Sanctuary

There was tension in Sanctuary. Veezara's flickering tongue could practically taste it as he sampled the air. Arnbjorn seemed more dour than normal but Astrid seemed cheerful enough. Nessa had slipped away the prior day, without saying anything to any of them. In the common room, Arnbjorn was sitting in front of the grinding wheel, working the pedals, but not sharpening his axe. He'd been sitting like that for several minutes.

"Troubles, my brother?" Veezara asked the Nord.

Arnbjorn roused out of his reverie and looked at the Argonian. He said nothing for a moment and then spoke. "You've been to Solitude a lot, haven't you? If you were assassinating someone at the Temple of the Divines, how difficult would it be to escape?"

Shrugging, Veezara thought for a moment. "It all depends. Inside or outside? There are many places to hide inside. Stairwells, forgotten rooms, closets, but getting away from the area is difficult as you've got to pass through a narrow, well-guarded gate."

Arnbjorn drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "But could you do it?"

Veezara nodded. "I have done it. There are ways to get away, secret entrances to the sewers, or even rappelling down the battlement walls. Do you have a contract in Solitude you need me to handle?"

Not answering immediately, Arnbjorn considered carefully. Astrid wouldn't take his sending Veezara to Solitude well, but he could handle that. The question was, would he be able to get there soon enough? "Do you think you can get to Solitude by Sun's Height 7th?"

"I think so. I can take the wagon from Falkreath. What is my task?" the Argonian asked.

"You need to help Nessa. She is tasked with assassinating the Emperor's cousin and I'm worried she won't be able to escape." Arnbjorn admitted his concern openly, knowing that Veezara would keep his own counsel.

"Ah. Then I should leave immediately. Do you know where she's staying?"

Shaking his head, Arnbjorn looked concerned. "I don't." He clapped a hand on Veezara's shoulder and squeezed it companionably. "See that she gets away, brother." He turned to leave and then stopped and turned around. "Please."

His tongue flickered out to sample the air curiously. The guild master's mate was uncharacteristically worried. Veezara moved swiftly to his room and packed quickly. He was out of the Sanctuary before the hour had passed.

Solitude

Brynjolf

The influx of people into Solitude was surprisingly heavy. Carts heavily laden with barrels of food, mead, and fabric were waiting to roll past the gates. Brynjolf's fingers itched. Purses, heavy with coin, dangled from many a belt.

Don't do it, lad, the thief told himself. That three week visit to the cooler in Whiterun had him cautious. He'd attend to Delvin's business before he did anything else. The crowd coming into the city did set fire to his curiosity. He struck up a conversation with someone else passing through the gates and learned there would be a royal wedding in two days. That explained the crowds. People were coming for the free food and booze served at the public reception. Not only that, but this long line of wagons would be bringing supplies for the nuptials.

Maybe their luck was turning. Nocturnal was watching out for them again. He laughed at himself. It was a silly superstition, he knew. Still, getting gaffled in Whiterun made a fellow think about such things. He hadn't been caught since he was a kid. This would be the sort of trick Nocturnal would pull though; get a guy to take a risk, then leave him just as the city guard turned the corner and collared him. Lady Luck was a fickle bitch.

Heading to the inn, he rented a room. He'd stay until after the wedding. If he cleaned up, he'd take the wagon back to Riften. He didn't mind the walk. The two weeks on the road had cleared his head. He'd thought about Nessa, but now he was at peace with it… unless he thought about it. Like I am now, gods damn it. Even now, thinking of her caused a little pit to open in his gut. All right, it wasn't as bad as it had been. He didn't feel like trying to single-handedly track down the assassins who did it… well, not as much. But he swore if he ever saw one, he'd at the very least beat the living crap out of him.

By the time he'd gotten himself cleaned up and presentable, ready to tackle the first of Delvin's jobs, the sun was low in the sky. It didn't matter, just slip in, alter a few numbers in an accounting book, then slip out again. Easy stuff.

Nessa

She frowned as the walls around Solitude came into view. Dismounting from Shadowmere, she unfastened her bags.

