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Chapter Text

If I hadn’t been mauled by a sabercat yesterday, Riften would’ve looked decidedly worse. It was a city of rambling walls, rickety docks, and sullen people. But I was desperate. Desperate for a bed, an alchemist, and a bath. But first, for something to take the Daedra-cursed sting out of the cuts on my chest. Right now, Riften was a jewel. 

I’d been a fool to investigate that cabin in the woods, but I was hungry. And, if I was honest, desperate for a little human interaction. I’d been traveling Skyrim for weeks now, avoiding people on the road so I could keep as low a profile as possible. Yesterday was the first day that I started to feel like I wasn’t being watched by an angry Nordic god with a vendetta against elves. The sun was shining, the day was warm, and the soft autumn colors of the Rift lulled me into a false sense of security. The sabercat jumped me right after I lost what I ate that morning over the man stretched across his cabin doorway. And by stretched, I mean he was longer than any human being had a right to be, joints torn, ligaments loose, entrails...trailing. 

I shook my head to get the image out of my mind and immediately regretted it. The world tilted precariously. I grabbed a nearby tree to steady myself. When I got my balance back, I continued the uphill trek to Riften’s gate. Although the day was warm, I wore my coat since my tunic was ripped to shreds and currently serving as a makeshift bandage. I figured the city guards wouldn’t be keen on letting a bloody, shirtless wood-elf into Riften, even if I wasn’t in any condition to start trouble.

The two guards at the gate eyed me as I walked up, but with their helmets on, I couldn’t tell if it was with suspicion or boredom. I started to walk between them when the one on my right stepped forward. “Where do you think you’re going, little elf?” he asked. On a good day, I might have taken offence, but today wasn’t a good day. I could barely keep my feet, much less throw a punch. 

“Inside.” I gestured loosely at the gates. 

“What makes you think we’re gonna let you in?” the guard sneered. 

“A general sense of humanity, I hope,” I muttered. 

“What was that?” He took a menacing step forward.

“Nothing. Look, I’m a...hunter and I fought a saber cat yesterday. I’m injured and I need to stop here to rest and buy supplies.” I decided to just be honest. Mostly. The bow slung over my shoulder would make my story look believable at least.

“A hunter, eh?” The second guard stepped forward now, her arms crossed. “Being an elf, you might not know it, but the lands around here belong to the Jarl. Hunting off’n the Rift means you owe a tax to Jarl Law-Giver for poaching.” 

“I didn’t kill anything in the Rift other than a saber cat, and I only killed that because it was trying to kill me,” I said tiredly. 

“Well let’s just search that sack and see.” She pointed to the burlap sack hanging over my shoulder. I secretly thanked the Divines that I’d eaten the last of my “illegally” acquired meat a few days ago. 

“Fine by me.” I pulled the sack off my shoulder and handed it to the guard. She dumped it out on the ground. A few shriveled carrots and a pot tumbled out.

She looked at me for a long, slow moment. “I guess you’re telling the truth then, elf.” 

I nodded. 

The first guard spoke again. “That may be well and good, but you still can’t get into the city without paying the toll.” 

“Toll?” No one warned me about a toll. “I don’t have any gold.” Which was true. I’d spent the last of it weeks ago in Ivarstead for a warm meal and bed.

“Too bad.” The guard shrugged. “I guess you’re not getting into the city then.”

“Of all the--” I bit my tongue. This wasn’t the time for a fight. “I’ve got a bow.” I shrugged the hunter’s bow off my shoulders. “Will that get me in?”

“Give me that knife too, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

I stared down at the knife in my belt. If I gave up the knife and the bow, I wouldn’t have any weapons or tools left to my name. It had been hard enough acquiring them in the first place. But if I refused and left, I was pretty sure I’d die in the wilderness holding a bow and a knife. I sighed. I could always steal new ones. “Alright.” I handed them over. 

“Welcome to Riften, little elf.” I could hear the smile in his words as he opened the gate.

I walked into Riften feeling unprepared and exposed. I couldn’t remember a time in my life I’d walked around unarmed. Stupid Nords and their superiority. 

Riften was a mid-sized city, mostly made of wood, with a canal running through it on the lower level. I kept to myself as I walked through the streets but nobody gave me more than a second glance. Most of the citizens went about their business with their heads down and eyes averted. I felt the hair on the back of my neck go up. People in this city were afraid. But afraid of what? Or who? I tucked my head down and kept walking.

I found the inn quickly -- it was a large building in the center of town called the Bee and Barb. It would be the best place to ask for an alchemist and a place to sleep. After that, I’d concern myself with how to pay for those things. The inn sat across a wooden bridge spanning the canal. Just as I set foot on it, a woman hurried across from the other side. She wore leather armor and had dark hair pulled back in a half-braid. I tried to step out of her way, but I wasn’t fast enough. She barreled into me, shoving me out of the way with her shoulder. I hissed and pressed an arm to my stomach as I stumbled back against the bridge railing. She rounded on me like an angry tigress. 

“Watch where you’re going, boy!” she shouted, giving me an extra shove for good measure.

I gripped the rail to keep from going over. Although my body told me I was in no condition to fight, my ego said otherwise. I hadn’t been in Riften more than ten minutes and I’d been nothing but bullied. I’d had enough. “I’m sorry, your highness,” I spat back. “I didn’t see you there. Perhaps you should get a bigger entourage to let people know you’re coming.” 

The woman moved faster than a striking snake. With a snarl, she lunged forward and grabbed me. My grip on the rail was ripped free as she bodily lifted me and threw me over. I barely had time for a surprised yelp before I hit the canal below with a splash. I floundered and sank, remembering to hold my breath at the last moment.

While the canal was deep enough to break my fall, I still hit the muddy bottom. My coat soaked up water, dragging me deeper. I choked back a cry of pain and fumbled with the coat buttons, shedding the heavy garment as fast as I could. I got my feet against the bottom and made a desperate lunge for the surface. My head broke the water and I gasped in a welcome lungful of air before the pain hit me like a physical blow.

Blood rose in the water around me. I tried to strike out for the nearest dock, but my body cramped up. I managed a cry for help right before I slipped back underwater. I hit the bottom again and tried to push off, but didn’t get much force behind it. My lungs screamed for air. At the moment my body forced me to inhale, strong hands grabbed me under the arms and dragged me upward. We broke the surface in a dazzle of light and water. My rescuer hoisted me up onto a dock and then climbed out of the water beside me. I coughed water out of my lungs, while they thumped me on the back. When I got done imitating a fountain, my newfound companion spoke.  

“Are you alright, lad?” He sounded concerned.

I looked up into the face of a water-logged red-headed Nord. He wore a set of nobleman’s clothes, but they were soaked through, just like my rags. 

“I...think so,” I nodded, coughing a few more times. 

“You sure?” the Nord asked. “You’re a mite pale. Even for an elf.”

“Yeah…” I suddenly felt very light-headed. “I’m sure,” I slurred and hit the dock.

“What were you thinking, lass? You nearly killed him!” 

“How was I supposed to know he was such a light-weight?”

I was vaguely aware of two voices arguing overhead. 

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that he’s a wood-elf and you’re a Nord with at least half a foot on him? That, and you caught him off-guard.” 

“Well, that’s his fault, then. What the hell did you jump in to save him for anyway?” 

“Did you not see he was injured, lass?”

I found the initiative to crack my eyes open. I was lying on a bed in a stone room. A few feet away, a significantly drier red-headed Nord stood talking to the woman who had pushed me off the bridge. 

“No.” The woman sounded sulky. “I wasn’t trying to kill him, Brynjolf.”

“Lucky for him I pulled him out then.”

“And brought him here!” the woman hissed. “What were you thinking, putting him in the Cistern of all places?” 

“Oh, hush, lass. He doesn’t know where he is. Besides, I wasn’t about to leave the poor lad passed out on the docks.”

The woman made a harrumphing noise and crossed her arms. “Fine then. But don’t expect me to have your back when Mercer finds out.” 

“I’ll deal with Mercer. So don’t you worry your pretty little head over it.”

“Good. Because I won’t.” The woman spun on her heel and stalked out of the room. Brynjolf watched her go, arms crossed.

I took the moment to look around. I was in one corner of the stone room -- the other walls were filled with chests and wardrobes. I could hear water running nearby and the low murmur of voices. Someone had taken the time to properly bandage my chest and stomach and the bandages were clean this time. Someone had also put me into a pair of dry pants and my boots were propped at the end of the bed.

I tested my limbs one at a time, starting with my fingers and toes. When I was satisfied I was all in one piece, I sat up. The bed creaked under me and the Nord turned around. For a second, he looked startled, like he might have said too much a minute ago, but then he smiled.

“Glad to see you awake, lad. You had me a little worried there.”

“How long have I been asleep?” I asked. 

“Six or seven candle marks,” Brynjolf said. “How do you feel?” He gestured at the bandages. 

“Less dead,” I said. Six or seven candle marks meant I’d wasted my day sleeping. Better a day wasted than being dead though. “Where am I?”

“Underneath Riften. I’m Brynjolf, by the way.” He walked over and offered his hand. I shook it. 

“Brand,” I said. 

“Good name, short and simple. You’ll fit right in here.” Brynjolf chuckled. 

“Here wouldn’t happen to be the Thieves’ Guild, would it?” I ventured. I figured I didn’t have much to lose at this point. 

Brynjolf shot me a sideways glance. “Why do you want to know?” he asked. But he didn’t deny it.

“I was trying to find the Guild.” I decided to tell the truth. “I’m a thief from Valenwood and I, um, figured I might fit in here.”

Brynjolf gave me an appraising glance. “Aye, that you might, lad. But we’d have to test you first, you understand? We don’t take just anybody wanting to be a thief.” 

“So I am in the Guild!” I exclaimed. 

Brynjolf laughed. “Well, yes and no. You’re underneath Riften where the Guild makes her home, but you’re not in the Guild.” 

I fell silent for a minute, thinking about how much I didn’t belong here. Something must’ve shown on my face, because Brynjolf took a softer tone when he spoke next. 

“What brings a wood elf like you to Skyrim?” He sat on the end of the bed. 

“I got shipped out of Valenwood on a prison convoy.” It was the first time I’d said it out loud since it had happened. The words soured uncomfortably in my stomach.

Brynjolf whistled appreciatively. “You shank somebody?” he asked. 

“No.” I shook my head sharply. “I’m no murderer.” I was a thief and a liar, and a lot of other things, but a killer was not one of them.

“I hear ya, lad.”

I felt some of the fire leave me. I sighed. “I was running a small gang, taking in orphans, redistributing wealth, that sort of thing.” The words spilled out of me almost on their own accord. “Until the Justicars” (Brynjolf spat) “decided we were a threat and hunted us down. They couldn’t hand a bunch of teenage theives the death penalty, not publicly. I guess they figured shipping us here would amount to the same thing.” 

I felt a sudden pang for the friends I’d lost when the Justicars busted our gang. Gone, like blood in the sand -- cocky Byrn with his rapier tongue, quiet Trian with his inky fingers, brash Viiya with her brags that she could steal anything -- we were all that was left of the gang then. The four of us were inseparable. And the Justicars busted up in one night what took us seven years to build. 

