told herself this was a good thing. Her situation had changed, and she was no longer on the run. It didn't matter if she felt safe or wasn't waiting for a trap around every corner, that wasn't her life anymore and she didn't need to cater to it. What Tom had to do now was adapt to living with others and come to terms with the fact that it meant she would inevitably come to trust them. It didn't settle well in her stomach, but she would have to overcome that if she wanted to survive. Riften offered a worthwhile opportunity to create at least some pretense of stability, and she knew she shouldn't squander it to chase after paranoid delusions.
. . .
Vex loved this time of day. It was one of the few things she could admit, even to herself, that she truly enjoyed. The sun had just come up over Riften. Topside, the birds were chirping as the townsfolk rose from their slumber and began preparing for the day ahead. Down in the Ratway, on the other hand, the Ragged Flagon was empty save for her, Vekel, and Dirge. Most of the thieves were still in their beds, and more importantly, Delvin wouldn't wake until around midday, which gave five or six hours of peace before she had to suffer his company. However, there was a bigger reason still for her abnormally good mood. The previous night Mercer had approached her about a project she was to oversee and carry out. It had been months since Vex had been allowed to do a job, and even longer since she had been able to plan anything on her own. If she pulled this off, she would finally be considered a major player in the guild hierarchy again, and no one would ever mention Goldenglow or Markarth again.
As Mercer had explained to her, the job was for a contact of his, who had promised Mercer help with his own project. Vex naturally assumed he had meant the one that had swallowed up all his time. Over the past month, the nature of Mercer's project had become the basis of much speculation around the Ratway. Initially, she and Brynjolf had been the only ones who even knew Mercer was working on anything, let alone something important, but nothing stayed secret for long in the Guild, which just furthered the thieves' interest in what exactly Mercer was scheming up. Nobody, Vex and Brynjolf included, had even the slightest clue what Mercer could be planning, and it had led to some wild rumors. Vipir had even gone so far as to suggest that Mercer was plotting to steal Jarl Elisif's crown. Personally, Vex had little interest in these rumors and knew that Mercer would reveal his plan in due time. All she knew – and wanted to know – was that it was important and profitable. This had led to quite the surprise when she found out that she would be working on something related to Mercer's project. After her humiliation at Goldenglow, this had been a sign of good faith on Mercer's part, and she swore she would not let him down this time.
The task she had been given was pretty straightforward, but it would take a lot of planning. Vex was to frame a wealthy businessman who lived just outside of Windhelm for murder. Mercer had already talked to Delvin about setting up a little arrangement with his contacts in the Dark Brotherhood. Once she had the plan ready, Vex was to meet up with one of their men, and he would take care of the death itself. All she had to do was plant some evidence and ensure the blame fell on the businessman, which worked perfectly for her. Though Vex had never been one to back down from a fight and she certainly handed out death threats like priests handed out pamphlets, killing had never particularly interested her. If she robbed a man blind, he could possibly one day make enough coin for her to rob him again. Once a man was dead, he was no use to her. As she always did when given a task, Vex had been up all night working on her assignment. So far she had vague outlines of possible plans, but she would need a lot more information for it to go well. She needed to do some scouting on the man, find out his interests and routine, and most importantly, pick a target.
The other thieves began to wake as Vex continued on with her work. As always, Tonilia was the first to enter the tavern. She kissed Vekel on the cheek and gave Vex a nod of acknowledgement before she sauntered over to the dock area and began taking inventory of her little store. Around half an hour later, Syndus, the fletcher, came strolling into the Ragged Flagon through the front door. He ordered a drink from Vekel, chatted with him for a bit, and then went over to open up shop in the one of the alcoves out front, but it wasn't until an hour later until anyone came to bother Vex.
"Well, don't you look tired," a feminine voice noted. Wearily, Vex looked up from her papers to see Sapphire walking towards her. Not amused by the girl's tongue-in-cheek observation, Vex returned her attention back to her notes, as Sapphire pulled up a chair and sat down across from her.
"Need something?" Vex asked.
"No, just came to get breakfast," Sapphire answered in a bored tone. "Vekel, could you fetch me something to eat? Got a long day ahead of me."
"Sure thing, Saff," the bartender replied.
Vex frowned. "Long day?"
"Yeah, Brynjolf wants me to run some errands, which will probably take all morning. To make matters worse, one of those errands requires that I go speak with Sibbi Black-Briar about something or another, since Maven sure as Oblivion isn't stepping foot in a prison unless she absolutely must, and you know just how much of a pleasure he is. Then after all that's done, I still have to leave for Whiterun so I can do this job for Delvin."
"Sounds positively awful."
"You could at least feign sympathy, you know," Sapphire said. Her mouth curled into a teasing smirk. Out of all the degenerates in the Guild whose company Vex had to suffer, Sapphire was the one who irritated Vex the least. Everyone else, even Brynjolf – especially Brynjolf, could slaughter the little patience she had by simply being in the same room as her. So it was not out of her usual frigidness that Vex had been slighting the girl, but due instead to her need to concentrate on the task at hand. Taking a second to humor the girl, Vex lifted her head.
"I did," she said, firmly.
In mock defeat, Sapphire smiled and shook her head. Struck with sudden curiosity, the Nord girl leaned over to look at the papers scattered all over Vex's side of the table. "What are you working on there?"
"Something for Mercer."