"Wish me luck, horse. I'm not so sure about this one, boy." Forehead furrowed with worry, she pressed it against the horse's ebony face. "If I don't come back… well… I guess you'll probably go home and then everyone will know." She bit her lips to stop the tears that were stinging at her eyes and then laughed at herself. "I'm being stupid. Don't listen to me Shadowmere. I am coming back. I swear it." She tugged her bags off him and patted his nose one more time. "If all goes well, I'll be back tomorrow. Keep your hooves crossed." She giggled over her last comment. It was stupid, but at least it kept her from being nervous.

Shadowmere nudged her affectionately with his nose. "Well. Bye, horsey." She turned and walked away, taking the last few miles on foot. She blended the best she could with the crowd coming into Solitude. Her clothes were plain and she wore a hood that covered her hair. This time in Solitude, she didn't want to be noticed. There were no rooms available at the Winking Skeever but she found a more modest boarding house willing to let her a room.

She went to the Temple of the Divines to begin to look around and started to lose hope. The entrance to the temple was through a heavily guarded, walled gate. It also housed the Castle Dour, which had its own contingent of guards. Everyone going in and out of either the castle or the temple had to pass through that gate and all those guards. She climbed into the battlements and looked around. No one seemed to care and other people were admiring the view, so she just tried to fit in.

Perhaps with a rope and a grappling hook she could rappel down the side of the wall. It seemed iffy. Guards could just stand at the top and shoot down at her. There were a few places where she might be able to jump down without breaking her leg. She wasn't heartened at all by either of her options.

Next she went through the temple. She took note of the balconies that looked like they would have a good view of where the newlyweds would address the spectators. Deciding this balcony was the best possible spot; she would come back that night and set things up.

After milling around Solitude for several hours, she went to her room and got a few hours of rest late in the afternoon. With the sun set, she went back to the temple, dressed in her dark leather, and tried every door, peeking into every room, looking for a better option, but she found nothing. She eventually went out to the balcony she'd spied earlier and sat out there gazing up at the stars. Not many options were left. It would be suicide to try to escape through the gate. That left the wall. How many guards would be posted along the wall tomorrow? She had no idea.

She climbed back up the battlements and found a spot to hide her rope and grappling hook. It wouldn't do to set it up in advance; someone would surely find it and be forewarned. Next she walked to the other spot, the one that was a long, chancy drop. She marked it by leaving a rock on the wall.

Two chances, then. The rope would take her down to the cliffs above the ocean. She could hide herself in that rocky, steep climb. The other chance would get her out of the inner fortress formed by the castle and the temple, but she'd still have to find her way out of the city. She spent the rest of the night prowling around Solitude, noting where the guards were and which alleys might be the most promising escape routes.

She went back to her room one last time to get a few hours of rest and collect her belongings. She was up and out a few hours before the sun came up. Sitting quietly in her little balcony, she mulled over everything over in her mind. Would Astrid come to regret how she'd distrusted her if she should die. Arnbjorn… Arnbjorn… She sighed and wiped away a tear thinking of how he had kissed her before she left. Arnbjorn cared. He would grieve for her… at least a little.

Strangely, as the sun rose, her thoughts turned from her lovers and went back to the thieves she'd left in Riften—to Brynjolf.

"Is something troubling you, lass?"

She looked around, almost expecting to see him. His words, always warm and kind, had encouraged her, had held her up when she'd doubted herself. "Yes, Brynjolf. I'm scared," she imagined herself saying. "I don't think I can do this."

"I have faith in you, Nessa."

Didn't they have that conversation before she burgled the Golden Glow estate? Only she never admitted she was frightened. He'd had faith in her and his warm words were still soothing when she recalled them.

At last the sun came up and she dozed until the hubbub grew loud enough to wake her. She stretched her limbs, and worked her fingers until they were limber, but remained crouched down behind the short wall that hid her. It might still be hours until the bride and groom left the private ceremony and came to celebrate with the people of Solitude. She risked peeping over the wall to see how many people were there. So far it was only servants and merchants preparing.

Boredom mixed with nervous anticipation made the time seem to pass at a torturously slow pace. It took all her discipline not to imagine every possible poor outcome. Prison, killed by an arrow in the back, oerhaps even imprisoned and then tortured to extract information from her—all were possibilities. She touched the flask of sleeping draught she kept in a snug pocket. There was enough there to kill herself. If it looked hopeless, she'd take it and slip into a deep coma and then die. That would be preferable to betraying her brothers and sisters.