I took a deep breath as images came to mind unbidden. Viiya’s head rolling on the ground. Byrn’s body slumping beside hers when he tried to avenge her. The ropes that cut into my wrists as Trian and I were tied, gagged, and hauled to the local jail. We’d been moved to the capital city and separated for trial after that. I never saw him again. Perhaps he convinced the Justicars that he was just the schemer, that he never actually stole anything. Maybe they let him off as a clerk somewhere. A step above poor, but better than dead. 

Who was I kidding? They probably shipped him off too, but to Skyrim, Black Marsh, or Elsweyr, how was I to know?

I felt a hand on my shoulder and the images faded and I was sitting in a cold stone room underneath Riften again. Brynjolf’s face swam into view. “The world rarely views our talents as favorable. I take it you lost some friends back in Valenwood?”

I nodded.

“Sorry.” Brynjolf sighed. “You’ll find most of us here lost someone along the way. It makes it harder to go on, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” The word sounded small, weak.

“You know, the going on’s what makes their deaths worth it. You’ve got to live for the ones you lose, else the losing isn’t worth the pain.” 

“What are you, a fountain of wisdom?” I asked, my words sharper than I intended.

Brynjolf laughed. “Let’s just say I have experience in these matters.” He didn’t offer to explain his experience and I didn’t ask. I figured we didn’t know each other well enough for that yet.

“Ah, but nevermind me.” Brynjolf shook his head. “If you want to join the Guild, we need to talk to Mercer.” 

“Mercer?” 

“Mercer Frey. Leader of the Guild. He technically doesn’t know you’re here yet, so let me go smooth his feathers, then I’ll introduce you.” 

“Is that who you were talking about with ol’ push-and-shove?” I asked. 

“Yes.” A grin tugged the corner of Brynjolf’s mouth. “And, by the way, ‘ol push-and-shove’s name is Sapphire. You’d best remember that and keep out of her way. She bites.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

Brynjolf chuckled. “In the meantime, make yourself at home.” He gestured to the room. “There ought to be some better clothes in one of these trunks. Find yourself a shirt and some dry shoes and I’ll talk to Mercer. Just do me a favor and don’t wander around till I come back for you. Deal?” Brynjolf held out a hand. 

“Deal.” I shook. I didn’t feel like wandering right now anyway. I needed some time to orient myself and test my limits. Brynjolf gave me a mock salute and left the room as I set about investigating the trunks.

Chapter Text

“What were you thinking, Brynjolf?” Mercer hissed. 

Brynjolf crossed his arms. “I was thinking I couldn’t let Sapphire murder him in cold blood.” 

“I meant what were you thinking by bringing him here?” Mercer said through clenched teeth. “Would have been bad enough if you brought him to the Flagon, but you put him in the Nines-cursed Cistern of all places!”

“He was unconscious when I brought him in, Mercer. It’s not like he could find the place again if I blindfolded him and threw him out.” 

Mercer didn’t look appeased. 

Brynjolf just shrugged. Mercer wouldn’t be happy about this either way. 

“He says he was looking for us anyway,” Brynjolf said. 

“What?” 

“He’s a thief from Valenwood. Apparently, he ran with a gang there until they got busted and he was shipped here. Someone mentioned the Guild to him. He must’ve traveled half of Skyrim to find us.” 

Mercer looked halfway impressed. He put a hand to his chin in thought. “We’ll have to test him.” 

“Naturally,” Brynjolf agreed. “But he’s got experience we can put to good use.” 

Mercer gave Brynjolf a dry look. “We don’t need thieves experienced at getting caught, Brynjolf.” 

Brynjolf rolled his eyes. “Right. Like our Guild doesn’t have it’s own fair share of that. Look, the lad was busted by Justicars, Mercer. And from what he told me, they didn’t catch him easy.”

Mercer crossed his arms. 

“You’ve been saying it yourself,” Brynjolf said. “The Guild needs help.” 

“The Guild doesn’t need help. The Guild needs Nocturnal’s favor.” 

“And maybe the lad’s the one to get that back. At least give him a test and see what he’s worth.”

Mercer stood in silence for a long moment. “Fine. I’ll give him Goldenglow.” 

“Goldenglow?” Brynjolf raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Are you sure? That’s a pretty big job, Mercer. Even our little Vex got kicked out.” 

“You want me to give the boy a chance or not?” 

Brynjolf raised his hands. “Alright, alright. I did ask, didn’t I?” 

Mercer smiled. “Besides, if he’s already got experience as you said, he shouldn’t have trouble with a simple break and enter.”

Brynjolf nodded. He couldn’t argue with Mercer’s logic. “When do you want him ready for the job?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

“He’s injured.” 

“It's not life-threatening, is it?” 

“Technically not.” 

“Then he can do it tomorrow -”

“Give him a day,” Brynjolf interrupted. 

Mercer glared at him. Brynjolf crossed his arms and stared back calmly. 

“Fine. He can have one day. Then he’s out in Honich Lake whether he’s ready or not. I need that intel on Goldenglow as soon as we can get it. You want him in the Guild, I want information, we both win. If he comes back from the estate in one piece with what I ask him to get, then he’s in. If he dies or fails, then he’s out and you’ll be getting me that intel.”  

When Brynjolf came back, I was dressed better than I'd been in years. I'd found a green belted tunic and a pair of soft leather boots. I’d even found a chipped mirror, a comb, and some horker fat and combed my mohawk back in place. I looked halfway respectable now.

“You look like a new man,” Brynjolf said when he came back into the room. 

“Thanks.” I smiled. “I feel like a new man. You wouldn’t happen to have anything to eat, would you?” 

Brynjolf laughed. “I might, lad. But first, you need to meet Mercer. He’s right pissed I’ve brought you here, but don’t take it personal. Mercer’s always pissed.”

“Great,” I muttered. 

“Aw, keep your chin up. Between you and me, the Guild could use another set of hands. I don’t think Mercer’s going to turn you down. But he is going to give you a test. And I’d suggest you take it if you want in on the Guild.” 

I nodded. “Alright, sure. I’ll take any job he wants to throw at me.” 

I caught the flash of a frown as Brynjolf motioned for me to follow him. A frown for me? Or for Mercer?

We left the room and walked down a short, curved hallway into a larger, underground cavern. The cavern was circular, with a couple of waterfalls pouring down the walls to pool in a large cistern in the middle of the room. Beds, shelves, tables, trunks, and training equipment were placed around the edge of the room, on a wide ledge that circled the cistern. Four stone bridges ran from the sides of the room to a middle platform that sat over the cistern, providing a dry walkway from one side of the room to the other. Men and women of various races filled the room, some sleeping, some training, others talking or reading books. They all wore leather armor of similar make with leather hoods and various belts and pouches. Most of them were small figures, well suited to running and sneaking. Brynjolf was one of the biggest men in the room. By comparison, I was the smallest, owing to my age and wood-elf blood. 

Brynjolf led me across the bridges to a desk and set of shelves near one of the waterfalls. A Breton man with grey hair leaned over the desk, looking at a map spread out in front of him. Brynjolf walked me up to the desk and stopped, clearing his throat. The man, Mercer, I assumed, didn’t look up. I could hear murmurs run around the room as the men and women realized they had a guest in the cistern. Mercer let us stand there for a good two minutes before he acknowledged us. 

“Oh, Brynjolf, I didn’t see you there,” he said. 

I frowned. There was no way Mercer didn’t see us. Brynjolf crossed his arms but didn’t say anything.

“This must be our new recruit, huh?” Mercer looked down his nose at me, like he was looking at something particularly nasty. 

I stood a little straighter. 

“This is him.” Brynjolf put a hand on my shoulder. “Mercer, Brand, Brand, Mercer.” He gestured to each of us in turn. 

Mercer crossed his arms and made a noise of disapproval. “You know how to steal, boy?”

“I’ve been doing it since I was six.” It wasn’t a brag. 

“Can you break and enter?” 

“Sure.”

“Pickpocket?” 

“Yes.”

“Pick locks?” 

“Most of them.” 

“Are you willing to live a life of shadow and darkness, shunned by the law and dead to the world?” Mercer asked. 

“Sounds like my life so far.” I tried not to grin too widely, but Mercer seemed pleased with my answer, a spark of challenge in his eye. 

“Have you been caught before?” Mercer asked. 

“Only by Justicars. After three months running.” 

Mercer seemed somewhat impressed. They had Justicars in Skyrim too, though not as many as in Valenwood, but even in Skyrim, they had a reputation for swift and unmerciful retribution. 

“You might do, then, boy.” Mercer’s frown was back. “I’ve got a job for you.” Mercer gestured to the map on the desk. “This is Goldenglow Estate. Owned by a thrifty elf named Aringoth. You probably saw it on your way into Riften.” 

“The one in the middle of the lake, right?” I bent stiffly to look at the map. 

“Yes.” Mercer nodded. “We work closely with Maven Black-Briar, a wealthy member of Riften’s nobility. Goldenglow provides the honey that goes into Maven’s Black-Briar Reserve, which she makes at the Black-Briar Meadery. However, Aringoth got too big for his britches and decided to sell his honey to another buyer who evidently pays better than Maven. Maven doesn’t like that. And that means, neither do we. Follow me so far?” 

“Uh, sort of. Why are we --”

“No questions,” Mercer cut me off with a scowl. “I didn’t finish.” 

I fell silent. Brynjolf gave me a warning look out of the corner of his eye.   

“What Maven wants us to do is send a message to Goldenglow. We need to let them know that crossing Maven is a bad idea, no matter how much their other buyer is paying. I want you to sneak onto the estate and burn three of their beehives. That should get Aringoth’s attention. Oh, and I also want you to clean out his safe.” 

“That should be easy enough.” I studied the map on the table. It didn’t look like the house or the beehives would be hard to get to and I could use the distraction of the fire to slip away. 

Mercer shared a look with Brynjolf.

“That’s what we thought, too,” Brynjolf said quietly. 

I looked back up at Mercer. 

“There are a few more things you should know, boy,” Mercer said, and his smile was downright wolfish. “See, we’ve already tried to break into the estate. Sent our best sneak, too. But she found out that Aringoth’s hired himself a private mercenary army. He was expecting us and they nearly killed our sneak. She made it back alive, but our message wasn’t sent. So we’re sending you in to finish the job.” 

“You’re going to send a rookie in to finish what your sneak couldn’t?” 

“If any of your assertions are true, you’re not a rookie.” Mercer looked me straight in the eye. I met his gaze. “If you pull this off, then you prove yourself worth keeping. If not...” Mercer shrugged. “No skin off my back.” 

“You’d trust me with this?” 

“I don’t trust you any farther than I can throw you, elf,” Mercer said, cold-stone eyes cutting into me. I fought the urge to look away. Mercer’s gaze felt like it could look straight at my soul and I wanted to hide. It wasn’t natural for a thief to stand this much scrutiny, but I forced myself not to look away. 

He chuckled. “You’ve got a backbone. I like it. Let’s just hope Aringoth doesn’t break it.”

I opened my mouth to deliver a witty retort, but Brynjolf put a hand on my shoulder and shook his head. “We’re not trying to kill you, lad. Mercer makes it sound worse than it is.” 

