A/N: Thanks to everyone who has faved, followed, and reviewed. I love hearing from readers! It makes the muse hang around longer too. Thanks to Biff McLaughlin and Zute, who are always at the ready when you need them.
Natasja and Brynjolf are headed to Riftweald Manor, searching for evidence that will lead them to Mercer. Onward!
Obligations and Obstacles
"Eight-three tankards of ale on the bar, eight-three tankards of ale…."
Brynjolf continued to sing one more chorus softly. A half-smile was the only indication that he was pleased playing the role of a gnat, a well-timed commentary as Natasja nocked her fourth arrow with a deep breath. Watching her as she concentrated, her tongue pinched between her teeth and lips, Brynjolf thought about how he'd been impressed with her stealth abilities earlier.
When they had arrived at Riftweald Manor, they'd found the front door barred from the inside and had no choice but to pick the locked gate leading into the backyard. Brynjolf greeted Vald with his persuasive guile and snake-oil charm as Natasja blended into the shadows. It soon became apparent that Vald wasn't going to hand over the key to Mercer's house easily. Without a moment's hesitation, Natasja sneaked up behind the thug, and with a powerful blood-clotting agent coating a dagger, sliced the blade across his neck. Only a trickle of blood spilled onto the ground as they dragged the body and concealed it behind two barrels, but not before Natasja snatched the key to Mercer's house from Vald's pocket, and all his coin, too.
Another ace member handpicked by me, Brynjolf thought with a cocky grin. "If one of those tankards should happen to fall, eighty-two tankards of ale on the bar."
A pair of piercing eyes looked at him. "Will you please stop singing, Brynjolf? You might draw the attention of the guards."
"The guards are busy with a couple of our most affable thieves pretending to rob the marketplace," he said, proud of his forethought. She grinned as he leaned a little closer until his face was almost pressed to hers. "Don't you like the sound of my voice?"
She stared at him as if she found his question absurd. "Brynjolf," she whispered, "your voice sets my heart ablaze." The softness in her gaze and the little smile playing on her lips belied the edge in her tone, and her eyes darkened further. "But you're distracting me right now, so shut it."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, with a slight smile of his own.
The moonlight filtered in through the overhead branches, casting a glow of alabaster across her face, shadows dancing around them in time with the slight breeze stirring. The fire in her eyes and her stubborn nature combined with her innocent sensuality, and he found himself affected by her presence beyond reason. She was so unlike the waifish and coy women he'd had encounters with in the past. Although she was no sophisticated beauty, she compelled attention. There was strength in her firm mouth and high cheekbones, and perfection and elegance in her sword handling. Her thieving skills are reasonably good too, he thought. His heartbeat skipped unbidden. If the circumstances weren't so desperate, he would have dragged her straight to the Bee and Barb and rented a room. Silently, he cursed Mercer Frey to Oblivion, and pondered the many ways he would inflict pain and suffering on the traitorous bastard if they found him. No, when they found him.
Holding the bow firmly with both eyes open, Natasja focused on the arrow in the target, took a deep breath, and slowly drew back, just as she had practiced every day with Karliah. She let the arrow fly, but it went slightly wide, missing the mark. Cursing furiously, she stomped the ground with one foot and breathed deeply before nocking another arrow. The fierce determination on her face took from it any softness or vulnerability.
Brynjolf's nerves were already on edge as clouds began to gather quickly — unforeseen omens, no doubt. It was difficult to determine the exact place for her to aim at the ramp above, and when she missed the target again, he was convinced it was another piece of evidence that their luck was influenced by Nocturnal, as Karliah had said. Frustrated with his unease and her poor marksmanship, he tried to resist the urge to criticize her, but failed miserably. "My hair is turning gray here, lass. Hit the damn mechanism before I drop dead like an old soldier."
"Does it look like I'm not trying?"
"What it looks like is that you've boasted too quickly about your archery skills."
She disregarded his comment for only a fleeting moment. With a voice as cold and sharp as steel, she shoved the bow into his hands. "Fine. You're such a damn good archer, you do it."
"You've turned quite cranky this last hour, lass. What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing has gotten into me," she said with all the petulance of a spoiled child, then gave him a cutting look. "I'm annoyed, and my back aches a bit. And my stomach is… well, it's just girl stuff. I'm sure you don't want to hear the details."
"Ah, so that's how it is." A disappointed grimace flashed across his face. "Puts a bit of a damper on the evening's activities, doesn't it?"
"Not necessarily." Her eyes narrowed just a little. "But if anything will put a damper on the evening's activities, it'll be your compulsive need to direct my every move." She punched his arm with a tightly clenched fist, making him jump with surprise.