But what if they called a healer? Maybe a mage would be able to purge the poison from her system and she'd end up being tortured after all. There was the dagger strapped to her calf. Perhaps she should just stab herself. But what if she hit a rib or missed her heart? Would it work to stab herself and then drink the poison? Thinking of all the ways she could fail to kill herself worried her more than missing her target. When she found herself biting her nails down to the quick, she heard Brynjolf's voice again.

"I have faith in you, lass."

It settled her nerves and instead of dwelling on all of the worst outcomes, she concentrated on remembering him. Brynjolf's red hair, the way his eyebrows kind of turned up at the ends, the scruff on his cheeks when he hadn't shaved, and his usually tidy goatee—it all came back to her. There was an old, faded scar on his left cheek. She hadn't ever worked up the nerve to ask him about it, much less carry out the desire to extend a finger and trace it down his cheek. How could she forget his green eyes and a nose that looked like it might have been broken once?

He had a fine, high forehead too; one that you might assume harbored a considerable intellect. She supposed he was a genius of sorts, the way he could talk anyone into almost anything. Her smile was wistful when she imagined he'd probably talked his way into bed with a lot of women with that smooth voice. The very way he said "lass" was enough to send a thrill up her spine.

But there, set between the frame of his mustache and his strong chin, was that one feature she had sometimes found herself staring at: his mouth. What would it have been like to kiss that mouth? This new line of thought took her through the slow moving morning. She stopped feeling nervous when she thought of him and wondered about him, about what he was doing, and whether he ever thought of her. Probably not.

When she once again thought of the task ahead of her, she added Brynjolf to the list of people she couldn't fail.

Veezara

He was caught in the slow-moving crowd trying to squeeze into Solitude on the day of the royal wedding. There was barely any time to spare. He calculated his odds of being able to find Nessa were slim. It would be slow going sneaking into the temple without being spotted in this press. A human could mingle in with the crowds, but an Argonian would stand out. Certainly he could infiltrate the temple, but to find Nessa in time to get her safely out, that would require a great deal of luck.

"Sithis watch over your children," he prayed silently as he carefully blended into shadows and slipped behind the guard. Once inside he scanned the crowd looking for his sister. A pair of chairs were arranged across the courtyard from the temple. Clearly this is where the couple would sit and receive the adulations of the crowd and the blessings of priests. There was also a balcony above the stairs and, judging from the decorations, they might go up there to address the crowds. To his experienced eye he saw three ways Nessa might choose to fulfill the contract. She could hide herself in the balcony above the chairs. When the couple came upstairs to address the crowd, she could strike, close-in, with a dagger. Another option was to strike from above. A gargoyle was poised above the balcony. It might be possible to loosen it from its base and push it down onto the bride and groom.

But it was the third possibility that he knew would appeal to Nessa's abilities and proclivities. There was a balcony across the courtyard. A decent archer could easily shoot the bride from there. Getting up there would be tricky with all these people around. The best he could do, he thought, was to create a distraction so she could get away.

He crouched in a shadowy recess and waited for her to make a move.

Nessa

Finally the priests of Mara entered into the courtyard and brought order to the gathering. Risking another peep over the short balcony wall, Nessa scanned the crowds and what she could see of the battlements surrounding the temple. There were plenty of guards, but she would be hard to see in her shadowy balcony.

The high priest spoke, but his words were lost to Nessa. All her nervousness and worry were fading away. There was a sense that destiny had swept her into its current and was carrying her now. The momentum was building a deep focus in her, stripping away everything unnecessary to the task. The sounds of the crowd, the voices of the priests were all irrelevant. Success and survival, in that order, were the only two things in the world that mattered.

With senses taut as her bowstring, she waited and then heard a roar of applause coming from the audience. Another look over the wall verified that the bride and groom had entered. They sat on the two chairs and toasted one another. This was not yet the time to strike. Astrid had been clear, kill the bride as she pontificated to the audience to make the sharpest statement. Once again hunkering down, Nessa bided by until she heard another enthusiastic round of applause and looked again. The bride and groom were heading for a doorway into the tower that almost certainly led to the balcony across the courtyard from her own.