Brynjolf glared at the Guild leader. 

Mercer shrugged. “I’m being realistic. This isn’t a charity, boy. It’s a Guild. You want in, you work for it. You want to stay, you do your part. I’m not going to make things sound pretty just so you feel better. Being a thief isn’t a pretty life. Especially not right now. So, are you in or not?” 

I gave myself a second to consider. I didn’t like Mercer, but Brynjolf seemed like a decent fellow. I also didn’t have much of a choice. The Guild was at least willing to provide me with supplies and clothes. I had no coin to my name, no weapons, and nothing beyond the Guild to build a life on. If I said no, I’d be throwing myself at the mercy of Skyrim. If I said yes, the worst that could happen -- well, the worst that could happen was that I’d get killed on this mission. But if I died, then I guess making a life for myself wasn’t a problem anymore. If I succeeded, then I’d have a foothold here in Skyrim.

“I’m in,” I said.

“Good.” Mercer’s wolfish smile returned. “Then we won’t waste any time. Brynjolf will give you your equipment and I’ll give you the rest of tonight and tomorrow to prepare. I expect you into that estate at first light on Middas. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” I tossed Mercer a lazy salute. 

He narrowed his eyes as if he couldn’t decide if I meant it to mock him or not, but he let it go. 

“Now, get him out of my hair, Brynjolf. I’ve got Guild business to attend to.”

“Certainly.” Brynjolf sounded displeased. “C’mon, lad, let’s get you something to eat.” He walked away and I followed silently.

Brynjolf led me out of the Cistern into an underground bar that sat atop another pool of water draining out of Riften’s canals. This area was rougher than the lofty Cistern, with a low bar across one side of the room and tables and chairs scattered in front of it. A wooden dock hung out over the water, extending the bar area and I saw more people out here dressed in leather armor. 

They all gave me curious looks as I followed Brynjolf to the bar. 

“Who’s the kid, Brynjolf?” asked the man behind the counter. He wore an apron over his dark clothes and was polishing a glass with a rag. 

“New recruit.” Brynjolf straddled one of the stools at the bar. “Vekel, meet Brand.” 

Vekel gave me a long hard look as I took a seat beside Brynjolf. “You don’t look like much, boy,” he finally said. “But I guess you’ll do.” 

“That means he likes you.” Brynjolf leaned over and stage-whispered in my ear. I saw Vekel hide a smile as he bent down and put the glass away under the counter. 

“I take it you want me to feed him?” Vekel asked as he came back up. “He looks like he hasn’t had a decent meal in his life.” 

“He hasn’t,” I interjected.

“Oho, he speaks!” Vekel laughed. 

“He does.” I grinned.

“And does he have a preference in food?” 

“Oh, I’ll eat anything.” My mouth watered and my stomach chose that exact moment to growl. 

“You’d better hurry with that food, Vekel,” Brynjolf laughed. “After all, we can’t have the lad pass out from starvation before his test.”

“Mercer’s already given him a test, eh?” A low voice asked from a table to our right.

Another Breton in black leather armor with a thick accent got up and walked over to the bar. 

“Delvin!” Brynjolf greeted him heartily. “Meet Brand, our inside man on Goldenglow.” 

Delvin raised his eyebrows as he stuck out a hand towards me. I reached out and shook. “Goldenglow, eh? Now that’s a job.” He whistled in appreciation. “Either Mercer thinks you have talent or he’s trying to get you killed.” 

“Probably both.” I shrugged. Delvin cracked a smile and Brynjolf laughed. 

“Just don’t let him hear you say that, lad,” Brynjolf said. 

Just then Vekel laid a bowl of soup and a hot chunk of bread on the counter in front of me. I tore into the bread like a starving dog.

“Don’t choke yourself before your first mission either,” Delvin warned.

I slowed down a little. In short order the bread and soup were gone and Vekel produced a sweet roll from somewhere behind his counter as well. I ate that in three quick bites. Brynjolf chuckled. “You’re going to keep Vekel busy trying to feed an appetite like that.” 

“Well,” I said, washing the sweet roll down with the mead Vekel gave me. “It sure beats moldy carrots and week-old cabbages.”

Delvin made a face. “If that’s what you’ve been eating lately, then it’s no wonder you’re as thin as a rail.” 

I shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly prepared for Skyrim.” 

“Where’d you come from?” Vekel asked. 

“Valenwood.” I shifted on my stool, feeling curious eyes suddenly on me.

“And you came to Skyrim?” Delvin asked. 

“Let’s just say I didn’t have a choice.” 

“Ah.” Vekel shared a knowing nod with Delvin. “A prison caravan then.” 

I raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, don’t think we don’t know about it,” Vekel said. “Valenwood’s always dropped her least desirable citizens over our border. How they ship them through Cyrodiil without making a stir surprises me, but we’ve met more than one of your kind here.” 

“Well it’s not like I asked to get shipped here.” I sounded more defensive than I would’ve liked. 

“Oh, look at him, you’ve flustered him, boys,” a female voice said from behind us. 

I turned to face a tall Imperial with white hair and flashing dark eyes. Her pale skin almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the flagon. The scathing retort I’d been prepared to deliver died as the woman chuckled. 

“My name’s Vex. You must be the new blood,” she held out a hand, running a tongue over stark white teeth and pale lips. 

“Brand.” I shook her hand. 

She inserted herself on my right, between me and Delvin. 

“You’re a right pretty one.” She grinned. “Young, too.” She leaned toward me. 

I leaned back and bumped into Brynjolf.

“Oh, come off it, Vex,” Brynjolf reached over my shoulder and gave her a playful shove. “You’d best go back to being a regular old viper about it. You can’t fool us into thinking you actually like the boy. Besides, he’s young enough to be your son.” 

Vex gave Brynjolf a sharp frown. “How do you know that’s not what I like?” she asked. 

“‘Cause you don’t like no one, sweetheart,” Delvin said. 

Vekel laughed as Vex scowled and backed up, taking a seat on the bar a little ways down from Brynjolf. “The usual, Vekel,” she said. 

Vekel poured her a drink without even looking and handed it to her. 

“So, new blood, I hear Mercer gave you Goldenglow,” Vex said. 

“Yeah. What of it?” I asked. 

“You’re gonna want to talk to me before you go.” She took a sip from her tankard and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, a smile dancing in her eyes again. “I’m the one who nearly got my ass handed to me on a platter the first time we tried the Goldenglow job.” 

“You’re not ashamed of that?” I asked. Half curious, half to needle her. 

The smile became a grin, exposing sharp canines. “Naw. I’m no warrior,” she said. “And what was waiting for me on the other side was a Divines-damned army. There’s no shame in backing out to save your own skin. But if you think you’re going in cold and getting this job done without a hitch, you’re a bigger fool than you look.” She tipped her head back and laughed. “I hear you’ve got a day. Find me before you go. I’ll be around.” 

Then she drained the rest of her tankard, slammed it down on the bar, and slunk off.

“Don’t worry about Vex,” Delvin said as he watched her disappear into the Cistern. “She’s just mad that a rookie got her job. She’ll come around though. Specially if you don’t die at Goldenglow.”  

“Right. Thanks.” I buried myself in my tankard which Vekel topped off while I wasn’t looking.

Chapter Text

“So that’s Goldenglow, huh?” I adjusted the gauntlet of my new set of leather thieves’ armor. Surprisingly, it fit me well and I liked all the pockets and pouches sewn into it. 

Brynjolf and I stood on the Riften docks early Middas morning, looking out over Honich Lake to the private island. There was only one entrance to the island, a bridge connecting to the road outside Riften. I’d passed it on my way into the City two days ago. We could see men patrolling the bridge, even from here. 

“That’s Goldenglow.” Brynjolf nodded. “Only one official way in and out, no cover in any direction unless you approach from underwater, and a private militia guarding the place. You sure you’re up to this, lad?” 

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” The way Mercer phrased it to me was do this and die or get kicked out on the streets and die. He didn’t seem thrilled with my chances of survival. 

Brynjolf shrugged. “You’ve always got a choice,” he said quietly. “Some are just more desirable than others.” 

I laced my fingers together and cracked my knuckles. “Aye, but I’ve pulled off worse jobs than this back in Valenwood. I can do a simple break and enter.”

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow at me. 

“Ask me about it sometime. I’m sure you saw the scars.” He would have if he was the one who bandaged me the other day. 

From his wince, I gathered he was. “You’ll be a pretty sight when those saber cat claw marks scar over, lad.”

“Makes me look tough.” I winked.

Brynjolf chuckled. “Alright, enough small talk. Mercer wants this job done quick. You ready?” Brynjolf pulled two potions of waterbreathing out of a pouch at his belt and handed them to me. I stowed one in a pouch on my belt and uncorked the other.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” 

“Right then. You’ve got a simple fire spell, right?” 

I gave Brynjolf a long-suffering look. “I’m an elf, Brynjolf. I wouldn’t be worth my own pointy ears if I didn’t know a simple fire spell.”  

Brynjolf gave me a playful shove. “Well, since you’re so prepared then, you better get to it, lad.” 

I gave Brynjolf a mock glare and downed the potion. Then I tossed the empty bottle back at him and slipped into the water.

“Azura, that’s cold,” I hissed. 

“You good?” Brynjolf asked from the pier above me. I treaded water for a few moments, testing myself. If I moved too quick, I risked opening my cuts, but we both knew Mercer wasn’t willing to wait for me to heal. I looked back up at Brynjolf, gave him a thumbs up, and slipped underwater.

There was a brief moment of panic as I took my first breath. Despite the fact that I’d used potions of water breathing before, the sensation of water filling my nose still made me want to gag. I fought back the urge and struck out for the island. 

To my surprise, I made it across with only a slight hitch in my side. When I pulled myself up onto the bank behind the manor house, I hadn’t even split open any of my cuts. I kept my head low and climbed up onto the island proper. If Vex’s instructions were accurate, there was a sewer entrance on this side of the island that led to the house. And a mercenary army. I scanned the area, but I didn’t see any sign of the army yet, just a lone man standing guard by the back door. I did, however, find the sewer -- a low stone circle with a wooden cover. I dropped inside, pausing at the bottom to listen, but there was no sound in the tunnel other than the quick intake of my breath and the steady trickle of water. It was dark, but there were maintenance torches set in brackets along the walls, so I ignited a fire spell in my left hand and lit the nearest torch. I pulled it out of its bracket and headed into the sewer.

Although I half expected to meet the army down here, I met nothing but a couple of skeevers. I made quick work of them with my elven dagger (also a gift from the Guild) and soon found myself standing at the bottom of a ladder with a trap door at the top. I snuffed my torch and climbed the ladder, waiting at the top until my eyes adjusted. I heard nothing above me, so I pushed the door up and slipped into the basement of Aringoth’s estate. So far, I was doing as well as Vex. I left the trap door open in case I needed a quick escape. It might ruin our chances of using the sewer as an entry point again, but I figured that was a small price to pay for escaping with my life. 