"Oh," the girl replied. Her eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. "Wouldn't have to do with his big secret project that everyone won't stop talking about?"
"Not directly, but yes," Vex answered, once more distracted by an idea that had hit her with all the force of a charging bear, the kind of idea that had to immediately be jotted down lest she forget. "So no, I can't talk about it."
"Or you'll have to kill me. I understand."
Vex concealed a grin by puckering her lips to the side. As she looked down at her work, she considered that there was not much more she could do with it under the circumstances, at least not until she got more information on the situation. She picked up her papers and stacked them in a neat pile on the side. Besides, she didn't hate Sapphire's company, and Brynjolf was always telling her that she needed to relax more. A little break from work wouldn't kill her. Straightening herself up, Vex turned her attention to the Nord girl sitting across from her.
"So steal anything worth talking about?" she asked.
"I did find the most gorgeous necklace while doing a job in Whiterun. I almost considered keeping it, but I ended up pawning it to Mallus while I was there. Good thing too. Any more time with it and I wouldn't have been able to part with it. What about you?"
Vex scoffed. "Please. Mercer's barely allowed me out of the Ratway after Goldenglow, and even when I do get up topside, Riften rarely has anything worth stealing that isn't already part of a contract. Not that it matters. Del and I have been up to our asses in paperwork this past month."
"Remind me never to apply for Guild leadership."
"Shame," Vex deadpanned. "I was going to give you my position when I become Guildmaster."
Sapphire snickered. "Oh, I don't get to be your second?"
"No, Brynjolf would be my second."
"Wait. If Bryn's still in the Guild in this scenario, why wouldn't he be the guildmaster? Oblivion's planes, he essentially already is ever since Mercer started working on this project of his."
"Yes, and have you seen Brynjolf as of late? The man's completely miserable. Trust me, I know Bryn better than anyone. He's drawn to leadership, but he doesn't have it in him to handle all the responsibilities that come with full command."
"And you do?"
Although the girl had laughed as she asked her question and meant it in jocularity, it presented a bit of a conundrum. Frowning, Vex leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. As far as she could remember, she had always been ambitious, but it had never been about power for her, though it certainly did appeal to her. Vex simply wished to be the best at what she did. Any power that came with that was an added bonus. Guildmaster was quite the title, and if their little band of thieves continued in the direction it was heading, it would mean she would be worthy of being the head of a notorious and profitable organization – the best. However, she knew going any further up the chain of command meant less and less time out in the field to which she so desperately wished to return. She could undoubtedly handle being in charge, of that she was certain, but what wasn't certain was whether she wanted it.
"I'm not saying I want to be Guildmaster," she said. "If Mercer retires and someone else who can do the job wants it, I won't fight them for it, but as is, I would say I'm the person best suited for position. I'm the best thief in the Guild, I know how it operates, and I could handle the responsibility."
"Well, aren't you modest?"
Vex smirked. "Modesty is for priests, kid."
Before long, Vekel came by with Sapphire's food, and the two women conversed while Sapphire ate her breakfast. As the girl finished her meal, Vipir the Fleet came stumbling into the Ragged Flagon. His hair was still mussed from sleeping, and judging by the way his shirt was only partially laced up, he had most likely put his clothes on in a post-slumber daze. He stretched and yawned before scanning the tavern with his eyes only half open. Vex noticed Sapphire made a face of disapproval and shifted into a sulking position as Vipir approached the table they were sitting at.
"Either of you seen Mallory?"
"I thought he was still asleep," Vex answered. "Is he not in his bed?"
"No. Bryn said he'd be in here." He scratched against his jaw line and yawned again. "You don't happen to have his contracts, do you? I was hoping to pick up a fishing job."
"They're on Mercer's desk," Vex said, tersely. "Brynjolf's awake?"
"Yeah, he's been up for awhile now," Sapphire replied. "He's at Mercer's desk looking over some numbers. Do you want me to go get a contract from him for you? I need to speak with him anyway."
"No, just ask him to bring them all to me," Vex said. "Delvin could be hung-over in Rorikstead for all we know."
"Yes ma'am," Sapphire replied with mocking respect and stood up from her chair.
As she left, Vipir sat down in her seat so quickly he looked as if he were falling into it. Slumping over the table, he buried his head in his arms as they waited for Brynjolf in silence. A good few minutes passed, but it wasn't long before the giant Nord sauntered into the tavern, his face bright with a smile and a stack of papers in his large hands. Vex couldn't help but note how different he seemed, only to realize he looked like he always had before being stuck with a never-ending pile paperwork in the Cistern. It had just been so long since she had seen him so happy.
"'Morning, everyone," Brynjolf greeted them in a booming voice. Vipir stirred at the noise and made a strange groaning noise as Brynjolf strolled over to the table. He set the contracts down on the table in front of Vex and shot her a grin. "How have you been doing on this fine morning?"
"Better than Vipir," she answered, "but not as well as you, apparently. What happened that's got you so chipper?"
"Some days you just wake up in a good mood," he said.
Vex nodded her head disbelievingly as she flipped through the contracts. "Uh-huh, sure. What was her name?"
"Didn't catch it," he answered, briskly. "She was lovely though."
"Funny, here I thought you were working all night."
"I was," he said in a drawl, "but I decided to go out for some fresh air and ale." – He teasingly directed this at Vekel the man, who promptly shot him a crude gesture. – "And I ran into this spectacular young lass who was staying at the Bee and Barb. You can imagine how it went from there."