She worked her fingers again, stretched her arms, flexed her legs and readied herself. Then she heard a strong female voice make a strong pronouncement. What the words were, Nessa would never know. Her every sense was focused on the task. She rose up from her balcony and raised her bow, fitting the arrow to the string, and pulling back her arm. Her body, after crouching for so long, unfolded and stretched, her muscles complaining only a little.

Veezara

Watching the balcony, he saw the slender silhouette unfurl. The bow, held so steadily, was almost an echo of her form. "Sithis protect her," he mouthed the words.

"Honored guests," Vittoria said, gesturing expansively at the crowd, "I just wanted to take this time to thank you all for being here. To thank you for sharing this wonderfully happy day with myself, and my new husband.

"In this courtyard, there are no Stormcloaks. There are no Imperials. There are only people, come to celebrate a union of two souls. So make mer…."

Veezara saw the arrow speeding across the courtyard. To almost everyone else, it seemed as if the arrow burst out of Vittoria's throat. The Imperial woman crumpled to the ground and, for one brief moment, there was utter silence in the courtyard. Then the courtyard erupted into chaos. People screamed, some ran for the exit, other began looking for the source of the arrow. He silently congratulated his sister on her flawless, well-timed kill.

The Argonian took that moment to leap out from his hiding place and ran for the stairs leading to the ramparts. People saw him and began to shriek, "Murderer!" Some of the guards began to run after him. Other guards, not so easily fooled, knew the arrow must've come from another direction. They began running toward the ramparts behind the temple.

Nessa

For a moment Nessa couldn't move, she could only watch the arrow fly across the courtyard and strike the woman in her throat. The bride's eloquent words stopped as the arrow struck home and she teetered backwards and then crumpled. Moments passed, then an outcry started that broke Nessa out of her trance. She dashed to the doorway leading to the temple and threw it open, running madly up the stairs, clutching her bow.

"Murderer!" She heard the screams from the courtyard and assumed that they were meant for her. She paused only for a moment and saw a knot of confusion below her. There was a form dressed in red and black, the colors of the Dark Brotherhood, fleeing in another direction. "Veezara?" Nessa said to herself, watching the tail swing as he ran.

There was no time to speculate on what had brought her reptilian brother to her aid as there were guards on the ramparts that had spotted her. An arrow whizzed past her, missing widely, but still too close for comfort. She turned and ran for the spot she'd left the rope and grappling hook hidden.

Brynjolf

In the midst of the bourgeois crowd, Brynjolf carefully looked around as the people attended to the priests of Mara. There were a number of bulging purses dangling off belts, temptingly easy targets. He carefully cut one free and then a second one. He worked his way to another part of the crowd, flashing his congenial smile and begging pardon of those he bumped.

The bride rose to speak and while the crowd cheered he cut another purse. Glancing up he looked to check on the guards. None were paying him any heed. But from the corner of his eye, a slender silhouette stood, bow drawn, aiming at the balcony occupied by the bride and groom.

Dark Brotherhood scum! For a moment he considered shouting out, but thought better of it. Delvin had been right; they didn't need a feud with the assassins. Still, it might feel good to beat the crap out of one of them. He waited until he heard the whir of the arrow slicing through the air and then another fat coin purse dropped into his hand. Sheathing his knife, he looked up to the balcony in time to see the temple door open and close. Inside the temple, he knew, the stairs going down led to a basement without many options for hiding, but the stairs going up led to the ramparts. Either the assassin was going to rappel down the wall to the cliff below, or he was going to a spot where a long, risky drop would set the bastard down inside the city where he might find an escape or hiding place.

While the crowd was still frozen in stunned silence, Brynjolf pushed his way out of the courtyard and began to run. He had spent a good deal of time in Solitude, even lived here for a few years, so he knew his way around. He got to the spot he was fairly certain was one of the two obvious escape routes. Sure enough, the assassin ran past him, nimbly avoiding Brynjolf as he made a grab for him.

"Asshole!" Brynjolf hissed and ran after him. People in the street joined in the chase as did a number of guards.