Vex told me that the safe was down here in the basement, but the key was upstairs with Aringoth. She’d made it into the house, but was caught before she could filch the key. I located the safe and, true to Vex’s word, it was locked. Given the time, I could pick it, but it would be quicker if I could just find the key. According to Mercer’s map, the house was two stories, with only one staircase, and the stairs were right outside the basement. As long as I could get to Aringoth’s room without being seen, I should be fine. I slithered over to the stairs and headed up.

As I reached the top, I heard the tell-tale creak of a footstep on wooden floorboards. I whipped back below floor level, hunkering close to the wall, hand pressed across my stomach as my still-healing wounds protested. Footsteps creaked across the boards above, accompanied by muttering. 

“I’ll kill him, I will. How dare he cheat me at cards. Just wait till he’s not looking…”

A heavily armored man walked by the top of the staircase and turned down a nearby hall. I breathed a sigh of relief as he passed me without a second glance and moved out of sight. I snuck back up the stairs, poking my head above floor level, but there was no one else in sight. I quickly moved up the next staircase to the second floor. Upstairs it was mostly hallways and bedrooms. Aringoth’s room was at the end of the hall. The door was open, so I slid down the hall and peeked inside. 

A high elf in nobleman’s robes sat at a writing desk with his back to the door, scribbling on a piece of parchment with a quill pen. Aringoth. Had to be. I scanned the room and noticed a small key hanging off the man’s belt, tied by a length of string. The safe key. I grinned. This was the sort of work I was good at. I crouched low and crept toward him, careful to avoid any boards that might creak. I got right up behind Aringoth without him noticing, then slipped my knife through the length of string and sliced it, catching the key in my outstretched hand. Aringoth continued scratching away at his parchment. I turned and was about to leave the room when I heard someone coming down the hall. If they walked in here, I was dead. 

I looked around. The only thing that presented a good hiding spot was the bed. I rolled under it right before a mercenary walked into the room. 

“Aringoth.” I could see the mercenary’s boots from under the bed. They stopped behind Aringoth’s chair.

“How go the rounds, Tsun?” the elf asked, the scratching of his quill pausing. 

“Nothing amiss, sir. Seems those thieves are too scared to try again.” 

Too scared, huh? 

“Oh, I have no doubt they’ll be back,” Aringoth said. “Stay on your guard. They’ll send another.” 

Tsun laughed. “I’d like to see ‘em try. I’ve got double the guard posted around the island today. The patrols are tight. There ain’t no one sneaking through.” 

“All the same,” Aringoth said. “Keep an extra eye out for me.”

I heard the shift of Tsun’s armor and then his boots disappeared from sight as his footsteps left the room.

I lay under the bed for several minutes, giving Tsun time to leave and Aringoth time to settle back to writing. When I heard the steady scratch of the quill on paper again, I slipped out from under the bed and out of the room like a shadow. I made it back to the basement and down to the safe. I unlocked it and paused. 

There was nothing in the safe but a stack of papers and a handful of gold coins. I rifled through the papers, but it was nothing but a bunch of personal correspondence. Mercer wanted me to steal Aringoth’s letters? 

What the hell. I swept the stack of papers into the waterproof pouch Brynjolf gave me and pocketed the coins. Then I closed the safe, but left the key sticking out of the lock. It wouldn’t be immediately noticed, but it would give Aringoth a good scare when he saw it. Then I was back through the sewers and out on the island again. 

Time to burn those beehives. 

Like Tsun mentioned, the guard outside the house was thicker, men posted at intervals around the island. I waited behind a low stone wall and watched the patrols. There were two guards making rounds by the beehives, which were on a little patch of land by themselves, accessible by a wooden bridge. Another man patrolled the bridge and about a dozen others walked the island. That made about fifteen guards that I could see and undoubtedly more that I couldn’t. Most of them were alert, patrolling with heads up, eyes open. So much for an easy job. And now, if they caught me, I had incriminating evidence on me. I sighed. My best bet would be to walk the outside of the wall, climb over, burn the hives and slip back over before anyone noticed. If I timed it right, I figured I could hit three hives while the guards' backs were turned and use the smoke and confusion to get away. 

I set out around the edge of the island, crouched low. The wall varied in height -- sometimes it was no higher than my knee and I had to lay down and crawl. Other times, it was shoulder height and I could crouch and walk. Up by the beehives, it was taller and I could almost stand full height behind it. I peeked over the top cautiously, watching the guards pass by each other in front of the hives.

There was a split second where the man on the bridge was facing away and the guards at the hives both had their backs turned. A split second was all I needed. I let the guards make one more pass, then vaulted the wall, fire crackling in my palm. I hit the grass with a soft thump and lit up three of the beehives with a swipe of my hand. They caught quick, thatch roofs burning. 

“Fire!” The shout went up and a bell began ringing. I heard running footsteps as guards flocked to the hives.

I grinned. My job here was done. I jumped back to the top of the wall.

“Thief! Thief on the wall!” 

An arrow skittered across the top of the wall by my foot. I jumped back instinctively and lost my balance, toppling off the wall and into the grass behind the hives again. I coughed as the breath was forced out of me.

Damn it! I staggered to my feet, gasping a lungful of air. A figure came at me through the smoke and I jumped back just in time to dodge the swing of a guard’s sword.

I ducked low and slithered between two of the bee hives. Everything was smoke and fire and confusion as I dodged swords and boots and then I was out of the smoke and sprinting like my life depended on it (because it did) down the other side of the hill. 

“He’s over there!” someone shouted. 

I cursed again and veered toward the wall surrounding the island. I wasn’t armed to fight a mercenary army! I needed to get to the water. I pulled the second potion of waterbreathing out of my belt pouch. A guard sprinted toward me on my left. The wall was about ten feet in front of me. I looked back at the guard. I’d make it before he got to me. I chugged the potion and tossed the bottle as I sprinted uphill to the wall. 

“Shoot him!” The shout came from behind me. 

Could this get any worse?

I hit the wall at a run, vaulting up to the top just as an arrow slammed into the back of my right shoulder. I shouted as the impact threw me forward and I toppled off the wall on the other side. I tumbled down the rocky side of the island then rolled off the edge and hit empty air for a few seconds before crashing into the lake with a splash. Silver trails whipped through the water as archers continued to shoot at me. I swam deeper, farther out into the lake, my shoulder screaming as I forced it to move. Soon, I was out of range, though arrows continued to hiss through the water behind me. I paused underwater and took a moment to gather my wits. Besides the arrow in my shoulder, I seemed to be intact. With a groan, I swam towards the docks.

I didn't surface until I came up under the dock and looked back at Goldenglow. Smoke rose lazily into the morning air and I could hear faint shouts and see figures running around the island. I allowed myself a small smile.

Then I turned back to the dock. It was about a foot out of my reach from the water. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be a problem, but when I jumped out of the water and grabbed the dock, my shoulder protested and I dropped back, clinging to the dock with my left hand. There weren’t any stairs nearby and I wasn’t sure I could make it if I had to swim further. I looked up, searching for a dockhand, a rope, anything. My eyes fell on a familiar red-headed Nord, watching the chaos on the island with crossed arms.

“Brynjolf!” 

Brynjolf looked over with an expression of relief on his face. 

“A little help?” I tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a groan.

Brynjolf came clattering down the dock, relief turned to concern. “Hey, lad, easy, easy,” he said, eyes wide as he took in the arrow in my shoulder. I tried to pull myself out of the water and failed again. “Here.” Brynjolf reached down and grabbed onto my left arm and the back of my cuirass and hauled me up onto the dock. I flopped onto my side, coughing and shivering, but grinning like a lunatic. 

“Did you see the smoke?” I asked. 

“Brand.” Brynjolf tried to keep a straight face and failed. “Do you see the arrow sticking out of your shoulder?” 

I looked up as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh, that?” My head fell back against the dock. “Yeah, I saw it.” I closed my eyes. “But, here.” I grabbed the waterproof pouch off my belt and held it out. “I got this.” 

“By the Nine,” Brynjolf murmured. “You really did it.”

“Yeah. Now get me something hot to drink.” 

“Hell, kid.” Brynjolf hauled me to unsteady feet. “I’ll buy you the entire Black-Briar Meadery after that job.” 

“Liar.” I opened my eyes and tried, unsuccessfully, to keep my balance. Only Brynjolf’s hand at my elbow kept me upright. The world spun at a dizzying pace. “Brynjolf?” 

“Yeah, lad?” 

“I’m gonna need a healer.” 

“Naturally,” Brynjolf agreed as he half-dragged me towards the Temple of Mara. But instead of going into the Temple, we walked around behind it and entered the graveyard. 

“Hey, I’m not that bad off! I don’t need a gr--” 

Brynjolf shushed me and led me into a mausoleum standing at the edge of the graveyard. With a quick look over his shoulder to make sure the lone priest of Talos was suitably occupied with her prayers, he reached out and pressed a button on the stone coffin. The coffin slid back, revealing a set of stone steps. Brynjolf led me downstairs, then pulled a chain that caused the coffin to slide back into place. 

“Where…?” I started to ask. 

Brynjolf pulled open a door in front of us and walked me into the Cistern. “Welcome home, lad.”

“You idiot, I’ve got to pull that out of your shoulder!” Tonilia, the Guild fence, who also doubled as a healer, shouted at me. I hunkered down on a crate on the Ragged Flagon dock and nodded.

“Yup,” I agreed.

“You’ll bleed out if you don’t treat that.” 

“Yup.” 

“What are you, deaf?” 

“I wish.” I grimaced, rubbing the ear she just shouted into. The creepy high elf on the other side of the dock watched us with a grin, like we were a little drama unfolding just for her. I glared at her, but she kept watching.

“Then why won’t you let me pull it out?” Tonilia put her hands on her hips. 

“I already told you.” My gaze flicked back to Tonilia. “I want to talk to Mercer first.” 

“He’s not going to be impressed.” Tonilia crossed her arms.

“I’m not trying to impress him.” I shrugged and instantly regretted it. 

“See? Arrow,” Tonilia snapped. 

“I know, I know.” I grit my teeth as the pain subsided. “Arrow.” 

“So, if you’re not impressing Mercer,” Tonilia moved to my right side. “Then why are you walking up to him with an arrow in your shoulder?” 

“For effect.” 

“So, you want to impress him,” she said dryly. 

“No...I want to -- AAAAHHHHH!” I yelped as Tonilia yanked the arrow out of my shoulder without warning. I bit my lip and slumped over against the crates beside me. “Damn it,” I gasped when I had enough breath to talk.

“Here,” Tonilia thrust the arrow into my hand, even as she went to work on the buckles and straps on my leather armor. “Keep it as a trophy or something. Tell Mercer where it came from when you give him your report.” 

“By the Eight,” I hissed as Tonilia pulled my armor off. 

“Not a Talos worshipper, huh?” she asked conversationally. She pulled out a dagger and slit the seams of my shirt so she could pull it off without making me raise my arm. I tried to ignore how much of the material was covered in blood. 

“Why would I -- ow! -- worship Talos?” I hissed. “I’m an elf.” 

“You believe that bloody Thalmor nonsense, then?” Tonilia pulled the last of my shirt away. 

“Ahh! No.” 

“Not much for politics?” the fence asked. She was talking to distract me, but I was glad of it.  

She unwound the water and blood-soaked bandages on my torso. 

“Never found them of much use,” I admitted. 