"You're incorrigible," Vex said as she pulled a contract from Delvin's stack to give Vipir. She carefully slid the parchment under his arms. As she did, Vipir slowly pulled himself into an upright position. An absolutely miserable expression on his face, he squinted his eyes at it and began to read over. Vex turned her attention back to Brynjolf. "While you were out bedding women half your age, did you at least see Delvin? He seems to have disappeared."
"No, I did not, but that does remind me–" He reached into his pocket and pulled out two folded papers. "I got a letter for him and Tonilia."
At the mention of her name, the Redguard woman called out to them. "You say something about me?"
"Yeah, courier came for you," Brynjolf replied loudly. "From your cousin, by the looks of it."
As Vipir got up to leave, Brynjolf set one of the letters down on the table in front of Vex and asked her to give it to Delvin when he turned up as Tonilia hurried over toward them. A wicked smile on her face, she gracefully snatched the letter from him.
"That is an invasion of privacy," she said.
"My apologies," Brynjolf replied. "Have you seen Delvin anywhere?"
"Last I saw of him was when he stumbled out of here last night after a pint too many. I figured he was going to bed. Why?"
"He's gone missing," Vex answered sourly.
"Ah, he'll turn up," she said, waving her hand. She turned around and walked over to a nearby table to read her letter in peace. "I'm not that lucky."
Despite herself, Vex let out a loud laugh, and Brynjolf shrugged in resigned agreement. It wasn't the first time they couldn't find Delvin Mallory and would most likely not be the last. Motioning to Vekel to get him a drink, Brynjolf sat down in the chair across from Vex and grinned.
"Where do you think he is this time?" he asked.
"My current theory is Rorikstead."
Brynjolf chuckled as Vekel set a bottle of mead down in front of him. "I don't think he could get that far in one night."
"I don't know after he got his head stuck in the storm drain, I've learned not to underestimate Delvin's uncanny ability to do stupid things when he's drunk. Not to imply that he doesn't make poor decisions while sober too."
"Still can't believe he managed to get his whole head in there. On a bet too. He makes the worst decisions when coin's involved."
"I don't know, it appears ol' Del was right about one bet," Tonilia said, interrupting their conversation. Vex exchanged a confused look with Brynjolf before turning her attention to Tonilia. "And you won't believe it."
"What was he right about?" Vex asked.
"You remember all that business about the Dragonborn that was going around in Late Seed?"
"Please tell me he wasn't right about that," Brynjolf said. "I have so much coin riding on that one."
"Seems it is," Tonilia replied as she stood up and walked over to their table. "A man in Falkreath killed a dragon and was claiming to be the Dragonborn. Got a lot of people to believe it too, but when word hit Whiterun about it, the Jarl himself declared it couldn't be true. That he had personally met the Dragonborn, and that she was most likely training with the Greybeards up on High Hrothgar. According to Anora, the Jarl's saying she turned up in Whiterun right after the attack on Helgen, fought a dragon, and was summoned to High Hrothgar and hasn't returned yet. Almost word for word what Delvin said."
"Wait," Vex said, pausing in a minute from the questionable nature of the news to make sure she heard the woman correctly. "Did you say she?"
"Is it Maven?" Brynjolf deadpanned. "I wouldn't doubt it for a second if someone told me she could devour the souls of dragons."
Before anyone could reply, the front door to the Ragged Flagon slammed shut with a thud. The three turned to see Delvin trudging his way towards the tavern. His clothes wet and his eyes dark and circled, he appeared as if he'd had a rough night, and in her disdain for the man, Vex couldn't help but smile at the miserable look on his face. There was a story behind his appearance, and she just knew it would be hilarious.
"So not Rorikstead?" Brynjolf joked to Vex. She simply rolled her eyes as he called out to Delvin. "Good to see you back in one piece, Del! We were about to send a search party after you. Where have you been?"
Stopping suddenly, Delvin shot Brynjolf the outright dirtiest glare and grumbled something under his breath that Vex couldn't quite make out. He sat down at the closest table and crossed his arms.
"Didn't quite catch that," Brynjolf said with a smile. "You'll have to speak up. Where were you last night?"
"I don't want to talk about it," the old man replied, still glowering. "Someone get me a pint. Shit do, I need one."
"I believe that." Brynjolf picked the letter he had placed in front of Vex off the table and walked over to Delvin. "Letter came for you."
The old Breton straightened himself up and took the piece of paper as Brynjolf turned and headed over to the bar. Vex shrugged and began going through her notes from earlier once more. The story of what happened to Delvin the previous night would have to wait, but she had no doubt it would eventually come out. Nothing stayed a secret in the Ratway for long. Drink in hand, Brynjolf walked over to Delvin and set the tankard down in front of him before returning to his earlier spot across from Vex. After a couple minutes, Delvin sighed and put down the letter.
"Well, someone go get Tom and the elf," he said to no one in particular.
Vex lifted her head curiously. "Why?"
"Seems we've got another potential client on our hands."
. . .
