She was Mjoll's new friend. Marcurio was haunting his favourite corner of the Bee and Barb when Mjoll arrived, her biggest fan in tow and with another woman. You couldn't ignore her. The floorboards threatened to snap under her, or rather, under the chunky Dwarven armour she wore.
Just great, he thought, another one.
He didn't have anything against Mjoll personally, but she spent all her time telling anyone who would listen what a terrible place Riften was, and while it wasn't exactly the Imperial City he was rather fond of the place. It had its flaws, but if she didn't like it she could always leave; not that anyone was game to say it to her face.
Her friend then. Redguard. Gleaming smile. Braided hair. Hard to tell under all that armour, but to carry it as easily as she did she had to be as strong as an ox. The sword on her back almost touched the ground. Mjoll seemed very happy for once, and Marcurio noticed a new sword on her belt, or perhaps an old one given the affectionate way she kept patting the hilt.
"I will get us some drinks," Mjoll said.
Her friend nodded.
Marcurio recognised Brynjolf approaching, presumably having spotted a new mark. Marcurio kept his distance when he could, and his eye on his coin purse when he couldn't. He didn't dislike the man, but wouldn't trust him as far as he could spit him.
"That's a lot of coin you're carrying, lass," he said. "I'll bet you didn't earn a septim of it honestly." He had a disarming smile on, one he'd probably learned from Marcurio himself.
Her eyes narrowed. "What?"
"I might have work for one such as you."
A great gauntleted hand grabbed a fistful of Brynjolf's shirt and she slammed the man into the wall.
"Are you implying I would break the law?" she asked coldly. The bar didn't exactly fall silent, but it was clear everyone was watching the altercation.
"I...must have been mistaken," Brynjolf said. He didn't look afraid, just puzzled. Marcurio took a drink to hide his smirk. Serves you right, he thought, snake oil merchants deserved to get slapped down occasionally.
She'd caught him watching, and raised an eyebrow at him as she let Brynjolf go.
For lack of anything better, he made his pitch, "For a modest fee, I'll bring my formidable arcane powers to bear on your foes. What do you say?"
She laughed, and went off to join Mjoll at the bar. Meathead, he thought.
They were there all evening, swapping war stories. Sadly, they didn't start comparing scars. Several hours later, the Redguard approached him again.
"Are you really a wizard, or are you just blowing hot air?" she asked.
Mildly affronted by the question, he made lightning dance over his fingertips. "Satisfied?"
"Yeah. Stables at dawn." She dumped a bag of coins in his lap and went back to the bar to enquire about a room.
Marcurio was in no position to argue. The Nords' reluctance to deal with magic, or those who had skill in it, meant he didn't get all that many jobs. He was just lucky the mead was cheap, but it wasn't going to buy him passage back to Cyrodil. He weighted the bag in his hand. He had enough now, but the catch was going to be living to spend it. You didn't buy armour like that in a shop.
The next morning dawned cold and miserable, as they usually did in Skyrim, but at least Riften was warmer than most places. The lake hardly ever iced over entirely. Marcurio stumbled out of the Bee and Barb before the stallholders had even arrived for the day, but his employer was already waiting for him.
"By the way," she said, "my name's Della." She held out a hand, already encased in armour and Marcurio introduced himself and shook it. She didn't let go. "I have some questions for you, Imperial. As you may have noticed there's a war on. And I might be on a side you don't approve of. So let's get it out of the way now; if I tell you to set some Imperial troops on fire, what are you gonna do?"
He could feel the bones in his hand grinding together. He looked her in the eyes, noticing gold flecks in the brown.
"I'll set them on fire," he said evenly. "It's what you pay me for. Mercenaries have rules, you know."
She released him and smiled, "Good. Let's get going."
It wasn't a terribly auspicious start to their association.
Nevertheless, it became clear fairly early on that she needed someone like him, and that she knew it. He'd never seen anyone so fearless of injury; she waded into battle, sword swinging, and went toe-to-toe with things that would have given most ordinary people nightmares. But she needed someone to watch her back. She couldn't defend herself from all directions, although she did the best she could with the armour she wore. She needed to fight in close, and that wasn't always possible.
So he snaked his lightning past her, frying mages and archers and softening up more powerful foes. The first time they were ambushed by bandits half of them were dead by the time she'd dismounted and drawn her sword.
"Wow," she said, and grinned at him unashamedly impressed.
His heart felt one size too large then.
She defended him too, batting away creatures intent on ruining his good looks with a casual swing of her blade. It clearly wasn't enough.
"Armour?"
"You need it. This is good stuff. Heavy but not too heavy; belongs to the Blades but they didn't mind me borrowing it."
"Well, I'll give it a try. You're going to have to help," he said, picking it up and weighing it in his hands.
"Yes, yes, off with it then."
Obediently he peeled off his robe and she fussed and buckled and tied him into the armour, while he gave thanks that she hadn't asked him to take his pants off as well.
She stepped back and looked him over, up and down and back up again.
