Riften
"Pull up a chair, lad." Delvin bumped the chair next to him with his foot, inviting Brynjolf to join him. "Mead's on me." He raised an arm to catch Vekel's attention. "Oi, two Black-Briars here."
"Buying the good stuff tonight, Del?" Brynjolf smiled and pulled out the chair. "Someone bring in a good haul?"
"You might say so. A friend brought me an interesting piece." He held up the elaborate amulet that Astrid had brought him. "What d'ya make of this?"
Brynjolf took it and examined it closely. "Empire design. Not from the Septim era. Nice piece. Worth what, a few hundred septims?"
Delvin chuckled. "Not a bad guess… you're accurate about everything but the price. This is worth several thousand septims to the right buyer. It's the symbol of the Emperor's Elder Council. This beauty here can open doors. In the right hands, someone could get very, very wealthy."
The amulet caught the light and gleamed richly as Brynjolf examined it. He whistled his appreciation. "Nice find, old man. How'd you come by this?" He handed the expensive bauble back to his friend.
Delvin raised his hand again and beckoned Vekel over. "Keep these coming, lad. See the boys in the cistern have something too. The regular will do for them." He turned back to his friend. "I'll tell you later."
"Celebrating tonight, Del?" Vekel asked.
"Yes and no." Delvin wasn't quite ready to share his news about Nessa. It wouldn't be that much of a surprise, but knowing she was dead was a different thing from thinking she might be dead. The thieves, all of them, need something to make the news go down easier.
Just freshly released from jail, Brynjolf was nursing a bruise to his ego. He'd spent three full weeks in a miserable, damp cell in Whiterun. He couldn't even pick the lock. Delvin had paid the fine, and kept his mouth shut about it. Brynjolf owed him. He was starting to believe that his old friend was right about them pissing off some deity. Just when things seemed like they were turning around, Nessa disappears and it all goes to Oblivion again.
Pretty soon Delvin and Brynjolf had a few meads under their belt and the rest of the thieves were crowding into the Flagon drinking. Free booze always made the thieves particularly happy. But before spirits got too high, Delvin pushed his chair away from his table and stood, raising his hand to quiet his lads.
"Gents," he said, nodding at Brynjolf and some of the boys. "Lasses," he nodded to Tonila, Vex and Sapphire. "Mercer ain't here and perhaps that's best. The old man paid more attention to the dust on his boots than her. "
"Her?" Brynjolf asked, a chill creeping up his back. "Who're we talkin' about here?"
"Nessa, lad. Your last protégé. That amulet came to me from the leader of the Dark Brotherhood." He clapped a hand on Brynjolf's shoulder.
"I know we all suspected that our sweet Nessa might be dead. She poked her nose into some business she had no right to interfere in. Well, tonight I heard from their leader. She is, as I think we all knew, dead. So, I propose we lift a few to the lass. She wasn't long on this world, but I for one will miss her. She was a damn good thief and looked just as pretty going as coming." He looked down at the ground a moment and then raised his tankard in the air.
There was a moment of stunned silence in the bar. The announcement had dampened spirits like an ice storm. Then, one by one, the thieves each raised their tankard and said "To Nessa". All but Brynjolf. He sat unmoving staring at the table his face looking wooden.
"Come on now, lad. Put a good face on it," Delvin urged him in a quiet voice.
Finally Brynjolf's chair scraped slowly across the floor. He'd been looking a little sour since his time in jail, but now he was frowning and his forehead was furrowed.
"To a fine lass, Nessa. May she rest with her gods now," he muttered and sat back down again, then drained the rest of his mead in a lengthy draught. After finishing, he pushed away from the table and was about to stand.
"Where you goin', Brynjolf?" Delvin asked.
"Out." His expression looked dangerously angry.
"Naw, don't do that. These lads look up to you. Let's honor the girl's memory by gettin' proper piss-faced. They miss her too." He grasped Byrnjolf's forearm and stared into his friends face.
Teeth clenched, fury was roiling just below the surface. "What right do they have, Del, breaking into the cistern, tampering with our drink, and killing one of our own. What's it say about us… about me, that I let this happen?" He hissed his words angrily, but quietly, at Delvin. "What sort of men are we if we don't do something about it?"
"Whoa, calm down there, Bryn. This is the Dark Brotherhood we're talking about. Nessa blundered into something she shouldn't have. They did what they do, and throwing your life away, or dragging the boys into a fight with assassins isn't honoring her memory." He clenched his friend's forearm to try to make himself heard. "Let's say a final farewell to the lass tonight. The girl was a Nord and we'll send her off in proper fashion."