No matter the season, one could always count on Windhelm to be knee-deep in snow, and as expected, the pair of thieves found themselves caught in a snow storm by the time their wagon neared the city gates. Never one to bet on a lame horse, the Bosmer had predicted there would be gruesome weather and had already dressed accordingly. Smirking, Niruin turned his attention to his companion. The Breton's arms were crossed tightly in an attempt to keep warm, and her red lips had been pulled into a sour grimace over chattering teeth. Upon noticing the Bosmer's attention, Tom glowered and pulled her hood over her ears before crossing her arms again. The wagon pulled to a halt just outside the stables of the city. Niruin cheerily hopped off the back as Tom slowly followed him toward the city. She had been more silent and moody than usual for the entire trip, and despite his better judgment, Niruin couldn't help but needle her over her unpleasant disposition.
"You know if we had taken a horse–"
"Horses cost more," Tom replied curtly.
The elf shrugged. "Just saying we could have gotten here in half the time, done the job, and be drinking in Candlehearth before it even started snowing."
"Shut up."
"Someone's in a foul mood," Niruin commented as the guards opened the gates for them. "What? Do you hate snow in addition to horses?"
"Yes."
"It seems you've made a poor decision in coming to Skyrim, in that case."
"Believe me. If I could leave, I would, but Brynjolf's counting on me to solve all our problems – or whatever."
"That, and because you think I'm handsome."
The remark was enough to get the girl to stop scowling and smile, even if that smile preceded a shake of her head. Inside the stone walls, Windhelm was just as dark and grey as the sky above, and as in every city, its citizens were quickly rushing from the marketplace to their homes or the inn as the sun began to set. As he watched the townsfolk bustle through the windy streets, Niruin kept his eyes peeled for a man of wealth among the many destitute souls roaming the city. Every city had its poor, but there was something particularly miserable about the people of Windhelm. Even those who had made it far enough in life to own a stand in the market to peddle wares and feed their family, they still held a certain sadness in their eyes, their bodies weary from the harshness of the city, pained by war and unrest, but they stood tall and proud, their spirits stronger than any other city. They were beaten but not broken, and they would endure this suffering without so much of a groan. Nevertheless, Niruin couldn't find it in his heart to pity them too much, not when they all looked at him with hateful distrust in their sunken eyes as they scurried past him.
"Let's find our man and be out of here," he said to Tom. "I don't much care for this city."
"I think I've spotted him," she replied as she motioned to a couple figures standing not far off. Niruin squinted his eyes to see through the harsh snow and crowded streets. There was Nord man talking to a Dunmer woman as a child stood impatiently next to the pair.
"I recognize the child as his son," Tom said.
Niruin nodded and headed off toward the man. Skillfully weaving through the crowd, he quickly reached him and his servant, who noticed the thieves' approach before the Nord did. She whispered something that caused the man turned around and eye the pair cautiously. He crossed his arms and asked in a firm voice, "You two the ones Mallory sent?"
"That we are," Niruin answered politely. "Torsten Cruel-Sea, I presume? Delvin said you had a job for us."
"Yes, just one moment," Torsten replied. He turned his attention back to the Dunmer. "That will be all, Idesa. Take Grimvar home before the storm gets any worse."
Tom scoffed at Torsten's words, as if she couldn't fathom the thick volleys of snow currently descending down the city and the harsh winds whipping against their cheeks getting "any worse." Niruin held in a smile as the Dunmer woman nodded and walked away, motioning for the child to follow her. Shaking his head, the Nord looked back over at Niruin.
"I will be honest with you. This is a somewhat personal matter. My daughter Fjotli – she was murdered a few months back. Bastards left her lying on the ground in a pool of her own blood. I assume they were after her valuables." He looked away, and a strange smile crossed his lips, his eyes full of happier memories. "She always wore too much jewelry in public. I used to tell her it would be the death of her, but I never thought–"
It was evident the sentence was too painful to finish, but he didn't waver. He didn't shed a tear or let his voice crack in sorrow. If one good thing could be said of the Nords, it was that they were a resilient people, no matter what life handed him. Niruin could not fathom the heartbreak this man had endured. To lose a child in such a gruesome manner was something no parent should ever suffer, and Niruin knew that even he, for all his flair and charm, could give no words that could ever ease that pain.
"I'm sorry," he said. Sighing, Torsten straightened himself up and looked the elf square in the eye.
"I know it wasn't your Guild. I'm well aware of its methods. It took me weeks but I tracked down the killer. Bloody Altmer, if you can believe that."
"Altmer in Windhelm?" Niruin asked incredulously. "What did you do?"
"Let's just say I'm a firm believer in an eye for an eye, and leave it at that," the Nord said in such a firm voice that it sent shivers down the Bosmer's spine. "He fancied himself a thief in some sort of new Guild forming around here. Gave me some valuable information before he – well, you know, but he didn't have what I was looking for. That's where you come in. I believe we can help each other out. You recover what I lost and get to take out a rival guild in the process."
"And what exactly would this item be? I'm assuming it belonged to your daughter."
"Aye, one of the pieces stolen from her was a locket, a family heirloom. I want it back."
"I promise we'll recover it," Tom said. Her voice had a fiery resolve that the elf had never heard from her. Torsten raised his eyebrows in surprise, as if he had forgotten the girl was standing there. "Do you have any leads?"
"The only name I got is Niranye. Has a house right here in Windhelm and a stand in the market. That's where I'd start looking. Talos guide you both."