He grinned, then frowned a little and rubbed his arm. "You pack a punch."
"I pulled it back. You're just a big baby." She smiled then, looking at the back of her hand as if she'd injured her knuckles on his rock-solid arm.
"You're more changeable than the wind, lass. One second you're as ornery as hungry mammoth, and the next, as giddy as Delvin after a night of wine and women."
"I'm warning you, Bryn, don't make fun of me anymore."
"Don't poke the bear, eh?" He thought his smile would have a calming effect on her, but the added cheek in the rich timbre of his laugh proved to be too much.
"Stop laughing at me," she warned. "It's insulting, not to mention rude."
He stopped and gazed at her instead. "You just need a couple tankards of Black-Briar Reserve to cure what ails you."
She rolled her shoulders and cracked a smile. "My stamina is just fine in case you're worried that I won't be able to perform my duties," she paused to eye him mischievously, "as your body guard."
"Body guard?" he scoffed. "Surely you meant serving wench, or perhaps courtesan." That earned him a slap on the shoulder and a heated glare. "I'm kidding, Natasja. You know I think quite the opposite."
"Just shoot the arrow already. Although I suspect you're all talk, and that's why you're stalling."
Unamused by her belittling tone, he swallowed a grand elixir of keenshot and it pulsed through him instantly. Absolute disbelief cut off any response from her as he swiftly aimed and let the arrow fly. It flashed through the air and hit the target, bringing down the ramp.
"And that's how it's done, lass." The roguish look on his face must have caused her chuckle, her anger gone, for now. I'll pay for that, I'm sure.
"That's cheating, you dog. And why didn't you give it to me in the first place?"
"Because it was more fun to watch you get all hot and bothered."
"Bothered is right. Bothered I can't put you in your place right now." Her voice was frosty, but he sensed the excitement building in her, excitement for the infiltration as well as the time they would spend together later, if what little luck they had left held out. Then her expression fell. "Karliah would have been disappointed with my failure to hit the target." She shrugged, an empty smile crossing her lips.
"Even Karliah would've had a hard time with that shot. Don't be so hard on yourself."
"Hard on myself? That," she said wryly, "is most definitely the pot calling the kettle black. You know damn well it's a matter of survival." A sound akin to a growl left her before she sprinted up the ramp to the balcony with Brynjolf close behind.
He grabbed her hand as she moved to unlock the door. "There will be at least eight armed and extremely dangerous mercenary types in there. Do not act recklessly, Natasja."
"Yeah, yeah. Take the lead if you're so worried I'll muck it up."
"I will take the lead, but not because I think you'll muck it up," he said, concern for her safety now knotting his stomach. "Stay close and don't be distracted by the loot. After we take care of Mercer's lackeys, and find his plans, we'll pilfer what we can."
The responsibility he felt for her was impossible to repress, and he was relieved she didn't push him then. The proud male in him grunted; the fierce, protective rogue was back in action, ready to defend his protégé against every threat. Except she was more than a protégé now.
Upon entering Mercer's home, the first two thugs were at the ready, alarmed by the loud sound of the ramp dropping. Even so, Natasja and Brynjolf dispatched them with ease. As they stalked the hallways in silence, they used hand signals to indicate the presence of other mercenaries. The two of them fought like maniacs, their blades flashing in a whirlwind of steel as blood splatter covered the walls and floors. When the last thug went down, Natasja motioned to Brynjolf when she spotted a wardrobe at the back of a room looking somehow out of place. When she opened it, she saw a false back panel that opened into another room with stairs leading into a series of tunnels. Cautiously, they listened for voices but heard none.
"Mercer had more than enough mercenaries on his payroll. I'm almost afraid of what we'll find down here," she whispered, passing the barred cells in what appeared to be a dungeon. "Why would he need these cells?"
"No idea. Maybe these were always here, but that begs the question as to why the Blackbriars would need them. Although I have a fair idea why." When he saw her inquisitive expression, he decided against voicing his darker thoughts. "Best not to think on that, lass."
Rounding a corner, she pointed ahead. "Watch out for those pressure plates there, Bryn."
"My eyes haven't failed me yet."
Her gaze went soft. "You know I don't think you're too old, right? Not in actual years anyway. It's more your experiences," she said with a glimmer of innocence in her eyes, a look of vulnerability that always brought any irritation he felt down a notch. "I mean, you're more… mature than someone my age."
He knew what she meant, but it didn't quiet the voice in his head telling him that he was too old for her. "Quit while you're ahead, okay?" Ignoring her steady gaze, he moved forward, stepping over or around each pressure plate.