"Not bad," she said with a smirk.
He smoothed down his hair, "Of course not. What did you expect?"
"Do mercenaries really have rules?" she asked, one night while they were camping in the lee of yet another forbidding piece of abandoned Nord architecture. Safely, as they'd already cleaned and gutted the place earlier in the day.
"Well, yes." He fed another piece of wood onto the fire. "Not many, but a few. Sensible ones, mostly."
"Like what?"
"Well, follow orders. Don't steal from your employer. Don't work for more than one person at a time. Don't sleep with your employer."
She laughed, "What if you really love them?"
"Don't do that either. Uh, anyway that's it mostly. I mean, individuals like myself have things we won't do, like, I'm not going to fight guards, because that's pointless. But not all mercenaries worry about that."
"I see," she said thoughtfully. Then she rolled over and went to sleep while the wolves howled somewhere in the mountains.
Whiterun. When he found out she was a member of the Companions it made so much sense he kicked himself for not guessing earlier. He found himself in a whole roomful of people just like her, only without the friendliness outsiders showed to each other in Skyrim. He was mostly ignored, while she talked and laughed with the broadest Nord Marcurio had ever seen. She called him Vilkas.
And they were going hunting or something. Whatever it was, it was clear he was not invited.
"Companions' business," Della said with a shrug. "Thank you for your help."
"So you think you can make it on your own then. We'll see about that." He sounded childish, petulant, and he knew it. It wasn't a look he wore proudly and the expression of surprise on her face made him feel worse. But what's said was said, and he turned and walked out. She didn't call him back.
He had money to take him to Cyrodil, but he stopped at Riften, and he found himself back in the Bee and Barb. He told himself he just wanted a drink. Because he was miserable. Not miserable, just thirsty.
He looked up every time the door swung open, but the floorboards didn't creak. He'd forgotten about Cyrodil in the time he had travelled with Della; he found himself missing the smell of Nord tombs. And her laugh.
"You stuck to the rules," he toasted himself sarcastically. "Well done."
A week and a half later, she came back. Strolled in like she had been gone only a few minutes. Their eyes met, and she grinned.
He wanted to pretend it didn't matter, but he was out of his seat and he met her halfway across the room. He suspected he looked somewhat sheepish, but he couldn't stop smiling when he realised she wasn't sure he'd be waiting. And that she'd looked anyway.
"I knew you couldn't stay away," he said. "Admit it, you were lost without me."
"I did miss the smell of ozone at my back."
"I missed you. That is," he hurried on, "I've missed your gold. If you want a master of the arcane at your side, it won't be cheap."
"A master of the arcane," she said, amused. "I thought you were an apprentice wizard?"
"Well, officially apprentice, but you know from experience that I'm so much more."
She handed over the money without a murmur and they walked out into the late afternoon sunshine. His heart felt light.
They hunted dragons on mountain peaks, they delved deep into the earth, and Marcurio grew at ease in his armour. He could still barely lift hers, however.
And he realised he'd be happy enough to keep doing this forever. Forever was a word he had not associated with Skyrim before.
"Why did you leave Cyrodil?" she asked one day.
"Oh, you know," he said vaguely. "Why did you leave Hammerfell?"
"That's easy," she said. "I wanted adventure."
"I take it you got what you wanted," he said, feeling only slightly ashamed that he was avoiding the subject.
"I always get what I want. Well, mostly."
They were in the Reach, Della having spotted one of the ancient Dwarven cities built into the side of a mountain. The rocky crags soared above them as they hunted for the entrance. Without warning, the ground shook like a wet dog, and a great rumbling reverberated around the mountains.
They stumbled and slid on the grassy slope, and grabbed handfuls of earth to steady themselves.
"What was that?" Marcurio said, awestruck.
"I don't know. Something big." Her eyes were alight with curiosity. "Let's find out."
Marcurio had a bad feeling, but by now he was well used to ignoring it as Della forged on ahead. When they found the entrance to the ruin, the ground shook again.
"This whole mountain could come down on our heads," Marcurio observed gloomily.
"That would be unbelievably bad luck," Della said, pushing the door open with a screech. "I mean, it's remained standing this long, why would it fall down now?"
They found themselves in a dizzying labyrinth of subterranean walkways that stretched over watery abysses, great pipes that had once carried water or steam now burst and broken. Their boots clattered as they ran over them. Marcurio did his best not to look over the edge.
There were ghosts too, deadly warnings, and still the earth occasionally rumbled, but Della had caught the scent of something old and strange, and wouldn't have dreamt of turning back. And although he prided himself on remaining the level-headed one, Marcurio couldn't help but be eager too.
There was always a chance that he would find something that would clear his name, that would see him lauded and welcomed home as the brilliant, misunderstood, prodigal son.
Of course, Della did not fit convincingly into these dreams.
Before them stood a last, great door, the bones of those who'd tried to unlock it littering the area before it. They poured over the old journal, and searched the corpses for clues, but ultimately there was only so far that intellect could take them.