“Nobles, priests, jarls, they’re all the same, yeah? All that arguing for what? To get honest folk like us killed.”

“Heh, honest. Gods, that hurts.” I squeezed my eyes shut as Tonilia probed the wound on my shoulder. 

“That’s kind of what happens when you get shot with an arrow.” I could hear the laugh in her voice. “Wound looks clean though, so you should be fine. I’ll just put this here,” she said off-handedly right before rubbing some sort of paste into my wound. 

I grit my teeth to keep from cursing her six ways to Sundas. She finished and moved on to the saber cat claw marks on my chest. “These look ok,” she said. “You split one again, but the others are healing up.” 

“Great,” I muttered. 

And then her warm fingers were on my chest with more of the thrice-cursed paste. 

“I know it stings,” she said softly. “But this’ll keep infection from setting in. Worst way to go, in my opinion.” 

I opened my eyes as the High Elf chuckled. Tonilia had a point though. Infection was about the worst way to die -- a slow, painful march right into the Reaper’s arms. One I wasn’t keen on taking anytime soon. Tonilia finished up, then wrapped fresh bandages around my torso and shoulder and handed me a small red bottle.

“Drink up.” 

I uncorked the healing potion and drank, wincing at the taste. 

Tonilia laughed as she took the empty bottle back. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a healing potion before?” 

“I’ve had plenty. They still make me want to puke every time.” I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. 

“Mm, well, when they invent a better tasting one, I’ll let you know.” Tonilia chuckled and cleaned up her supplies. 

I didn’t immediately get up when she finished. 

“I thought you were in a hurry to go see Mercer?” 

I looked up at her. “Mercer can wait.”

She laughed. “Fickle elf.” Then she turned and rummaged in a nearby crate, pulling out a rust-brown tunic. “Here.” She tossed it at me. “You should look at least a little presentable when you talk to him.” 

“Thanks,” I muttered. I pulled the tunic over my head. Although it was too big, I couldn’t complain -- the fabric was well-made and soft and the tunic was clean. I might look like a kid trying to wear his dad’s shirt, but right now I really didn’t care. If Mercer wasn’t impressed with my skill at Goldenglow, Tonilia was right. What I was wearing (or whether or not I had an arrow in my shoulder) wouldn’t change his opinion. 

I stood up, still holding the arrow Tonilia pulled out of me. Might as well keep it as a souvenir. Brynjolf had already taken the papers to present to Mercer while I got patched up. It was about time I made an appearance. I didn’t want to make it look like I was avoiding the Guild leader. 

I headed down the dock towards the Cistern. 

“Hey, elf!” Tonilia called after me. 

I turned and looked back up at her. 

“Come back in a day or two and I’ll have your armor as good as new.” She winked at me and went back to her seat among the crates. 

“Yes, ma’am,” I drawled as I turned and walked through the Flagon and into the Cistern. 

I found Mercer and Brynjolf at Mercer’s desk, heads together, pouring over the papers I’d snitched from the Goldenglow safe. I walked up and waited by the desk for them to acknowledge me. 

“This symbol...it looks familiar.” Mercer tapped a page on the desk. 

He turned suddenly. 

“Boy! Do you know this symbol?” Mercer thrust the paper under my nose. 

I crossed my eyes in an attempt to see it before pushing it out of my face. The symbol Mercer referred to was at the top of the page and looked like a dagger with a black circle behind it. 

“No.” I’d never seen it anywhere before. 

“Useless elf,” he grumbled. 

“Hey! I’m the one who got you that paper in the first place.”

Brynjolf cast me a look, but didn’t say anything.

“What? Were you expecting an accolade?” Mercer sneered. 

“A little thanks might be nice!” I dropped the arrow on his desk. 

“What’s that?” 

“A souvenir. Tonilia just pulled it out of my shoulder.” 

“You want me to feel sorry for you?” 

“No. I want you to know what I went through to get your damn paper.” 

Mercer turned faster than I could blink and hauled me halfway across the desk by the collar. We were only a few inches apart. “You know who cares, kid? No one. I told you before. This is a Guild, not a charity. You’re still alive, so I don’t care what you went through to get me this paper. I’ve got bigger problems than a wood-elf with an arrow stuck in him. You wanna cry, go find someone who cares.” Mercer shoved me back. I hit the floor and lost my balance, toppling back on the stones with a wince. 

“Mercer. That’s enough,” Brynjolf growled. 

I propped myself up on my elbows, gritting my teeth against the fresh pain in my shoulder.

Mercer stood watching me with crossed arms. 

“Don’t champion him, Brynjolf. He has to stand on his own two feet when he runs with this Guild.” 

“So, you admit I'm in then?” I asked from the floor. 

Mercer grinned that hungry-wolf grin. “You’re in.” 

Chapter Text

“Looks like you caught the eye of some important people, lad,” Brynjolf said. We were sitting in the Flagon about a week later, tankards of mead in front of us. “Maven Black-Briar herself wants to see you.” 

“Black-Briar, huh?” I took a sip of my mead. “Who is she, Brynjolf? I mean, really.” 

“You mean other than the Guild’s patron?” Brynjolf leaned forward and lowered his voice. 

“Yeah. Other than that.” 

“She’s the richest woman in Riften.” 

“Richer than the Jarl?” 

“Probably.” Brynjolf shrugged. “Maven’s got a head for business and a nose for climbing the social ladder. She’s ruthless, cunning and treacherous. She’s in with the Temple, the Jarl, and the guards. She’s also rumored to have a hand in the Black Brotherhood. Those who oppose Maven wind up in jail. Or dead.” 

“Huh.” I took another sip of my mead. “So, why do we listen to her?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, she sounds like a royal ass. Why are we tied to some noblewoman? Shouldn’t we be stealing her coin instead of paying her dues?” 

Brynjolf shifted in his chair and looked around. Besides Vekel, Tonilia, and Dirge, we were the only ones in the Flagon. Well, other than the creepy high elf out on the dock, but she didn’t seem to ever get involved in Guild business. Brynjolf lowered his voice till he was almost whispering. 

“Did you hear what I said, lad? We oppose her, we wind up dead.” 

“Or in jail.”

“Nevermind that. We need her coin right now. Mercer won’t tell you, but the Guild’s in a bad way. We lost a lot of our pull here in Skyrim. Call it luck or fate, but Nocturnal isn’t smiling on us. Then Maven showed up, offering her coin and patronage. We weren’t exactly in a position to turn her down.”

“And now that you said yes, you can’t turn around and cut ties with her, either,” I guessed. 

“You got it. Besides, it’s not bad having her influence in this city.” 

“Yeah, but doesn’t it grate?” I asked. Perhaps it was a personal problem, but if I ran a Guild, I wouldn’t want to be subject to some noble -- deep pockets or no. 

Brynjolf sighed. “Look, I’m not the one leading the Guild, lad. We’re talking decisions above my paygrade. All I know is, Mercer says Maven wants to talk to you. So you’d better go talk to her. And you’d best keep your attitude under wraps when you do.” 

In my short run with the Guild, I’d never seen Brynjolf look this serious about anything. I nodded and drained my tankard. 

Maven was waiting for me at the Bee and Barb. I was told to put on something more presentable than my two-sizes-too-big tunic to talk to her, but I wore it anyway. Maybe to spite her. If Maven didn’t like it, she’d just have to deal with it. 

I walked into the Bee and Barb and got a cheery hello from Keerava. She’d come to know my face in the last week as I popped in and out of the inn for news and a drink. While Vekel stocked the Flagon well, I wasn’t used to spending all my time underground. Plus, I liked to keep an ear on the rumors that only a good innkeep would know and since I wasn’t known in town for having Guild ties yet, I was a good point man for the Guild. 

“You’re here early today, Brand,” Keerava said as I walked up to the bar. “What can I get for you? A Cliffracer? Or a Velvet LeChance, perhaps?” 

“No, thanks, Keerava.” I smiled. “I’m supposed to meet Maven Black-Briar?” I looked around, but didn’t see anybody I’d classify as Maven. There was Mjoll the Lioness and her friend Aerin in one corner; the mage-for-hire, Marcurio, on his customary bench; and old man Vulwulf, patriarch of the Snow-Shods. I could hear Talon-Jei talking with someone in the storeroom, but otherwise, the tavern was empty. 

Keerava gave me a strange look -- one that might have been concern on a human, but it was harder to tell on an Argonian. “Lady Black-Briar is upstairs,” she said hesitantly.

“Right. Thanks.” I paused on my way to the stairs. “On second thought, Keerava, get a Cliffracer ready for when I come back down, yeah?”

Keerava nodded, that strange expression still on her face. 

I went upstairs with a distinctly uneasy feeling between my shoulderblades, like I was headed into a lion’s den. There were only a few rooms at the top of the stairs and a short hallway leading to an alcove with a table, chair, and a couple of candles. A black-haired Nord woman sat in the chair, a tankard in one hand and a mysterious smile on her face.

“So you’re the whelp,” she said as I topped the staircase. 

“Last I checked, I was an elf.” I kept my tone light. “You’re Maven, I presume?” I walked up and held out a hand. 

“That’s Lady Black-Briar to you, elf.” Her smile deepened, but there was no warmth in it. She held out the back of her hand towards me. 

“Am I supposed to kiss it?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Customarily it’s done on bended knee.”

I reached down and grasped her hand, then flipped it sideways and turned it into a handshake. 

“Forgive me, then, my lady, for being uncustomary.” I gave her a little bow as I released her hand. 

She looked equal parts amused and annoyed. “I’ll forgive that one since you’re new to Riften and new to Skyrim on top of that. But in the future, I’ll not be so lenient, elf.” 

“My name’s Brand.” I frowned.

“I’m aware.” 

I narrowed my eyes. If she did know my name, she slighted me by refusing to use it. If she didn’t, she smoothly covered for it without giving me a chance to refute her.  

“Mercer told me all about you,” she said. “A prisoner from Valenwood, shipped here by order of the Thalmor.” She sized me up, dark eyes assessing me under a raised brow. “They dropped you on the edge of Skyrim hoping you would die. You had other plans, it seems.” 

I gave her a charming smile. “Freezing to death in the Nordic wilds is hardly how I plan to go.” 

“I’m almost tempted to ask you how you do plan to go. But that will have to wait for another time. For now, I find I have use of someone with your caliber of...tenacity.”

I leaned against the wall opposite Maven and crossed my arms. “My tenacity?” I didn’t like where this was going. It was never a good thing when a noble zeroed in on your qualities for their personal use.

“Yes.” Maven nodded. “Mercer told me how well you did at Goldenglow.” 

“I got shot at Goldenglow.” I hoped to make myself sound wholly inadequate for whatever Maven had in mind. 

“No matter.” Maven waved a hand at me. “You would have to be an incarnation of Nocturnal herself to have made it out without a scratch.”

I swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. Maven was all but admitting that she and Mercer expected me to take an injury -- maybe even die -- at Goldenglow. 

“The important part is,” Maven continued, her smile as wolfish as Mercer’s, “you made it out alive. With the goods. And you burned the hives.” 

“I did.” I shrugged. I couldn’t argue with that. 

“After that little display of competence, I have a job for you.”