With that, the two thieves took their leave and headed back down toward the market. As they walked, Tom trailed slightly behind the elf. Her dark eyes were vacant as she reflected on her thoughts. The expression was all too familiar to him. She often retreated into her mind, only to snap out of it suddenly and return to her usual feral self, her eyes darting wildly as if she were memorizing every detail of her surroundings. Still, it was strangely haunting to see her so detached from the world around her. Her movements were completely instinctive, as if she were a shell of a person simply going through the motions. It was in moments like this where he remembered why no one trusted Tom, despite all she had done for the Guild. Looking away from her, Niruin kept his mind occupied on the task at hand.
The sun had not yet set, and if the two hurried, they could make it to the market before this Niranye woman closed her stall for the night. Confronting her in public offered them the advantage of avoiding combat. She had a stand in the market and a house in Windhelm. She clearly had a life in the city, and if she was smart, which Niruin was hoping she was, she would not throw that all away for a band of murderous thieves. Of course, with all things, there was no guarantee that their encounter would go as smoothly as planned, and he had to prepare for whatever came out of this. Once they reached the market, it was easy to spot Niranye. Altmer were rare in Skyrim, and they were downright suicidal to be living in Windhelm. Bent over a crate, the woman was packing up her merchandise, all ready to retire for the night, when the thieves approached her. Bracing himself for anything, Niruin knocked his hand against the wood of the stall to get her attention. With disdain in her eyes, Niranye looked up them and forced a smile, but her body remained relaxed. She didn't perceive them as a threat – not yet at least.
"My store's closed for the night," she said, "but come back tomorrow and I'll see what I can do for you."
"Actually, we needed to speak with you personally," Niruin replied. Judging by the way her body became suddenly rigid, he had managed to get the woman's full attention, but she kept her face calm.
"Oh? What about?"
"A Nord girl named Fjotli, ever heard of her?"
"Fjotli, Fjotli," she repeated as she stood up gracefully. She leaned over the counter and pursed her lips as she rested her chin on her hand. "Oh, yes, the poor girl was murdered. Such a beautiful young thing – a tragedy to be certain."
"Drop the act," Tom said. Niruin was taken aback by the forcefulness in her voice as she stepped past him towards Niranye, who was just as shocked by the act. "You're involved and we know it."
"How dare you!" the Altmer exclaimed. "You're accusing me of taking part in such a – such a heinous act? I should call the guards just for suggesting such a thing."
"Go ahead and call them. Maybe we could get them to search your house. Or better yet, maybe you'll be the next person to end up dead in some back alley."
"You wouldn't–"
"My apologies, ma'am," Niruin interjected calmly as he grabbed Tom by the shoulder. The girl instinctively shoved her shoulder backwards to throw his hand off. Frowning, Niruin returned his attention to Niranye and forced his lips into an insincere smile. "Could you please excuse us for a second?"
With a strong hand, Niruin grabbed the Breton girl's arm and ignored her verbal and physical protests as he pulled her away from the stall. Once they were a couple feet away, the elf released his grip on the girl, who immediately jerked away from him like a feral dog. Staring up at him with her wild eyes full of rage, Tom scowled and rubbed her arm where he had been holding her.
"Don't you ever fucking grab me again," she said.
"What's gotten into you?" Niruin asked in a hushed tone. "Threatening people in public?"
The anger fell from Tom's eyes and was replaced by incredulous shock. She stared at him for a couple more seconds, her mouth hanging slightly agape, before she finally found her words. "She's lying!"
"Well that's fairly obvious, but you playing the renegade guard isn't helping anything," Niruin replied dryly. Not persuaded by his words, Tom crossed her arms and clenched her jaw as the elf rubbed his temples and looked back over at the stall. Thankfully, the Altmer was still standing there, eying the two thieves curiously. Niruin returned his attention to Tom. "Brute force will get us nowhere."
"Oh, and I suppose politely asking if she's seen the locket stolen off a dead woman will? Fear gets people talking."
"Yes, yes, you're very fearsome, all eighty-five pounds of you," Niruin said with a sardonic tongue. Tom scowled again, and he sighed. She was missing the point. "Listen. We need to handle this tactfully or we could lose our only lead."
"Or we could fail to persuade her and she'll tip off her superiors," Tom said sourly. "Then they run, and we have to go back to Riften empty-handed."
"Please, have a little more faith in my abilities. There's a reason they send me with you. Let me handle this."
"Fine," Tom said. The tension in her muscles relaxed slightly, but her tone remained bitter. Niruin had to hold back a chuckle at her appearance. Her nose red from the cold and her eyes as dark and sunken as always, the girl looked downright miserable as snowflakes landed on her head and shoulders and slowly melted away.
"But I call not telling Mercer the bad news if you fail," she added darkly.
Smiling, Niruin straightened his posture. Failure was not even a possibility so long as Tom kept her head level. "Don't worry. I'll take full responsibility."
. . .
The wind whipped against her cheeks as the young woman pulled her hood closer to her frozen face. The snow had let up a little since they had arrived in Windhelm, but with the sun now resting beyond the horizon, the night air was void of any warmth. Sitting against the outside the gates of the city, Tom held her knees to her chest as she waited for Niruin to return. After their little disagreement in the marketplace, Tom had reluctantly agreed to let Niruin do all the talking, and he had surprisingly managed to get the necessary information out of Niranye without threatening to break her legs. The Summerset Shadows, as this rival guild was calling itself, were holed up in a cave not too far from the city, and once Niruin promised the frightened woman that they weren't going to kill her, she had even offered to fence for the Guild once all of this was settled. However, even after confessing to being involved with the Shadows, Niranye had continued to insist that neither she nor her guild of thieves had anything to do with Fjotli's murder. This claim left Tom feeling a tad bit troubled about what to do next, but they still had to retrieve the locket and she decided that's all she needed to focus on at the moment.