The fight went out of Brynjolf and he didn't stop Vekel from refilling his tankard.
Niruin, sitting at the bar, stood up, his slight stature making him a head shorter than most of the Nords present. "I'd like to say something about Nessa." His brothers took seats in the Flagon and gave him their full attention. "Actually, it's a poem, sort of."
There was a big outburst of laughter. "Leave it to Niruin. We should send him to Bard's College," Thryn joked.
"Shut up. Be respectful. This is for Nessa." He turned a glare at the former bandit. "All right, it goes like this:"
One lass, so young and fair
Fingers nimble on locked doors
Our sorrow you're with us no more.
Your thieving skills were second to none
You stole from us all, each one
A heart you took and now you're gone.
May you rest in the place where good Nord lasses go.
Try though we did to make you a bad Nord lass
You died a good one.
Everyone remained silent, not quite sure if the Bosmer was finished.
"That's all I got. I know it don't rhyme right, but it came from the heart," Niruin said. He drained off his tankard.
A loud sniff broke the silence and Rune wiped his nose on his sleeve. "It was actually… pretty good. She was like a little sister to me, you know? I always thought one day she'd be back, smiling like she does, real shy, you know? But she never did. Now she never will."
"Yeah… can't say I liked my sister in quite the same way I liked Nessa," Thryn admitted. "I was always curious 'bout what Vipir and her did that one time. That was what… just before she disappeared wasn't it?"
Vipir glared at Thrynn. "Be respectful. There weren't nothing between us. I got her to kiss me once. That's all."
The conversation devolved as they drank more. Sapphire told a story about their first meeting and Vex grudgingly admitted Nessa was competent. Brynjolf drank silently, stewing in impotent anger while Delvin listened to the stories and told some of the stories of jobs Nessa had done for him.
"She had that bit of spark. Some kind of aura about her. When Bryn brought her to us I thought maybe our luck had turned. Every job she did went off without a hitch. Whatever curse we had, it seemed like she was immune from it. Lady Luck smiled on our Nessa."
"Until she got murdered by the Dark Brotherhood." Brynjolf muttered. "Doesn't seem so gods damn lucky to me."
Rune began to stumbled about the bar and burst into tears. "Those… flowers she loved. Nightshade. They're all in bloom in the cemetery." He staggered to the door of the cistern. "I'm going to pick some for her."
Vipir and Niruin rushed after him, certain he'd fall into the water. Everyone else slowly drifted out of the Flagon and they headed to the ladder that would take them outside to the graveyard above their hideout.
Rune sliced off nightshade blooms and Vipir gathered lavender. In a few moments, the graveyard was picked clean of flowers. They laid them on top of the sarcophagus that served as the secret entrance to their guild. Brynjolf leaned against the wall that sheltered the sarcophagus and watched them.
"Brynjolf, she was your protégé. Why don't you say a few words," Delvin suggested.
He stood a moment, looking down at the collection of flowers and remembering her eyes. He fished a ribbon out of his pocket, one that she'd left behind and he had carried as a talisman. He wished it were daylight so he could properly see it and remember that shade of blue. He finally laid the ribbon on top of the pile of flowers.
"I always thought there was something more to her than what we were seeing. Something maybe she didn't properly know either. She wasn't just a pretty girl. She wasn't just a damn good thief…"
"Or damned good with a bow," Niruin interjected.
"Right, that too," Brynjolf agreed. "She didn't just have eyes that looked like the sky over Solitude on a clear day."
Rune sobbed noisily and Vipir clapped him on the shoulder. Delvin was willing to bet there wasn't a dry eye in the bunch.
"She had something in her. Maybe it was a kind of goodness that can't be turned bad by the likes of us. It was a sort of purity of soul that is immune to any and all corruption. I think the gods saw that and they took her from us before anything could spoil her."
Delvin felt himself misting up over Brynjolf's words. He'd summed it up good. "Well, I can't say fairer than that. If she didn't deserve it on her own, Brynjolf's testimony should get her a right good seat next to one of the gods."
"Dibella, no doubt," Vipir said. "The Queen of Heaven would want a pretty hand-maiden." He picked up a flower off the sarcophagus and sniffed it sorrowfully.
Clasping his friend Brynjolf briefly in a one armed embrace, Delvin and Brynjolf began the climb down the ladder to the cistern. They heard the beginnings of a fight breaking out behind them.