“Aren’t I a little low on the totem pole to be getting jobs from you?” 

Maven chuckled, the sound somehow threatening. “It’s precisely because you are low on the totem pole that I want you. You’re not known in Skyrim yet. I can put that to my advantage.” 

I sighed. “Alright. What do you want me to do?” 

“There’s a good boy,” Maven said. 

I had to fight the urge to stick my tongue out at her. Jail or dead, I reminded myself. 

“Now.” Maven looked at me over the rim of her tankard as she took a sip. “I want you to put a competitor out of business. Honningbrew Meadery recently sprang up near Whiterun and they’re competing with my meadery for production. Problem is, their mead is actually good. I suspect this is where Goldenglow’s honey was going.” 

“How am I supposed to single-handedly put an entire meadery out of business?” I asked. I could burn the building, sure, but I didn’t think the Guild went in for that kind of stuff. 

Maven produced a small black bottle from an inner pocket of her robe and held it up. “Honningbrew is about to have a mead-tasting for the Captain of the Whiterun guard to establish their credence as a meadery. I want you to put this in their vats so that the Captain gets a little surprise when he tastes their mead.”

“That won’t kill him, will it?” I asked. 

“Oh, does our new recruit have a conscience?” Maven cooed. 

I scowled. “Maybe.” I didn’t see the point in killing the Captain of the Whiterun Guard to save face for a stuck-up Riften noble. 

Maven laughed, as if she was suddenly privy to a secret I wasn’t. And perhaps she was. I decided not to care. 

“To answer your question, it won’t kill our good Captain. It’ll just make him regret the next few hours and put Honningbrew in a...vulnerable position.” She tilted the bottle toward me. 

“So you can take over?” I guessed. 

She smiled and her eyes glittered darkly.

I paused. I didn’t really want to go through with this, but somehow I knew that saying no would be very bad for my health. Reluctantly, I reached out and took the vial, tucking it into a pouch at my belt. 

“Mercer or Brynjolf can answer any other questions you have,” Maven said. “Now, get out of my hair. I expect you on the road to Whiterun by tonight.” 

I didn’t answer, but gave Maven a curt bow and walked back downstairs. Keerava had the Cliffracer ready for me when I got to the bar. I took a seat and nursed my drink feeling like I’d lost a round at a game I didn’t know how to play.

“What do you think of him, Mercer?” Maven asked as the Thieves' Guild leader slipped out of the room behind her and took a spot leaning up against the wall almost exactly where Brand had been a moment before.

“He’s a fool,” Mercer smiled. “But a talented one.” 

“Yes,” Maven said slowly. “I think he’ll do nicely.” 

“But?” Mercer prompted. He could hear the unspoken word hanging in the air between them. 

“But, we’ll have to keep a close eye on him,” Maven said thoughtfully. “He’s smarter than the others.” 

“According to what I’ve gathered from Brynjolf, the boy practically ran a self-made guild in Valenwood before he got caught by the Justicars. He’s used to being wary of authority.” 

“He’s more than wary.” Maven finished off her tankard. “He’s downright suspicious.” 

“All the better. He’ll be so busy chasing shadows, he won’t see the real threat until it’s too late.” 

“And yet, he survived the Goldenglow job.” 

“As did Vex.” Mercer shrugged. 

“But he completed it.” 

Mercer nodded. “Aye. He’s skilled, if nothing else.” 

“Skilled, but weak. There’s a streak of compassion in him. Is he making friends in the guild?” 

“They like him passably enough.”

“But does he like them ?” Maven asked, crossing her arms. 

“He and Brynjolf seem to have hit it off. If you’re asking if he’s chummy enough to use as leverage…” Mercer broke off with a shrug. “We’ll have to give him some more time. He’s still skittish of what happened in Valenwood.” 

“Then perhaps we’ll have to resort to other methods of exploitation.” 

“He has a certain...penchant for freedom,” Mercer said. “Could get him in trouble one day...say, if he were to refuse a particular patronage.” He glanced meaningfully at Maven.  

Maven’s smile brightened. “I was thinking the same thing.” 

Chapter Text

“Get on the road tonight, Brand. Poison the mead, Brand. Kiss my hand, Brand,” I muttered under my breath as I stood outside Honningbrew Meadery three days later. “Gah.” I fingered the black poison bottle in the pouch at my belt. Just who the hell did Maven Black-Briar think she was, anyway? The woman was high-handed, bossy, and definitely up to something. Why the Thieves Guild let her play patron was a mystery to me. In my experience, noble patrons were more trouble than they were worth. Always. 

And yet, here you are, doing Maven’s bidding.

I convinced myself that it was because I didn’t have enough power in the Guild yet to resist. That I was laying low, keeping my nose clean until I got my bearings. I couldn’t deny Maven Black-Briar had power. And if she had as much power as Brynjolf suggested, then she was a formidable opponent. I didn’t know much about the shadowy Dark Brotherhood, but what I’d picked up from the Guild members was enough to know you didn’t mess with them lightly. Not unless you were seeking a swift end. I didn’t figure they were worse than the Justicars, but I’d rather not find out personally. 

So, here I was, standing outside Honningbrew Meadery, about to pour Divines-know-what into the mead to give a Guard Captain I’d never met a bad case of the runs (presumably), all so that Maven Black-Briar, halfway across Skyrim, could...could what? Feel better about her mead? Make more money? Feel powerful and important? 

I decided I didn’t care. 

And I nearly decided to turn around and walk away right there. 

Jail or dead…

I sighed and walked inside. 

A middle-aged Nord with thinning grey hair knelt in the foyer, trying to clean a large bloodstain off a rug in front of the bar. A couple of dead skeevers lay in a pile nearby. He looked up as soon as I walked through the door with an expression of surprise and anger. 

“I told Mallus to lock that door!” he yelled. 

I raised an eyebrow and lifted my hands to show I wasn’t a threat (which was, of course, a lie). 

He stood up, hurriedly wiping his hands on his apron, which only made it bloody too. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. We’re closed. As you can see we have…” he gestured helplessly around himself, looking overwhelmed. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got it under control and nearly cleaned up. But you’ll have to come back later if you want a sample of the mead. We’ve got a tasting with the Captain of the Guard today and I don’t have time to give mead to wastrels.” 

I let him finish the speech without interrupting, but inside, I felt that familiar burn of anger at being referred to as a wastrel. Seriously, what was it with Skyrim? I couldn’t go anywhere without being called names, insulted, or nearly killed. 

Why anybody voluntarily chose to live here was a mystery to me. 

“Perhaps this wastrel can help you with your skeever problem?” I asked wryly. 

The Nord opened his mouth as if to argue with me, then checked himself and stared at me. “What?” 

“You seem to have a skeever problem.” I pointed at the pile. “I have a sharp knife.” I gestured at the dagger on my hip. 

The Nord gaped for a moment longer before he remembered himself and shut his mouth. “I, uh. Of course.” 

“You’re Sabjorn, I presume?” 

“Yes. How did you know?” 

“I was sent by a friend to help you clean up your little pestilence problem before the Captain of the Guard gets here.” I decided to be bold about my lies. If Sabjorn got suspicious...well, I’d find another way to get the poison into the good Captain. 

But instead of suspicion, Sabjorn’s face broke into relief. “Oh! Oh, that’s...that’s good. That’s very good indeed. Yes. I could use your help. I, uh, does our mutual friend expect a fee for this job?” 

Our mutual friend? My lies worked out better than I thought. He assumed I’d been sent by someone he knew. I rubbed my fingers together. “Come now, I can’t run extermination jobs for free.” 

He frowned. “Half now, half when you’re done and the skeevers are gone.” 

I shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Alright. Agreed.” 

Sabjorn reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch. He made a show of turning away from me to count it out. I rolled my eyes. The man was obvious. If I wanted to pickpocket him, I could’ve done so ten times over by now. Instead, I waited. He turned back around and handed me the pouch, sans whatever he slipped back into his pocket. 

“There. That’s sufficient, I hope?” 

I opened the pouch and counted up the contents. 500 septims! Not bad. I smiled and pocketed the gold. These coins weren't going into Maven’s pockets. After all, she hadn’t said anything about what I should do with any money Sabjorn gave me. “That’s fine,” I said. 

“Good, well, I expect you to get to work right away. Find Mallus Maccius. He’ll get you the key to the basement where the nest is and give you some poison to oust the pests. Hurry! The Captain will be here in just a few hours. I can’t have skeevers running about when he gets here!” 

I gave Sabjorn a lazy salute and walked into the meadery proper. I didn’t know what Mallus Maccius looked like, but he was the man Mercer told me to contact on the inside of the meadery. He was supposed to be giving me further instructions and, no doubt, watching my performance to report back to Maven. 

As it turned out, I didn’t have to look long. Mallus was sweeping a back corner of the meadery behind the vats. He was a sallow-faced Imperial with dark hair and dark shadows under his eyes, like he never slept. He looked like a man up to no good and I was surprised that he was holding a job at the meadery. No doubt, even more of Maven's influence. I walked up to him. 

“Mallus Maccius, I presume?” 

He looked me up and down with a lazy, scornful eye. “You must be Maven’s new recruit."

I wanted to argue that. I didn’t belong to Maven. But now wasn’t the time to toe that line. So I tried to keep a neutral expression as I answered. “Yes.” 

A slow, malicious smile spread across his face. “You’ve got it?” 

“By it, I assume you mean this?” I pulled the black bottle briefly out of my pocket. 

Mallus nodded. “Her daughter makes those, you know.” 

“Maven’s daughter?” 

“Yeah. Down in that potion shop in the canals.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” I muttered. 

Mallus laughed. “Here, elf. You’ll need this. Key to the basement. Don’t lose it.” He tossed the key at me. I caught it one-handed. 

“I’ll bring it back, I promise.” 

“You’d better. Door’s over there.” He pointed back toward the front of the meadery, at a shallow staircase leading down. “The tunnel’s full of skeevers, you know, but there might be other...things...down there. So watch your back.” 

The way he said it sent a chill down my spine. I’d heard that tone plenty of times before. It was a clear “I don’t care if you come back or not so long as you do something sort of useful before you die.” 

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “See you on the other side, Mallus.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t forget to slip our little surprise into the vats when you’re done with the pests. Oh, I almost forgot. Here’s the skeever poison Sabjorn wants you to use.” He pulled a slender vial from an inner pocket on his vest and passed it to me. I took it and slipped it into my pocket, beside Maven’s black bottle. 

“Thanks,” I muttered and headed for the basement. 

As basements went, it was standard. Until it stopped being a basement and started being a series of dark and clammy dirt tunnels that ran far longer than I figured the meadery was wide. I didn’t know who -- or what -- dug the tunnels, but they certainly weren’t made by skeevers, that was for sure. The few skeevers I encountered were easy to dispatch. A quick slice of my knife across their throats and they went down with barely a squeak of protest. I used fire on a couple groups of the pests, but skeevers generally put up little resistance. It was going well. 

Until I met Hamelyn. 

The man came out of nowhere. One minute, I was sneaking down a damp hall full of skeever droppings and the next I was on the floor with a raving madman sitting on top of me, pummeling me with his fists. My dagger skittered out of reach as we fell and I barely managed to throw up an arm to deflect his punches. 