They sat on the ground, Marcurio making notes and Della staring up at the towering lock.
"There's nothing for it," she said. "We have to guess." Neither of them mentioned the possibility of just tuning back. Marcurio was just as eager to find out what lay beyond as she was.
"Do you think you could hit those chimes with your magic?"
"Do dragons fly?" he scoffed. "Just point me to the one you want rung first."
The first three went off without a hitch, but then their information ran out. They glanced at each other and then Marcurio flung his magic at one of the remaining chimes.
The ground shook with a dull roar. Marcurio was swept off his feet as Della tackled him, just as a chunk of rock detached itself from the ceiling. She braced herself above him, letting her armour bear the brunt of the rocks and pebbles that rained down around them. Further back behind them he could hear the rumble of breaking rock and the splash as it hit the water. Dust floated in the air.
And still it went on, until it felt like the very heart of the mountain had to be shaking loose. Over her shoulder, Marcurio could see more rocks falling and he flung up a ward.
Eventually, it stopped. Della shoved bits of rubble off them and wearily got to her feet before offering Marcurio a hand.
"Well," she said. "I guess it's the other one."
Marcurio was looking back the way they'd come. The long stone pathways had mostly collapsed.
"I hope we're not stuck here," he said.
"Get this lock open. Maybe there is a way out on the other side."
There wasn't, although another piece of the mystery did fall into their hands, and then into Della's satchel.
"Come on," she said, wading into a fast moving stream of water that gurgled over her feet. "There's a passageway."
It wasn't long and ended in empty space. In front of them, was the chasm they'd ascended, water running past their feet feathering into empty space. Della carefully peered over the edge.
"We might be able to dive down," she said. "There's water down there. Right underneath us."
"I can see rocks underneath us too," Marcurio pointed out. "Let's see if there's an alternative before we leap."
An hour or so later, it was clear that there wasn't. They stood once again at the edge.
"Looks like fun," Della said, sounding only half-convinced. "I'll go first."
"Della, wait." He put his hand on her arm. "Just so you know, there's something I want to tell you."
She looked like she was going to make a joke, but instead she merely nodded.
And his nerve failed.
"I came to Skyrim because I was caught cheating in exams," he confessed with a rush. "My family didn't approve of my wizardry to start with and they took the chance to disown me. They had too many heirs as it was. I came to Skyrim because I hated it. I wanted to be miserable." He took a deep breath, "But I'm not miserable any more."
He shrugged.
"Well, I'm glad you're happier," she said. And then she leaped off the edge.
No, wait, he had more to say. He hadn't meant it to end like that. He reached for her and he was falling too, and he'd barely noticed that when he was slapped in the face by the world and he plunged into the icy depths. His armour dragged on him, as he blinked furiously in the murk, trying to find Della.
There she was, feet below him, swimming for the surface.
How she managed to make any headway at all he didn't know, and he watched a thin stream of bubbles escape from the corner of her mouth.
Against all common sense, he turned and pushed himself down further, reaching for the edge of her pauldrons. He could feel the strength in her as she pushed the water aside. His lungs screamed for air as he kicked upwards, hauling her towards the light above them.
More bubbles escaped and she pushed herself harder, realising she was out of air. He refused to let her go, even as he felt the depths clawing at them.
He was not that strong. He couldn't carry her, but he tried, tried until he saw spots, helping her until he saw nothing, and his head breached the surface after an eternity. He held her up with aching arms, knowing if he lost her now he'd never have the strength to retrieve her again.
They paddled slowly and weakly to the edge and when they reached it they collapsed on it, gasping for breath.
Every time he closed his eyes he could see her drifting downwards into the dark, and he cradled her head against his chest, brushing hair out of her eyes, reassuring himself that she was still there, still breathing.
"What are you doing?" she asked eventually, in a hoarse worn voice that hadn't lost its humour.
"I don't know," he replied.
"That'd be right," she said with an affectionate smile, and she disentangled herself and scrambled to her feet. She swayed and then focused. "We're near the entrance."
They walked out into a land painted gold with the last of the day's sunshine. Marcurio breathed deep and gave thanks to any gods or daedra who might be listening that he had the chance to taste fresh air again. They sat on the stony steps in silence and watched the first evening stars come out.
"You're fired, by the way," Della said pleasantly.
"What?"
He turned to her, full of shock and indignation, and not a little hurt, and she cupped his chin with one hand and kissed him.
All too briefly. It was like a suggestion, and then she let him go again.
"Is that all right? Or have I cost myself another five hundred gold?"
"Ah, no, I think that will be fine." This time he was the one who leaped, just a few inches, and she was waiting to catch him.
A/N: This story was originally going to be somewhat...smuttier, but it was already getting on the long side. I originally started writing these stories in an attempt to stop myself from starting another epic fanfiction. Jazz Age took over a year to write, and with my current deadlines I simply don't have the time to commit. It's been working up to a point but now an idea has sunk its teeth in and it's all Mercer Frey's fault.