"Should we go back and break it up?" Brynjolf asked the older man.
"Naw. It'll make them feel better. It's just how they grieve." As he said it, Delvin realized it probably would make him feel better too. "Say, I heard tell a couple of lads from Falkreath in town been stirring up shit about the thieves guild. What say we show them some good old Riften hospitality?"
A half-smile crept across Brynjolf's mouth, the first of the evening. A brawl would resolve some of the feelings of impotent rage. He cracked his knuckles and pulled on his gloves. "I think that might be how I grieve too."
~o~o~o~
The next day Brynjolf rose at the crack of noon and stumbled to his washbasin to study himself in the mirror. "Ah lad, you've never looked better," he said to his reflection, wincing as he dabbed at his broken lip. The swelling would go away soon, but the purple bruise around his eye would be there for quite some time. The Falkreath lads were most likely waking up in the middle of the road, looking far, far worse. He chuckled again at the memory of loading them into a wagon like sacks of potatoes and dumping their unconscious, naked bodies outside Riften.
What now?
That was the question on his mind when he awoke. Delvin had a series of opportunities lined up in Solitude. He was going to send Vipir or Niruin, but Brynjolf woke this morning with the feeling he wanted to be far away from Riften. He'd do the jobs in Solitude himself. Delvin would get the most experienced thief and he'd get to escape from…
From what?
His shame, his frustration, and the feeling like something had been cut out of his life. It was ridiculous. She'd been gone six months and they'd assumed she was dead, but it was different when you really knew. It was too easy to think maybe… just maybe there'd been a mistake, an exception to the rule. He even remembered thinking he'd seen her outside Solitude the last time he'd been there.
Sorry, lass. He apologized to the memory of the girl he'd failed to protect and now he was failing to avenge. He couldn't escape the truth in the words Delvin spoke: Vengeance would just end in death, or worse. Nessa wouldn't rest any easier for it. He'd just have to get over this and move on.
He shaved himself gingerly, trying to avoid the sore spots, and packed up his kit. He was on the road within the hour.
~o~o~o~
Sanctuary
"What do you want, Cicero?" Babette asked the Keeper. He'd been hovering around her alchemy lab while she was mixing potions all morning. She was starting to wish he'd go oil, or do whatever it was he did to his corpse charge.
"Seeing," he said. He was seeing. Seeing how his Skyrim brothers would respond to the news that there was a new Listener, it seemed Astrid hadn't bothered to spread the news. "Seeing is as important as listening, hmmm? Cicero can see, even if the Night Mother speaks to someone else."
Babette looked at the assassin and sighed. "And what do you see, Cicero?"
"Cicero is seeing whether or not his brothers, and very little sister, honor the Night Mother."
Babette shrugged. "Two hundred years ago, I would've lain down my life for the Unholy Matron. But that is an age long since passed. Astrid is my matron now."
Hissing like a kettle, Cicero frowned at the un-child. "And if the Mother should speak to one of us, what would you think then? Maybe then you would suddenly remember how many digits you have on a hand and how many tenets the Brotherhood has."
Babette smiled at Cicero, her cheeks dimpling. "I haven't broken any tenets, at least none that I recall. Besides, I think that the Night Mother hasn't appointed a new Listener, if she ever did, means she's gone. We only survive here by our own wits." She turned flounced toward Cicero and stuck out her tongue. "So there! Nyaaah!"
Cackling happily, secretly enjoying the antics of the undead un-child he flicked his fingers at her playfully. "Oooh, Cicero thinks you are a sassy child. The result of too much indulgence and too few spankings. It just so happens there is a new Listener. A secret, it seems." He chuckled happily and patted Babette on the head. "Well, I'm not one to tell secrets. Nope! Not Cicero." He laughed again and left the little alchemist behind. One thing Cicero knew about Babette was she hated knowing there were secrets, and not sharing in them. The other thing was that Babette loved to gossip.
"Wait!" Babette left her half-mixed potion on the alchemy table, knowing well she'd have to throw it out if she didn't finish it. "Wait!" She ran after him and tugged on his tunic. "Is there really a Listener? Did the Night Mother speak to someone?"
Cicero winked conspiratorially at Babette and squatted down beside her. "Of course, if Cicero tells you, you'll have to keep it secret. Are you good with secrets?"
Babette nodded vigorously. "I'm extremely good with secrets." Her fingers were crossed behind her back.