“Who disturbs my lair?” he screeched. He tried to claw my face, like he was a skeever himself, but I blocked his swing on my forearm with a grunt. I managed to wriggle away from his grasp and get a solid kick into his chest. He huffed and backed up, the element of surprise lost. I scrambled for my dagger. An ice spike crashed into the ground beside my head. I flinched and grabbed my dagger, rolling as a second spike shattered by my leg. 

“Who in Oblivion are you?” I shouted. 

“Hamelyn!” He yelled back with a sort of giggle. “Rat-King, Rat-King, Rat-King!” he chanted. I threw myself behind a nearby column as another ice spike went sailing past my head. If any of those landed, they’d rip through me in seconds, the cold sapping my energy. Screw Sabjorn. Screw Mallus. Screw Maven. Screw everybody for sending me down here telling me I was going to fight skeevers. I wasn’t wearing any Divines-damned armor. Just a set of civilian clothes and a stiff leather vest that, while it would turn dagger blades or skeever claws easy enough, wouldn’t do much good against ice spikes. 

“Where are you, elf?” Hamelyn called out. 

I didn’t answer. 

“You’re not a skeever!” He sounded oddly upset about that. “You’re not allowed in my Kingdom!” 

Too late. I was already here. 

I risked a glance from behind my column. Hamelyn was standing on the other side of the room, another ice spike primed in his palm. Blue ribbons of frost trailed from his hand. He squinted into the dark, like he wasn’t sure where I’d gone. He leaned forward, head tilted, as if he were listening...or sniffing for me. I shuddered. Skeevers had pretty poor eyesight, but their hearing and smell were more than enough to make up for it. Was Hamelyn the same? Was he trying to be a skeever? 

Declaring himself Rat-King certainly indicated that he had a hand in the voluminous amount of skeevers running around under the meadery. Was he keeping them as pets? Breeding them? Both? 

“Come out, coward!” Hamelyn yelled. “My rats are hungry and they haven’t had good flesh in a long, long time. Not since the last meadery worker got curious and stole the key and came too far down the tunnels.” Hamelyn giggled. 

That last worker must’ve been pretty useless. Or overwhelmed. I’d killed upwards of thirty of the creatures on the way here and while not formidable alone, if they’d all swarmed me, I would have been hard pressed to defend myself. Surely, Hamelyn didn’t have any more. I didn’t see any down here. He was probably just trying to scare me. 

I glanced out from behind my column again. I felt my heart jump into my throat. I didn’t see Hamelyn. 

I had a second’s warning as I heard the scuff of his foot behind me. He shot off an ice spike at the same time I threw myself to the ground. The spike clipped my upper arm, so cold it burned as it hissed past. It shattered on the wall behind me. I twined my legs with Hamelyn’s and twisted my body. He shouted in surprise and went down. I was on him before he had a chance to resist. He tried to shoot another ice spike, but I knocked his hand to the side and it went spiraling crazily across the room. I had my dagger at Hamelyn’s throat before he could do anything else. 

“Enough,” I panted. “That’s enough.” 

Hamelyn growled. 

“Look, I wasn’t sent down here to kill you, but I was told to take care of the skeevers. So how about we strike a deal? I poison the nest, you agree to leave, and we never speak again?” 

I thought that sounded pretty reasonable. 

Hamelyn, apparently, did not. 

He lunged forward and bit my knife hand, despite the blossom of blood on his neck. I shouted in surprise. Hamelyn scrabbled underneath me and we devolved into a confused tangle of fists and teeth. Hamelyn snarled and managed to break free, standing over me. I saw the tell-tale glow of an ice spike come up in his palm again. I lunged to my knees and thrust my dagger up between his ribcage. 

Hamelyn sputtered, looking down at me in surprise, then at my knife. 

I pulled the dagger out. 

Hamelyn staggered to his knees, then fell face first on the floor in a spreading pool of blood. 

I wiped my blade clean on his fur kilt and stood up, breathing hard. I’d killed before, once or twice in self-defense, but it always set my heart racing and turned my stomach. It was no easy thing to take a life. I shuddered and stepped over the body. Was Hamelyn what Mallus meant by “other things”? Had he known about the mad mage? Did he send me down here hoping the mage would knock me off? 

I shook my head. I was tired of these politics. But that’s not what I was here for. Now that Hamelyn was dead, I searched his little hideout and found a couple septims, some food scraps, and a journal describing his expulsion from the Winterhold Mage’s College for cruel and unusual magical experimentation on skeevers. I shuddered. Perhaps it was for the better that the man now lay stiff and cold. 

I found the nests in the back of the room beside a well-used alchemy lab and upended the poison Mallus had given me all across the ratty piles of straw and cloth. Then I tossed the bottle aside and headed back up into the meadery. I came out on a walkway above the vats of mead. 

A few minutes later I dumped Maven’s little bottle into one of the vats and made it back to Mallus. 

“Oh, there you are.” He sounded bored as I dropped the basement key into his hand. “You’re a right mess.” 

I looked down at myself, realizing that I was covered in a fine layer of grit and a few spatters of blood. The way my right cheek throbbed, I was pretty sure I had a rising bruise on my face, too. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when someone forgets to warn you about the mad mage in the tunnels.” I held up my bitten hand. 

Mallus laughed. “He bit you?” 

“Damned man thought he was a skeever.” 

Mallus shrugged. “Not surprised. He’s been breeding those beasts in the tunnels for a while.” 

“You knew!” 

“Of course. Did you think he was down there by accident?” Mallus raised one eyebrow in a perfectly sculpted expression of amusement. 

“Maven,” I grumbled. 

“Precisely. He’s been down there for just such an occasion. And you conveniently dispatched him for us.” 

“What if he’d gotten rid of me instead?” 

Mallus shrugged. “No big loss. I had this.” He held up another black bottle, identical to the one I’d dumped in the vats. 

I opened my mouth to retort, but Mallus suddenly grabbed me and spun me around, slinging his arm over my shoulders like we were good friends. “Sabjorn!” he called out in a falsely cheerful voice. 

The meadery owner came scurrying into the room, looking more harried than ever. 

“Well, is it done?” he demanded when he saw me. 

Mallus clapped me on the back. “Our little friend just came back from the tunnels. Dispatched your skeevers with hardly a scratch on him.” 

I glared at Mallus out of the side of my eye. He ignored me. 

“Good. The Captain’s been here for upwards of an hour and I’m running out of ways to stall. Mallus, get a barrel of that new batch of mead and bring it to the counter, pronto.” 

“Yes, sir!” Mallus responded with more zeal than strictly necessary. 

Sabjorn went back into the front room. Mallus gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Why don’t you head back into the tasting room. I’ll get you a mead, on the house, and you can stick around and watch the show.” 

“I don’t know --” 

“It won’t be poisoned, elf.” 

I grumbled something under my breath as he walked away, but I found myself wandering back to the tasting room and taking a seat a few minutes later, sulkily nursing a tankard of mead (which Maven and Mallus were right about -- it was actually good and not poisoned) while I watched Sabjorn talk his product up to a couple of Whiterun soldiers and their Captain. 

Mallus made his appearance a few moments later with a barrel slung over his shoulder. He set it down on the bar and quickly poured three tankards of mead, which he passed out to the Captain of the Guard and his lackeys. 

Sabjorn gave them all a smile and spread his hands. “Gentlemen, may I present you with the finest mead Skyrim has to offer? Please, drink up.” 

The Captain and his soldiers all eagerly tipped back their tankards. I watched from my corner. For a while, nothing happened and the Captain congratulated Sabjorn on his mead. But a few minutes into their conversation, one of the soldiers suddenly clutched his stomach and dropped his tankard. He groaned and swayed. His companion looked over in alarm as he rushed for the door. The soldier didn’t make it three steps before he violently lost the contents of his stomach all over the floor. 

Sabjorn looked shocked, caught in a hilarious tableau of incredulity. 

Then the second soldier went pale. “Captain…” he mumbled before he too vomited on the floor. 

The Captain turned toward Sabjorn. “What is the meaning of this, man?” He staggered forward and set his tankard on the bar. While about as pale and shaky as his men, he seemed to have somewhat better control of his stomach. Maybe he hadn’t drunk as much of the mead. 

“I-I d-don’t know!” Sabjorn protested. “It...I…” 

“Poison?” the Captain groaned. “That’s damn near insurrection, Sabjorn. What are you playing at?” 

“Nothing! I didn’t put anything in the mead, I --” he looked over at Mallus like somehow Mallus would save him. 

Mallus shrugged. “I just sweep the floors.”

Then Sabjorn’s gaze fell on me. “It was the elf!” he shouted, pointing. 

The Captain turned toward me. My stomach fell and it had nothing to do with the mead. I was in a very bad position -- the only one in the room holding a tankard and not getting steadily greener. 

I put my tankard down slowly, letting my hand shake a little. It wasn’t entirely for show. 

The Captain glared at me, but he didn’t come closer. I wasn’t sure if that was because he was still using the bar for support or if he actually thought I might be the poisoner. His two soldiers were still heaving on the floor. 

“Who are you, elf?” the Captain asked. 

I swallowed hard. “I’m an exterminator, sir.” 

“Exterminator?” The Captain turned back to Sabjorn. 

I took the opportunity to start convincing myself I felt sick. 

“Is that true, Sabjorn?” the Captain asked. 

“I...uh, well...yes,” Sabjorn stuttered. Thank the Divines he was a bad liar. “B-but he probably poisoned the mead while he killed the skeevers in the basement!” 

“Skeevers? In the meadery?” the Captain demanded. 

Mallus answered before Sabjorn had a chance to. “Yes, sir, you should have seen them. They were all over. Long as my arm. I sent the elf into the basement to flush them out not even an hour ago.” 

At that moment, I lurched forward and lost my own stomach on Sabjorn’s floor. I hated making myself vomit, but it was a useful trick, and though I preferred to do it with a substitute in my mouth I simply spit out, I knew how to make myself throw up for real. 

Sabjorn made a strangled sort of noise. “It’s a ruse, Captain! He poisoned the mead.” 

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and hunched over, elbow propped on my knee, as if I weren’t sure if I was going to puke again. “Why the hell would I poison myself, then?” I looked up at Sabjorn. 

His mouth opened like he was going to say something, but no words came out. 

“That’s it, Sabjorn, you’re under arrest.” The Captain declared. “For serving poisoned mead and running an establishment full of pests.” 

“But, Captain, I swear--” 

“Save it for the Jarl.” The Captain, still pale, but obviously made of sterner stuff than his men, helped his two soldiers to their feet. One of them seemed to be getting a little of his color back, but the other was still nearly bent double. 

Then he pulled a length of rope from his belt, bound Sabjorn’s hands at the wrist with an efficiency that spoke of long repetition, and marched the protesting Nord out of his own meadery. His soldiers followed unsteadily. 

Mallus looked over at me with a wry twist to his lips. “Quick-thinking,” he said. 

I glared at him. “You set me up.” 

“Hey, you didn’t have to drink your un-poisoned mead right in front of the good captain.” 

I growled. 

Mallus laughed. “Give Maven my regards when you get back to Riften, yeah?” 