Veezara

A hail of arrows fell on anyone foolish enough to run up their stairs after him. Those who chased him would be convinced he'd been the assassin, and that was enough. He waited until it was almost too late, with the guards closing in, and then ran the opposite way Nessa had gone. If he were quick enough, he could leap to a rooftop and then drop down near a secret exit from the walled city.

An arrow hissed past his ear, giving his feet an additional spurt of speed. He approached the edge of the wall at a speed that would leave him little control. He managed to step up onto the crenel at full speed and then leap across the gap and land on the roof of the building below. His breath was knocked out of him, but he couldn't afford to idle. The guards were taking aim at him from the battlements. He got to his feet again and ran. At the edge of the building he dropped to the ground.

Blending into the shadows he carefully made his way to the hollow boulder that hid his exit. When a guard contingent ran past, he made his dash, moved the hollow boulder and plunged into the hole, pulling it back to cover the exit.

"Good luck, sister," he said quietly. He had done all he could. Hopefully she had made it away safely.

Nessa

Looking back over her shoulder, she could see the guards behind her. They were far too close for her to rappel down the wall to the cliffs. She passed the spot where she'd hidden her rope and grappling hook and headed to the spot where she could jump down. She got to the second spot and breathed a small prayer to anyone that might be listening. Dropping over the edge of the wall, she fell a long distance and landed well-enough, but a sharp pain lanced up her ankle. Damn it to Oblivion! She got to her feel quickly and tentatively took a step. It hurt, but it wasn't broken, a sprain at worst. Ignoring the pain, she ran again heading toward a tower that went up to the battlements and down to a tunnel at the bottom of the cliff. A man was in her path, one she ignored except to dodge him as he tried to grab her.

Her breath came quickly from the exertion and nerves. She turned and ran down the street that led to the tower stairs she intended to use. The man she dodged was still behind her and now guards were joining the chase. Stopping in her tracks, she saw a pair of guards standing in front of the tower. She looked back a moment, seeing her pursuers were getting too close, she made a snap decision to turn down another street. By now she was lost. The mental map she had made of the city was lost in her panic.

The guards at the tower, clearly covering this as a possible escape route, were ready with their bows. There wasn't enough time to form a complete thought, much less whisper a prayer, before the whir of an arrow ended with a thunk, nearly spinning her around with its force, as it sunk into her shoulder. In that instant she knew she would die. She didn't need to reason out that she was lost and couldn't find her way through the maze of streets and alleys, or that she'd leave a trail of blood for her pursuers to follow. If it weren't for the primal survival instinct driving her, she would just give up now and drink the potion and drive the dagger into her chest, but that plan was lost, too, in the stink of panic.

Brynjolf

Of course, the bastard was going for the tower stairs. Pretty obvious. He chuckled to himself. Good luck with that, asshole.

There were guards at the stairs just waiting for him, just as Brynjolf suspected. They trained their bows on the runner. One arrow hit its mark in the assassin's shoulder. The arrow penetrated with enough force to turn the man around. Good. That the assassin didn't fall down was remarkable. He caught himself and was up and running again. This time he turned down another street. Idiot doesn't even know where he's going. That street leads to another, and that one is a dead end.

Brynjolf, now panting and sweating, was about to leave the assassin to the guards, it would almost be enough to know that the Brotherhood bastard wasn't likely to escape and would wind up dead, or worse. Still, there was a long denied sense of vengeance that wouldn't quit nagging at him. For Nessa, he told himself. He leapt over a fence and ran down the street he knew he would enter into—the dead end. It was a shortcut and he'd get the bastard before the guards did. Long enough to make sure the fucker couldn't run away any longer. Who knows, maybe there would be a reward for apprehending him.

~o~o~o~

Veering around a corner, down another narrow alley, a hand reached out and grabbed Nessa by the back of her cowl. It pulled free of her head, but she lost her balance and fell, flat on her back. She cried out in hot agony as the ground drove the arrow even deeper into her shoulder. Her vision, already blurred from pain and blood loss, dimmed. All she could see was the angry visage of a man looking down at her as if through a hole that was growing smaller and smaller.

"Please, just kill me swiftly," she whispered. The hole closed and she slipped into unconsciousness.