"All right, then, I suppose I can share this one. The Night Mother spoke to…," he broke off and twisted his head around to look for anyone who might be listening, "…Nessa. Nessa is the Listener!" He could help himself. His voice rose in volume and pitch and it sounded like a high-pitched squeal. "Imagine that! She spoke to our cherub!"
"Shush! Shush!" Babette tried to quiet him. It wasn't going to be any fun if he gave it away. She wanted to be the one to gift this nugget of knowledge to her friends. But… Nessa? She knew instantly what trouble was brewing. Poor Nessa. She felt a moment of sadness for the girl. Oh, the trouble this would cause. Astrid would be livid, of course. "Cicero, are you jesting?" Babette asked.
The question brought on a gale of high-pitched laughter that ended with a long, drawn out. "Noooo! Cicero wouldn't joke about that. Nessa said the words, the words by which I would know that she truly is the Listener. The wolf-man knows and the pretender knows too." He cast a sly look at Babette. "Odd they wouldn't share that with you and the others."
It did explain a lot: Nessa's sad looks, the coolness between her and Astrid, and how she'd been avoiding everyone lately. Nessa, the Listener. Of course, this was likely to stir up all sorts of trouble. Or fun, depending on your point of view.
"Not a word, now!" Cicero put his finger over his lips and sent one last warning glance to Babette.
"Not a word." She bobbed her head up and down and smiled at the crazy Keeper. She watched him walk down the corridor and turned to go see Gabrielle. It'd been awhile since Babette had brought Gabby any really juicy gossip. This would serve. This would definitely serve.
~o~o~o~
"Are you trying to get her killed?" Arnbjorn asked as his wife explained the next step in assassinating the emperor.
"You have so little confidence in her abilities?" Astrid settled her back against the wall and folded her arms across her chest. "Is there anyone else in the guild that's as good a shot as she is?"
Scowling at his wife, Arnbjorn sat at the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots. "And how does she get away, afterwards?"
"She's going to need to find a good escape route." She shrugged. "Look, it's dangerous being an assassin. Obviously the Night Mother has confidence in her. And… so do I." Smiling at her husband, she crossed the room to him and stroked his cheek. "I have the utmost confidence, darling, and so should you."
He stared into her eyes, looking for the truth, but Astrid had a hundred years of practice at hiding her emotions. There was nothing to see beyond her confidence and sanguinity. "Let me go with her. I'll make certain she gets away," he asked.
Those words cut into Astrid like knives. Of course he wanted to go and spend four weeks with the girl, relive whatever had happened on their last trip to Solitude, she thought. "No, darling. I think it's time she took a difficult job on her own. We can't shelter her forever."
Arnbjorn glowered at his wife. With anyone else, he would have agreed, but he was suspicious of Astrid. It'd be too convenient if she gave Nessa a job too difficult, one nearly guaranteed to kill her. He covered her hand, the one on his cheek, with his own then turned her hand palm up and kissed it. "Don't forget what the three of us had, my love."
"Oh, I haven't." She kissed him tenderly. "I'd better tell her so she can prepare. There isn't any time to waste. The wedding is in two weeks."
Arnbjorn nodded and watched his wife leave their room. He just couldn't shake the feeling that Astrid was sending Nessa to her death.
~o~o~o~
They settled into Riften for the winter, taking a cheap room in the slums. Barenziah joined the Thieves' Guild, knowing there would be trouble if she were caught free-lancing. One day in the barroom she caught the eye of a known member of the guild, a bold young Khajiit named Therris. She offered to bed with him if he would sponsor her for membership. He looked her over, grinning, and agreed, but said she'd still have to pass a test.
"What sort of test?"
"Ah," Therris said. "Payment first, sweet thing." He put an arm around her, leaned over and kissed her, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth and his free hand into her shirt.
"Nice," he said presently, withdrawing his tongue, but not his hand. His other hand slid down inside her waistband and fondled her buttocks.
"Let's go upstairs. We can use my room," Barenziah felt both embarassed and excited by his boldness.
Therris grinned insolently. "Why bother? You want me, don't you? I'll bet you'd pay me, wouldn't you?"
"No," Barenziah said. She did want him, but not that badly.
"No? Well, a bargain's a bargain and Therris keeps his word. But here. Now." He hiked her skirt up and pulled her onto his lap so she sat astride, facing him. He opened her shirt and pulled it down on her shoulders so that her breasts were exposed.