"C'mon, you can sleep once the job's done," a friendly voice said as Tom felt a foot gently press against her shin. She looked up to see Niruin standing above her. He held out his hand and helped Tom to her feet. Tom dusted the snow off of her as Niruin conjured a small ball of white light at his fingertips.
"You get the directions?" Tom asked as she followed Niruin down the road
"Yes," he answered cheerily. "It's not that far from here. I also went ahead and rented us a room at Candlehearth for when we get back."
"You don't have to come with me, y'know."
By the dim light of the spell, Tom saw Niruin's face go grim, but he retained a warm tone in his voice. "If I recall correctly, the last time I let you go on one of these jobs alone, I found you beaten and washed up on the shore. You weren't even supposed to fight anyone for that job. So yes, I'm coming with you this time."
"I didn't fight anyone," she said meekly.
Niruin glanced over at her and hummed in a way that implied he didn't believe her, but he didn't say anything about it. Tom frowned and lowered her head, directing her gaze toward the path ahead of them. She hadn't told anyone of her encounter in Solitude, but she knew anyone who noticed the bruises could easily connect the pieces. After what had happened, she wasn't particularly fond of the idea of engaging the Summerset Shadows in combat. The feeling of the sailor's hard, calloused fingers crushing her throat burned in her mind, and she subconsciously rubbed her neck at the memory. However, it wasn't the fear of death that troubled her. What troubled her was what had come after, the power that had escaped from her lips and saved her life. Tom had been told of the Shouts – the Thu'um, as the Nords had called it – and there wasn't a doubt in her mind that was what the power had been. It wouldn't be a problem if she had Shouted on purpose in order to free herself, but she hadn't. It had just happened, and she feared that if she found herself in a similar situation, backed into a corner with no hope of surviving, she would do it again, but this time there would be a witness.
Tom contemplated the possible outcomes of Niruin hearing her Shout. She didn't know if Niruin would even recognize a Shout if he heard it, but even if he didn't, she knew it would take some fairly convincing lies in order to explain the phenomenon without telling him the truth. If Niruin did recognize it, well, that was an even more complicated situation. It was evident, even to someone as socially inept as she was, that he was fond of her. Exactly how deep that fondness went was something that she didn't know and wasn't certain she even wanted to know. There had been words around the Flagon – teasing from Vipir the Fleet, questions from Delvin Mallory – but she didn't particularly believe any of it. As often as the Guild was right in their rumors, they were just as often wrong, but none of this mattered to her. It was nothing but adolescent games of gossip, and she was long past the days of caring for such matters. All that concerned Tom was that the elf was fond of her and if he was willing to and capable of keeping her secrets. Unfortunately, in order to believe he would keep her secrets if it came to it, it was required that she trust him. She decided it would be best to avoid combat.
"Do you think it will come to a fight?" she asked quietly.
"Well, this Linwe fellow knows Cruel-Sea wants vengeance," Niruin replied. "If he's smart, he's got the locket on him. Normally, I would suggest you just sneak down there yourself and pick it from his pocket, but these are trained thieves."
Tom scoffed. "They steal from the dead. They're not thieves. They're vultures."
"Still, I wouldn't put my coin on them being as easy to steal from as your average citizen," Niruin said seriously. Then a kind smile graced his lips. "And you of all people should know what happens when you try to pickpocket the leaders of thieves' guilds. No, if we're getting that locket back, we'll most likely have to pry it from Linwe's dead hands."
"And the others?"
"They can live so long as they stay out of our way. Might have to kill a few to send a message, get them out of our territory."
"What about the whole 'keep your blade clean' rule? Are we just throwing that down the well now?"
Niruin made a face. "You'll come to learn that, while those rules do usually apply to most situations, there's a more important rule in the Guild that takes precedence over our policy against killing."
"And that is?"
"What the client wants, the client gets, and Cruel-Sea obviously has no qualms on us killing these Shadows. When Brynjolf tells us to keep our blade clean, he's mostly saying that we aren't to go through the streets murdering people and picking valuables off their corpses. If a client gives the clear to kill anyone who stands in our way or if we're threatened during an important job such as this, Brynjolf's pretty lenient on that rule. It's a matter of judgment." He paused. "But no, I'm not particularly planning on shooting every damned Altmer I see, if that's what you're asking. You, however, are more than welcome to. It might help win you some favor with Vex."
Smiling, Tom shook her head at his joke, but his words did help clear her mind – on that subject, at least. The two continued down the road in silence as the night grew darker and colder. As they walked, the thought of the Shadows not being behind the Cruel-Sea girl's murder snuck back into Tom's mind and began to eat away at her conscience. It wasn't about a man dying for a crime he didn't commit. They were possibly going to have to kill these other thieves anyway to send a message for the Guild, and while that knowledge didn't rest particularly easily on her heart, she took refuge in Cynric's advice to not trifle herself with matters of morality. She had a job to do, and she would have to either carry it out or leave. No, what was really bothering her was the matter of the guilty man escaping, not only for reasons of integrity, but if Torsten later found out that the Summerset Shadows hadn't behind the murder, he might pull his support for the Guild. Tom told herself that he had seemed too reasonable a man to do something like that, but it was still a possibility.