She followed until they came around a corner where she spied a chest. Before he could stop her, she headed straight for it just as he heard the ticking sound of poison darts shooting out from the ceiling. She rolled away before any came near her, but that only served to exasperate him more.
"Damn it, Natasja! Must you be so impulsive?" he asked as she looked inside the chest.
"Not even worth my efforts! Just a few gold pieces."
"Serves you right for risking the mission."
"The mission is going just fine, thank you very much." She frowned, then moved to lead the way, but he grabbed her arm as he placed a finger over his lips.
He waited, but there was only silence. When his breathing had calmed, he listened and heard someone else's breath. A lone man leapt out from behind a corner, dressed in shabby armor, two daggers whirling in his hands as he came at them with lightning speed. Natasja lunged forward and stabbed him in the upper chest with a small throwing knife, and then punched him squarely on the jaw. As he fell to the ground, Brynjolf looked at her, judgment in his gaze.
"What?" She picked up the man's knives and examined them, then tossed them down a sewer hole. "He reminded me of someone."
He gave her another searching look, but knowing of her past, he just nodded, smiling a little in return and leaving his questions for another time.
"Onward," she said, taking the lead once again. "It's getting late."
Brynjolf gritted his teeth to keep from yelling, but wasn't entirely successful. "You follow me, and keep an eye out. There may be someone else down here, too." She complied, but snickered in a way that Brynjolf found maddening.
As they continued down the hallway, they reached another antechamber, unknowingly triggering swinging pendulum blades and battering rams.
Brynjolf stopped short to assess the situation. "I don't see any mechanism to stop the blades, and I'm sure the switch is on the other side. But if we're careful, we can tip-toe between them."
"Really? I hadn't thought of that." Even though she rolled her eyes spectacularly, she couldn't prevent the smile that hurried to her lips. "You're quite the mastermind, Bryn." With that, Natasja weaved between each pendulum with nary a pause, letting her instincts guide her. She moved left, dodged right, and then slipped just under a deadly blade, giving Brynjolf a fantastic show as she evaded each one.
"Your damn arrogance is going to get you killed, woman!"
"And worrying will put you in an early grave!"
"It's not worry that's going to put me in an early grave," he muttered.
Turning back to look at him, she laughed as she flipped the switch that stopped the blades from swinging. "I can see a heavy wooden door, and I bet it leads to his office."
A certain brazen look on her face, which had probably carried her through many perilous situations, would have been lost to a less experienced man. She was far too cocky for his liking at that moment, and not very observant, and he was determined to put an end to such behavior. Brynjolf shook his head. She even seemed to be basking in some kind of a sadistic joy, knowing many of his talents exceeded hers, but still thinking she could outfox him. For all her wily charms, Natasja knew little about the true nature of men.
"Come on, Bryn!"
"I'm coming, lass!" Then again, he wasn't sure about the true nature of women either. "I'm coming."
They reached the door, and Brynjolf eyed the lock. "That's a tough one to pick, one of the toughest. Step aside, lass. I'll do it."
"You know I've been studying with Vipir in the training room, and those chests are almost impossible to pick, yet I've picked three of them already. I bet I can pick this one."
He eyed her intently, if not a little confused. How could she even think she'd be able pick this lock? "I'll give you two chances. If you succeed, you can choose your boon. Anything you ask of me will be yours, if it is within my power to do so."
"Anything?" she said with a hint of teasing in her voice.
"I know what you're implying, but my word is true. I'll do anything, or give you anything you ask."
She looked him, arching a brow. "And if I lose?"
"If you lose, as you most certainly will," he paused, relishing the moment, "you will be my serving wench for a day. After Mercer is dead, of course."
"Of course."
Trapped by the challenging look in her eyes, he placed two lock picks into her hands. She closed her fingers around them, and his hand lingered on hers, an errant fingertip tracing her palm. He noted the rapid dilation of her pupils, and the intake of a sharp breath. Perfect.
"Stand back and prepare to lose, thief." The first pick snapped before her fourth breath, and he smiled to himself, but he saw no real anxiety in her demeanor, only confidence. The second pick slid into the lock but was handled more delicately, with great precision, turning a hair to the left, and then the right. The tumblers reacted, and she concentrated on every tick, every jingle, turning slightly… a little more… just another click… and… Snap! "Talos be damned," she mumbled. It was over.
"Don't let it bruise your ego, lass. Vipir will still be proud." Pursed lips and a powerful exhale were all he got in return as he moved in, cracking his knuckles with a shameless grin.