"Nice pair, kid." She was facing the wall but she could feel the stares of the other patrons. A hush had fallen over the place. Even the bard had stilled. She felt both nausea and a hot burning desire. Her hands released his turgid penis and then it was inside her and she was screaming in both pain and ecstasy. Then everything went black.
The rap on the door startled Nessa and she closed the book she was reading, The Real Barenziah. She could feel the flush on her cheeks still, but went to open the door nonetheless.
"Ah, Nessa. Good you're in." Astrid went into her bedroom as she opened the door. She smiled warmly at her and wondered about the flush on her face, then saw the book lying on her bed. Sidling over to the bed, she glanced at the title and laughed. "Ah ha! Oh well, I see you're keeping up with your history lessons."
Flushing even harder, Nessa said nothing, but looked at Astrid expectantly.
"Well, I hope you have something nice to wear. Because you're going to a wedding.
"A wedding?" she asked.
"Well, more like a public reception. It should be a lovely affair. You'll mingle with the guests, eat some cake… stab the bride."
Nessa's eyes widened with surprise. "Stab a bride? At her wedding?"
Her hearty warm laugh bubbled up from her throat. "Well, that's usually where you find brides, isn't it? You don't actually have to stab her, just kill her. At her wedding." She laughed and looked rather amused. "And they say romance is dead. Well, it will be after you kill it."
Kill a bride? For the first time, an assignment made her queasy. The thought of killing a woman on a day that should be so happy unnerved her. "Who is the bride?" she asked.
"Her name is Vittoria Vici. She oversees the East Empire Company's business holdings in Solitude. The wedding is being held in that city, at the Temple of the Divines. Her death will cause an uproar, which is exactly what we want." Astrid settled herself on the edge of Nessa's bed and continued.
"Vici is likely to address her guests frequently, as is the wedding custom. Kill her when she does that, and I promise you a significant bounty. You'd best go as soon as possible. Leave today if you can. You'll only have a day or two to plan once you get there. Do you have any questions?"
Nessa bit her lip and thought about it all. "I'm going alone on this one?"
No, my husband isn't coming with you. Astrid's smile wasn't entirely real. "I won't lie to you, this will be dangerous, but you're up to it. I have every confidence in you. A job like this is best done alone. One assassin has a better chance of escaping than two."
And if I don't escape, that's not so bad? Nessa thought. "Can I ask, why me? I know some of the other assassins are more experienced…."
"Tsk, tsk, Nessa. I chose you for good reason. You're the one the Night Mother spoke to. It makes perfect sense. If she has such confidence in you, then so do I."
"Must I stab her?" Nessa asked.
"This is a public kill. How you do it is entirely up to you. Arrow to the throat? Knife to the belly? Your choice, so long as it's loud and messy. Because of the current political climate, people are going to assume the murder is related to the bad blood between the Legion and Stormcloaks. In any event, when Vici dies, it's going to be complete pandemonium. Best have your escape route planned out in advance."
"Is this connected to Motierre's contract?" Nessa asked. "What is her connection to the emperor?"
"Good question, Nessa. She's the first cousin to the emperor. Vici has obvious Imperial connections. Her husband has ties to the Stormcloaks. Their union is a step toward reconciliation. So if there's a murder at the wedding… Not only will that stall the peace process—it will send shockwaves throughout the entire Empire. The emperor's hand will be forced. He'll have to travel to Skyrim to deal with the aftermath… and he'll find the Dark Brotherhood waiting."
Nessa couldn't suppress her gasp. So, this murder would put the entire plan to kill the emperor into play. If she failed… she'd be letting down everyone.
"You'd best leave as soon as possible," Astrid said, rising from Nessa's bed. She stopped at the doorway and turned back with a pleasant smile on her face. "Do give my best to the bride." She chuckled as she left her room.
Nessa shut her door and slowly, still stunned by the assignment, began to pack.
~o~o~o~
Notes: And there we are! Getting all caught up to the initial vision I had of this story… well, one of them. Next chapter will be awhile coming. I am going to finish up my chapter of PBMfD (it's coming along) before I start it. And this next chapter is special to me. I've been daydreaming about it for ages.
Thanks for the reviews! Love them! They really keep me excited about the story. Thanks to Inuyashagirl2015, KK Jace, Zevgirl, Biff, Isala Uthenera, Heiwako, TheOtherLachance, MrsSage, Nightlain, and Blue Dartwing!
Oh yes, I've been reading some amazing Mercer stories from the Skyrim Kink Meme… bless you Metrophor. You should look them up. I have such a crush on Mercer now. Yeah… weird, isn't it?