"It's not much farther," Niruin said as he stepped off the road. "Just through this thicket and down the hill, I believe."
Tom nodded and began walking in the direction he had described. Despite her better judgment, she couldn't help but ask him, "Do you believe Niranye was telling the truth when she said the Shadows didn't kill Fjotli?"
"I don't know," Niruin answered, shrugging. "Possibly, but does it matter? We have to get the locket back and keep them from encroaching on our territory. Then we can go back to Candlehearth, get a good night's rest, and be back in Riften by midday tomorrow."
"I just–"
Niruin held his finger up to his lip to silence her and extinguished the light from his hand. In the distance, she could hear the muffled sounds of people talking. Slowly, he crouched down, and Tom followed suit. They quietly they snuck forward through the thick of bush and branch until they could see the warm light of a fire on the other side of the woods. Tom peeked through a bare spot between two bushes and saw three hooded figures standing around a fire outside a cave. They were standing a several yards away and had not yet noticed the presence of the two in the forest. Unfortunately, the three were too close to the door of the cave for Tom and Niruin to sneak past them without detection. Tom looked back over to Niruin and gestured with her head in the direction of the cave. The Bosmer nodded and drew his bow.
'How many?' Niruin mouthed. Tom held up three fingers. He paused for a second and contemplated a plan. Finally, he looked back up at her. 'Wait here and fire on my signal.'
Tom furrowed her brow and mouthed back: 'What signal?'
"You'll know it when you see it," the elf whispered. A playful smile crossed his lips, which just furthered Tom's confusion, and he silently stepped back a couple steps. His eyes staring in the direction in the cave and his thin fingers tightly gripping his bow, he slowly stood up and slid behind a tree, disappearing into the woods. Tom shook her head and pulled out her bow as she turned her head back to watch the three figures still huddled around the fire. She drew an arrow from her quiver and waited for something to happen. Minutes passed, and Tom couldn't help but listen in as the elves chatted to each other about their latest accomplishments. She was hit by pang of regret for something she had not yet done. The way they spoke to each other was no different than the conversations she had heard around the Ragged Flagon. One of the three, a particularly thin male, stood up and headed over to a chest sitting close by. As he was walking, the air was filled with the unmistakable sound of a string snapping back into place, the quiet thwick of an arrow hitting its target, and a strange gurgling noise as the elf suddenly stopped in his tracks and dropped to the ground. As the other two immediately rose to their feet in a panic, Tom shook her head and drew back her string. If that wasn't the sign, she didn't know what was.
"Calindil!" one of the thieves yelled as she rushed over to the body of her comrade. The other drew his sword and stared out into the woods, desperately looking for where the arrow had come from. The Altmer woman perched over her fallen friend. "We're under attack. Alert the others."
Inhaling quietly, Tom released the string. The arrow flew through the air and missed the man by a matter of inches. Swearing to herself, she heard a feminine scream fill the air as the woman fell over and grabbed her leg. Niruin had hit yet another of his targets. The thieves were too far off for Tom to have a chance at hitting one of them before they discovered either her or Niruin. They needed a distraction, and the only thing she could think to do was to resort to dirtier tricks. She focused her mind as a red light formed in her hand just as the Altmer man turned in her direction and locked eyes with the Breton.
"Ther–"
He was cut off by the spell hitting him square in the chest and knocking him back a few steps. The woman whimpered as she stood up while Tom readied another arrow. Hearing the Altmer woman behind him, the man's mad eyes twitched as he jerked around to face her. Recognizing the spell almost immediately, she swore and drew her sword as the man lunged at her. Quickly, she blocked his blow with her sword, but the force of his attack was too much for her and her leg gave way, sending her right back to the ground. Tom shot another arrow at the man and hit him in the arm. It distracted him just long enough for his companion to roll away from him, only to be hit in the back of her shoulder by another arrow as she tried to get back on her feet. She screamed again, regaining the man's attention. He started over to her, but she lunged forward and skewered him through the stomach with her sword before he could bring down the killing blow. Beaten, the man tumbled over as the remaining Altmer arduously pulled the arrow from her shoulder and rose to her feet one last time. Her shoulders slumped forward, she took a second to catch her breath as Niruin stepped out of the shadows, his bow readied and aimed straight at the woman. At the sound of the noise, the Altmer swirled around to face him and vainly swung her sword a couple times in his general direction, but he was out of her reach. Worried that Niruin's flair for the dramatic would be the death of him, Tom drew her dagger and emerged from behind the bushes. The woman turned her head toward the Breton, and her weary eyes widened as she found herself outnumbered.
"By the Eight," she muttered. The Altmer thief tossed her golden hair from her face as her eyes flickered between the two. In the light of the fire, Tom could see the defeat in the woman's eyes. She slowly retreated a couple steps away from the two, but Niruin kept his aim steady, ready to fire at even the slightest provocation. Tom had never seen the Bosmer so somber. His face was cold and unyielding, drained of any of his typical self-satisfied humor. Tom knew he was ready to kill this woman if she attacked, and the Altmer must have seen it herself because she lowered her sword and let her body relax.
"It seems I've found myself in quite the corner," the woman mused, more to herself than her foes. Tom had to admire her ability to smile in the face of death. "Any chance you two gentlemen could find the mercy in your hearts to spare a poor, beaten woman?"