First he slowed his mind, clearing all other images and thoughts until he could clearly see the inside of the lock. A few seconds later a metallic clink sounded, followed by the rotating tumblers and then a click as the door swung open under his hand.
She looked at him, not wide-eyed, but resentful. Or perhaps envious. "Tell me what you're thinking," she demanded.
"Nothing, lass. Nothing at all," he said facetiously. Anxious to search the room, he swept out his arm, directing her to go in first. "After you, lass." Gods, I'll be paying for so many things later. He positioned the door halfway closed and followed her.
Fortunately, she ignored his cavalier attitude and slight chuckle, racing to the desk and yanking open the top drawer, where she spied a book, well read, and rather tattered. "The Lusty Argonian Maid? I never took Mercer for the kind of man who read this trashy stuff."
"But you've read it, haven't you?" he asked as his eyes searched the room.
"Well, haven't you? It's a classic!"
"Yes, I suppose it is." The desk and bookshelves yielded nothing but a few gemstones and a bust of the Gray Fox, a sculpture Delvin would be particularly interested in. Distracted by what little he saw in the way of plans, he walked over to another door and pushed it open. Inside was a small storage area, and upon further inspection, an ornate chest rested toward the back wall. "I'll be in here."
"Oh, Bryn, there's a glass sword in this case. It must be worth a fortune! I will pick this lock, damn it."
"You work on that while I break into this chest," he said, and disappeared as she set to picking the display case.
He laughed to himself when he heard Natasja's frustrated mumblings in the other room. Vipir's good, but I had better give her some personal training. Brynjolf picked the lock easily enough, and when he opened the chest, his eyes grew wide. Not only were the plans and maps Mercer had stolen from the Guild inside, but there were also priceless ancient coins, and the most expensive of poisons and elixirs.
He sorted through the maps, and at the bottom of the pile, he found what he believed to be Mercer's plans. "The Eyes of the Falmer?" he whispered. Just then, he heard the muffled footfalls of someone approaching, and it wasn't Natasja. Blast! He dropped the stack back into the chest and ran to the other room. Shit, this guy again! Natasja was rising from a kneeling position and reaching for her sword, but the wounded mercenary was coming at her with a vase in his hands. "Behind you, love!"
Her head snapped in Brynjolf's direction as the thug moved lifted his arms over his head.
"Move!" Too late. The large vase in the mercenary's hands crashed into the side of her head, shattering to pieces as she dropped to the floor, stunned. With all his energy focused on the one fatal throw, Brynjolf's dagger pierced the mercenary's throat before the poor fool had a chance to take another breathe. The gurgling sounds as he clutched his throat in death ended when Brynjolf reached Natasja.
"Damn it, woman, why can't you ever do as I say," he said, forceful in his anxiety. "Natasja, can you hear me?" He knelt beside her and cradled her in his arms. The cut on her head wasn't deep, and he could see no other cause for alarm in regards to her health. To be on the safe side, he let a small amount of health potion pass her lips as he held her head. Her eyes slowly opened, and she blinked at him. In a remarkably short time, his worry for her safety had worked its way to anger. Gods, I could throttle her for being so distracted. "Say something, lass."
"You called me 'love'."
Brynjolf was not a man who blushed easily, or often, but a hint of embarrassment tinged his complexion. He stared at her, his thoughts changing straight to self-consciousness, while maintaining a touch of rage just to keep him grounded. "You're delirious from the blow to your head, lass."
"And you're delirious if you think my hearing is that bad."
He helped her to stand as blood trickled down her cheek from the gash on the side of her head, her hair slightly matted with more blood. She eyed Brynjolf's handiwork. "Nice throw. But you could have been a little quicker," she said with a sigh as she dusted the dirt from her leathers.
"My apologies, ingrate. I only saved your life."
"He didn't even have a blade on him," she said softly, her voice tinged with scorn as she pressed her fingertips to her temples and shook her head. "My ears are ringing a bit."
Brynjolf frowned, wondering why he bothered sometimes. "Are you all right?"
She nodded. When she looked him, she closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around his shoulders to hug him tightly, appreciation for his expertise now clear. "I'm sorry, Bryn. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful." She placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." With a squeeze for her waist, he forgave her hasty words as quickly as she had said them. "So, guess what I've discovered? Mercer is going after the Eyes of the Falmer."
"The what?"
"The snow elves, lass, before their bodies were twisted by darkness and Dwemer slavery."
"I know who the Falmer are, but what do their eyes have to do with it?"