"My gods," Brynjolf whispered in disbelief. "My gods." Words abandoned him for the first time as he realized he was staring into the closing eyes of his former protégé. "They said you were dead… how… Nessa?" There was no response from the unconscious girl.

The guards would be following the trail of blood to them. He had only minutes to get her to safety. It never even occurred to him that if he were found assisting her, he'd likely suffer whatever fate she did. He bent over, gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the closest house, praying that its owners were out. The door was locked, that was a good sign. He balanced her against the door and pulled a lock pick out of his pocket. It opened easily, even while he used only one hand. Staggering inside, he carefully laid Nessa down on a bed and locked the door behind him.

This was no good. They'd surely find the trail of blood leading to the door. He would have to get her out of here quickly, but he needed to stop the bleeding. He yanked open her cuirass, carefully pulling it off where he could, and cutting it where he couldn't free it without jostling the arrow. She was already looking pale from blood loss, pulling the arrow out would only make it worse, at least for a time.

A pair of bottles fell out of her cuirass as he removed it. One looked like a healing potion, the other, a rather large bottle, he didn't recognize. He emptied the pouch she had attached to her belt and found another healing potion.

"Good girl. That'll come in handy." He carefully rolled her onto her stomach and grasped the arrow close to her back. "This is going to hurt, lass. I'm sorry." His stomach knotted at the thought of hurting her further, but he knew he had to do it. He closed his eyes to gather his courage and then yanked it out as quickly as possible. She jerked, but remained unconscious. He thanked Kynareth for that small mercy. More blood welled up and began spilling down her back, soaking into the shirt she had worn under her cuirass. He cut that shirt off her to expose the wound and uncorked one of the healing potions she'd been carrying, and poured it over the wound.

The bleeding slowed enough that the makeshift bandage he made out of her shirt would keep it from dribbling onto the ground. He could get her out of here now. He put the bottles into her pouch and tied it to his own belt. This time he lifted her from the bed and carried her over his shoulder. He didn't want to risk touching her wound.

The back door out of the house led him to another alley. There was a sewer access hatch nearby. He knew the sewers of Solitude nearly as well as the ones in Riften. Once, long ago, there'd been a thriving thieves' guild under Solitude and some of the rooms were in decent enough condition they could hole up there for a time.

It was tricky climbing down the ladder carrying Nessa and navigating the slippery subterranean walkways, but eventually he found the remains of the old thieves' hideout. The one room that wasn't a complete crumbling, rat-infested mess, still had a bed that wasn't too disgusting to use. He took off his own shirt and spread it over the blankets. That would at least keep her torso from the moldering blankets.

He placed her gently on the bed, resting her on her belly. The wound was up, exposed to the air, dank as it was. When the sun went down, he'd risk leaving their hideout and finding cleaner blankets, shirts for both of them, food, water and more potions. But until then, there was nothing to do but sit beside her, wait and wonder.

Nessa… alive and an assassin. How did this come to be? He picked up her pale, cool hand and held it in his own for a moment. That feeling he had felt so long ago in the Riften marketplace, when he'd first spotted her, was back. This girl was their missing luck. It couldn't be just coincidence that he was here when she was, or that he'd found her before the guards did. He'd never admit it to Delvin. He had made too many jokes about his friend's superstition to concede that maybe the older man was right.

"The Dark Brotherhood can't have you, Nessa," he said pushing some lose locks from her face. "We spotted you first. It's high time you came back home, lass."

~o~o~o~

Notes: I've been thinking about this chapter for quite some time. It has gone through a number of permutations in my head but I've been dying to write it for quite a while. I hope I did it justice. I would love to hear your feedback.

My thanks to Xaver13, Janele, RakeeshJ4, Nightlain, KK Jace, Heiwako, Inuyashagirl2015, zevgirl, Blue Dartwing, and Biff McLaughlin. I always love to hear from readers.

I'd like to especially acknowledge Heiwako for pulling me back from the brink of making some serious plot errors. Phew!

I'd also like to thank FireBreathingSkwirls on Deviant Art for providing a gorgeous centerfold-like portrait of Brynjolf. I know you have no idea of who I am, but your work inspired me! (Pardon me while I clean the drool off my keyboard).