"I've heard that before," Niruin said dryly. "It's usually followed by someone trying to stab me in the back."
"You're a smart boy," the woman replied, "but it will do you no good. Even if you kill me, there are at least fifty Shadows waiting in that cave. They will make easy work of you – and your boy. So I suggest you turn around now and head back into whatever bandit camp or tavern you came crawling out of."
"Girl," Tom corrected, unthinking. The woman pursed her lips confused as she turned her head and inspected Tom more carefully. She then shrugged as Tom addressed Niruin. "And she's bluffing. I doubt there's more than ten of them." – Tom turned her attention back to the woman. – "You aren't a very good liar."
"You caught me," the woman said with a haughty smirk on her lips. "It doesn't matter. Linwe will take care of you."
"So Linwe is here," Niruin replied. "I tell you what. Maybe I do find myself in a merciful mood."
"Oh, do you? I highly doubt this favor will come without a price. Tell me what you want of me, boy."
"Where's the locket?"
"You'll have to be more specific than that, my dear."
The woman faked a chuckle and took a step closer to Niruin. Tom watched in shock as he released the string and the arrow flew past the Altmer, barely missing her neck. Shaken by the near brush with death, the woman stumbled backwards. As she regained her composure, she whipped her head toward the Bosmer, her terrified eyes locking with his. Niruin did not falter in his resolve. He swiftly drew another arrow from his quiver and readied his bow.
"Stay back," he said firmly, "or my next arrow will not miss. Now, toss your sword over towards my associate."
"Surely you don't expect me to leave myself def–"
Niruin drew the string back, aiming the arrow at the woman once more. Sourly, she dropped her sword and knocked it toward Tom with her boot. Her gaze not leaving the Altmer thief, Tom slowly stooped to pick up the sword with her empty hand.
"Now don't play games with me," Niruin said. "Where's the locket?"
"We have many trinkets," she answered. "Any of them could be this locket you're searching for. As I said, you'll have to be more specific than that, boy."
"The one stolen off the Cruel-Sea girl's body."
At the mention of the Cruel-Sea's name, the woman's pupils dilated, and her mouth curled into a smirk. Her earlier arrogance returned to her tone as she crossed her arms and leaned back. "Ah, so you're the one's Torsten decided to send. I can't say we haven't been expecting you, but I must say I did think old Cruel-Sea would send someone – larger."
"No, just us, darling. Now where is it?"
"Linwe has it on him," she answered, confirming Niruin's earlier suspicions. "He was hoping to use it as leverage. Now that I've answered your questions, may I go?"
Smiling, Niruin lowered his bow. "Yes, you've been very helpful. If you promise to leave and never return, my partner will give you your sword back."
"I swear on my life."
As the Altmer strolled over towards the Breton to retrieve her sword, Tom shot the Bosmer a bewildered glare. He was going to get her killed. There was no telling if this woman wouldn't break her word, take the sword, and run Tom through with it. Noticing the Breton's misgivings, Niruin simply smirked at Tom with that same wily look he had given her before disappearing into the forest. Just as the woman got within a foot of Tom, she suddenly stopped as Tom was sprayed in the face with a red liquid, which she immediately identified as blood by the taste. Horrified, Tom instinctively spat it out and gasped for air as the woman crumpled over onto the ground. Frantically wiping the blood off her face with her sleeve, she stammered and stared at Niruin, who casually put away his bow and grinned at her smugly. He had gone completely mad.
"Well," he said if he were commenting on the weather. "Wasn't that thrilling?"
"What was that?" Tom replied. "You – I'm covered in – You shot – You said you would let her go."
The elf shrugged and sauntered past the girl toward the chest near the campfire. He stepped over the dead bodies as if they were nothing more than holes in the ground.
"Now, wouldn't that have been a mistake," he said somewhat dramatically. "She could have attacked us or waited until we entered the hideout and alerted the others of our presence. No, she had to die. She couldn't be trusted."
Bending down, Niruin unlocked the chest and began rummaging through it. Tom couldn't help but agree with his reasoning even if she did take exception to his methods. "Then why did you even talk to her if you were just going to kill her?"
"Think of it this way. If we know where the heirloom is, we won't have to rifle through every drawer and look through every thief's pocket in search of it, and the less we have to search, the less likely someone is to notice our presence. The less we are noticed, the less people we have to fight. The less people we have to fight, the less likely we are to die, and I don't particularly wish to die tonight – oh my, is that a ruby?"
The Bosmer eagerly pocketed the gem as Tom shook her head. She had to admit his plan was sounder than anything she could ever come up with and his logic was even sounder – so maybe he hadn't gone completely mad. She walked over to Niruin and crossed her arms as she watched him continue going through the chest.
"So what are we going to do about Linwe?" she asked.
Author's notes: Hey you know that moment when you have to cut a POV in half because this chapter is already 14,000 plus words (Average words per chapter on this story is about 11,000, by the way) and you're not even halfway done with the scene yet? Yeah, so chapter eight will pick up almost literally exactly where this left off. Also, hopefully I'll be updating more quickly in the next couple chapters since we're getting to a part of the story that I've been waiting to write since chapter three. So yeah, get excited. (As always, I'm really grateful for all the favorites and reviews and oh my god, you guys are the most patient wonderful reviewers ever.)