"The eyes I'm talking about are precious gems in the eye sockets of a massive statue, which according to Mercer's map, is in Irkngthand. Nobody thought the gems existed, but Gallus never gave up the search, so I can only assume Mercer had been following Gallus' leads all these years. If Mercer gets his hands on them, he'll be set up for life. Then we'll never find him."
"Karliah will want to go after him immediately. I suppose we'll have to leave at first light."
"Aye. We'd best get back and tell her. There's a passage to the Ratway Vaults in the other room." He brushed the stray hair from her eyes and smiled warmly. "We'll still have a few pints tonight though. All right?"
"Sure, Bryn." She dropped her gaze and sighed, but not before he saw the disappointment in her eyes.
Upon their return to the Cistern, they learned Karliah was on watch at the cemetery, due to be back within the half hour. With not alarming news since he'd been gone, Brynjolf took the opportunity to round up some food and ale, coercing a hesitant Natasja back to his room with the tantalizing tidbits. Their long-awaited conversation was at the forefront of his mind.
He had developed feelings for her, strong, deep feelings as well as a very potent physical attraction. For all he knew, chasing Mercer might lead to his death, and hers too. He'd be damned if he left the mortal world without telling her how he felt. As they walked the short distance to his room, his mind hummed with the things he wanted to say.
They sat down next to each other on his bed, unnatural tenseness radiating from both of them. After a long pull from his mug, he turned to her as she nibbled on some bread.
"Well, lass, I think this is as good a time as any to clear the air."
"All right. What would like to tell me about what you read in my journal?"
"Straight to the point, then, eh?"
"Yes." She stood up and retrieved her journal from his strong-box. "Should I burn it now?"
"No. No!" She seemed a little flushed, and she fussed with a buckle on her armor as she sat down, avoiding his gaze. Never had he felt such a desperate need to reach out to another person and it was all the more painful for being denied. He chalked it up to fear, but he would ease her fear as best he could – if she'd only let him. "Go to the last page and read your last entry aloud."
"Come on, Bryn. Why would torture me so?"
"Just do it. It will not torture you, I promise." He laid his hand on her shoulder, and slowly, it travelled down to rest on the small of her back. "Please." He donned his most unguarded expression, one he thought she'd recall from another memorable night.
When she began flipping to the page, he knew she understood. He watched her eyes fall to the words. And then she began to read. "I shouldn't leave without saying goodbye to him, but he doesn't love me," she said flatly, then snapped her head up. "Come on, Bryn. I don't want to read this!"
"Then if you won't, I will."
"Damn stubborn man. Fine." She took a deep breath and willed herself to read, albeit as monotone as she did before. "I'm just a body to him, just a plaything to idle away the hours, and if I stay here, I'll be reminded of that all the time. Maybe I'm destined to be alone." She looked up at him, the fear in her eyes mingled strangely with something like defiance. "And so? What is your point?"
"Now turn the page over and read my entry."
"You… you wrote in here? But why?"
"Just read the bloody words, woman!" He almost came undone at the desperation in her eyes, desperation directed at him. Even so, she swallowed hard and straightened her shoulders, taking another deep breath to steady her voice as she read his message to her.
"No, you shouldn't have left without saying goodbye, but I'll not hold that against you. And you are not just a plaything. And no one is destined to be alone, not even you. So it seems you've been wrong a time or two, Natasja. I will rub that in your face eventually, but for now, you have two choices. You can ask me any question you like, or say the words I want to hear from your lips only. The choice is yours."
"Go ahead," he said, "ask a question, or make a statement."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because you need to say some things and I need to hear them. So go on," he said, knowing a question that would put him on the spot would most likely be her choice.
"Did you… shed a tear for me when you thought I was dead?"
"Many, in fact. To think I would never feel your touch again, your lips against mine, or hear your laughter, or never see you lose your head over a harmless cricket… I felt overwhelming loss."
"You did?"
"I did. But that is another question. Tell me, Natasja, tell me you want me, tell me you want us."
"Brynjolf, you know I want you," she said in a low voice. "I want you so much it scares me."
"Why?"
"I don't know, maybe because I want you too much."
"On that point, we can agree." But he needed to hear it precisely, needed to know he wasn't dreaming, that he wasn't misinterpreting her. "Tell me you regret the games we've played, lass, tell me you want to be mine. I cannot, and will not, lose you again."
As she stared at him struggling to speak, emotions raw and exciting built inside him like a gathering storm until he thought he would explode with it and lose everything. His heart overrode the pride and fear and any other façade he would have been tempted to maintain. "I want you, lass, only you. And gods help me, I do-"
"Brynjolf! Where is Mercer?" shouted the voice banging on his door. "Let me in. It's Karliah!"