“Give them to her yourself,” I grumbled. “When you give her your report on how I didn’t get killed by the Rat-King.” 

Mallus tilted his head a little in acknowledgement, but his dark eyes glittered with something malicious. “Don’t be angry, elf. You’re alive.” 

I barely managed to bite my tongue on an acidic reply. 

He continued. “Before you go, you should look through Sabjorn’s personal effects. Maven instructed me to have you deliver his letters back to her.” 

“Letters?” Again? That’s what Mercer wanted from Aringoth. 

“Yeah. Account books. Business papers. You know. I don’t care what else you take. If you want to lift some gold or any valuables while you’re at it, feel free. His room’s upstairs, back end of the hall.” 

I frowned, but I nodded and went to search the room, leaving my half-drunk tankard of mead on the table. 

Chapter Text

“I see you made it back in one piece, yet again,” Maven purred as she descended the staircase from the upper levels of her house, where she’d instructed me to meet her after my foray to Whiterun. I felt out of place in the grand home, which was decorated richly enough to rival even the Jarl’s Palace. When I arrived, a tired-looking serving woman opened the door for me and bade me wait in the front room while she fetched Maven. Maven took her sweet time and appeared about half an hour later with a smile that let me know she’d made me wait on purpose. I ignored it. 

She smiled even wider.

“You seem to like sending me into danger,” I said conversationally.

She held out her hand. I bowed over it, but didn’t kiss it. 

She met my gaze with glittering eyes as I straightened up. “My dear Brand, I would never send such a valuable and precious resource into the lion’s jaws without good reason.” Her words were false and honey-smooth. I felt something slither uncomfortably in my stomach. 

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” I murmured. 

“You were never in any real danger,” she continued. “After all, you had Mallus with you, didn’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you made it back alive.” She walked up to me. “Even if they did ruin your pretty face.” She ran a light finger down the bruise on my cheek. 

I managed not to wince and scowled instead. “It’s not ruined.” I sounded a lot more petulant than I wanted. After all, bruises healed and it's not like this one was going to leave a lasting impression. 

“Then I don’t see what there is to complain about.” Her tone stayed soft, but something flashed in her eyes that told me further pursuing this line of conversation would be very dangerous. 

So instead I cleared my throat, clasped my hands behind my back, and rocked back on my heels. 

Maven gestured for me to follow. She went into the dining room where a veritable feast was laid out on the table. She sat down at the head of the table and gestured for me to sit at her left hand. I did. Reluctantly. But I figured it would be rude (and potentially deadly) to refuse. She indicated the food and began filling her own plate. 

I waited until she was finished before filling mine. Despite my distaste at being here, I had to admit I was hungry. I’d learned a long time ago not to pass up free food. Especially food this nice. I did wait until Maven took the first bite though. Partly to be polite and partly to make sure this wasn’t an elaborate scheme to poison me. But, since I’d taken food from the same dishes she had, I was reasonably certain she wasn’t pulling any tricks. 

She glanced over at me. “Suspicious, aren’t you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Do you think the food’s poisoned?” 

I paused, mouth half-full of a roasted rabbit leg. Slowly, I finished chewing and swallowed. “I wouldn’t put it past you.” 

She laughed. “If I wanted you dead, you already would be.” 

“Well, that’s comforting,” I mumbled. 

She smirked. 

I’d like to see her try to kill me. She was powerful and she was cunning. But I was used to sneaking and running. The Justicars caught me through sheer numbers. If I really did cross Maven, how many servants could she conjure up to hunt me down? I took another bite of my rabbit leg and tried to dismiss the question. It was probably more than I could outrun, if I were being honest. 

Maven wasn't one I could break with sheer strength. I'd have to outsmart her. And to do that, I'd have to play the long game. Which meant capitulating. For now. 

“I must say you’ve exceeded my expectations so far.” Maven smiled at me. “This could be the beginning of a mutually beneficial….partnership.” 

I conveniently made sure my mouth was full so she’d have to continue. She gave me a little frown. 

I shrugged, cheeks bulging. 

“I know you came to Skyrim to join the Guild, but what do you think of doing a little work for me?” 

I swallowed. “You mean, like I’m doing now?” 

Maven laughed. “No, silly elf. I mean your paycheck would come from me directly. You might fraternize with the Guild now and then, but your true loyalties would lie...here.” Maven reached down and pulled a decorated dagger out of a sheath on her belt. She laid it on the table between us. Although it was fine craftsmanship all by itself, the enchantments on the blade were heavy enough that I could feel them, singing through the air with an energy all their own. 

Whoever enchanted that blade was skilled. Which meant this dagger cost a pretty penny. I knew what I was looking at. 

I also knew I didn’t want it. 

“Consider this surety. Reward for your job at Goldenglow and Honningbrew. What say you, elf?” 

I looked at the dagger and then back up at Maven. She had that wolf-hungry look in her eye that I’d seen so often in Mercer. 

“And if I refuse?” I asked quietly. 

Maven considered me for a long moment. Finally she said, “The decision is yours, either way. But if you refuse, know you have curried no favor here.” 

I took a deep breath. I didn’t figure I’d curried much favor with Maven anyway, but I had the distinct feeling of standing on a knife’s edge. Whatever my answer was, it would topple me over the edge and there would be no going back. Only moving forward with Maven Black-Briar as my benefactor or my enemy. I met her eye. “With all due respect, Lady Maven, I decline.” 

Her mouth twitched then, into something approximating a smile. “I thought you might. So be it. You would have gone far with me, elf. But I will honor your choice to remain loyal to the Guild.” 

She left the unspoken dangling between us. Though she might honor my choice now, I knew there would be no respect from Maven in the future. I was fair game. 

I stood and gave her a bow. A proper one, this time. “By your leave, Lady,” I murmured. 

She nodded. 

I made my exit. 

“What’s gotten under your collar, lad?” Brynjolf greeted me when I got back to the Cistern. 

I tried to put on a smile for him. By the look on his face, it didn’t work. 

“Looks like you had it rough at Honningbrew.” He gestured at my face. 

I shrugged. “Goldenglow was worse.” 

Brynjolf chuckled. 

“It was a mad mage,” I said. “Breeding skeevers in the basement.” 

“Ach. I thought you were just going to spoil the Captain’s mead?” 

“I did that, too.” 

Brynjolf sighed and crossed his arms with an expression that told me he was thinking more than he was saying. 

“Brynjolf?” 

“Aye, lad?” 

“What’s--” 

He shook his head. “Not now.” 

I glanced around. I didn’t see anyone within earshot, but one could never be too sure in a lair of thieves and liars who might be listening from the shadows. I nodded, trusting that Bryjolf would share his thoughts with me when the time was right. Perhaps he didn’t trust me. After all, I’d just come from a private meeting with Maven Black-Briar. 

“I didn’t accept,” I said without preamble. 

“Huh?” 

“Maven’s offer. I turned her down.” 

Brynjolf’s eyes widened. “She approached you?” 

“If that’s the word you want to use. It was a bit more predatory than that. But yes.” 

“And you said no?” 

I nodded. 

Brynjolf whistled, looking at me with a new sort of respect in his eyes. “You have guts, lad. But you might've just made yourself one powerful enemy. I’d watch your back if I were you.” 

I shivered. “Don’t remind me.” 

Brynjolf clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not alone.” He winked. 

I gave him a slight smile. 

“But for now, let’s put that aside. I believe you have some correspondence from Honningbrew for us?” 

“Oh. Right.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the letters I got from Sabjorn. “There wasn’t much of interest. Just this.” I handed Brynjolf a folded sheet of parchment. 

He unfolded it and looked at it, eyes widening in surprise. “By Talos, Mercer will want to see this.” 

“It’s the same damn sign!” Mercer flung the piece of paper on his desk. Brynjolf and I had taken the paper to him immediately. It fluttered to the floor, landing face-up at my feet. I picked it up. I’d read it at Honningbrew, but I scanned it again. 

It had the same dagger and circle symbol as the letter from Aringoth’s safe. Underneath, addressed to Sabjorn, was a short letter promising him the support of a powerful patron if he opened and ran Honningbrew Meadery at full capacity. It wasn’t signed, but the writer promised protection from Maven Black-Briar and her “cronies.” Which I assumed was the Guild. 

“So it’s the same person, then,” I said. 

Mercer glared at me. 

I shrugged. 

He sighed. “Yes. Obviously. Someone wants to drive a wedge between Maven and the Guild.” 

I glanced at Brynjolf. He gave me the tiniest shake of his head. 

“Why?” I asked. 

Mercer looked at me like he thought I was stupid. “She’s our patron.” 

I crossed my arms. “So you’re telling me that we can’t function without her?” 

Mercer scowled. “No.” 

Brynjolf sighed. “At the moment? Our prospects don’t look good without her.” 

“Why?” I asked again. 

Both Mercer and Brynjolf were silent, sharing some sort of unspoken look between them. Finally Mercer spoke. “Traditionally, the Guild is patroned by Nocturnal herself.” 

“Nocturnal? The Daedric Prince?” 

“The very same. She usually appoints a few Guild-members to become her...conduits, if you will. And when the Guild is lead by these conduits, we prosper.” 

“So, then, what are you?” I ask. 

Brynjolf winced, as if I’d asked a really touchy question. 

Mercer’s storm-dark eyes met mine and I could tell I’d breached something personal with him. But he didn’t answer my question directly. And he lacked the aggression I’d been expecting. 

“A few years ago, the current Guild-leaders brought Nocturnal’s disfavor on the Guild. I stepped up as Harbinger in the interim to lead and rebuild. Nocturnal has not yet seen fit to return her blessing to us.” 

“Thus the need for Maven,” I said. 

Mercer nodded. 

I glanced between Brynjolf and Mercer. “But is Maven what you want?” 

There was another silent exchange. “Maven is a necessary evil,” Mercer finally said. “And one that, if we play our cards right, will always provide a steady source of income for the Guild. Once we have enough strength to turn the tables, we may very well be able to put her to our use instead of the other way around.” 

Brynjolf half-raised an eyebrow, as if some of this was news to him, but he didn’t comment. 

“What about the Nocturnal though? Isn’t there a way to get her favor back?” 

“Daedra are fickle beings,” Mercer grunted. “Although there is a ritual one can perform to obtain Nocturnal’s blessing, it is the Prince herself who chooses whether to bestow it. Which means the ritual alone doesn’t guarantee her favor. And Nocturnal hasn’t deigned to bless a member of the Guild since --” he broke off and shrugged. “Since our fall from grace. We must rise once again in the estimation of Skyrim as a force to be reckoned with. Then Nocturnal might turn her favor on us again.”

I turned that over in my mind for a while. Gods and Daedra were fickle. But more oft than not, their followers actively earned their disfavor by dishonoring them. Or forgetting them. I’d heard several Guild members allude to this time of dishonor now, but I wasn’t sure what it entailed. Nobody seemed keen to speak of it. Especially if Mercer was in earshot. Was he somehow involved in the dishonor? Had it been his fault? Or was he really just an interim leader, like he said? He seemed keen to stay in good with Maven. Was he even interested in aligning with Nocturnal again? 

“Ok,” I finally said. “So then how do we get Nocturnal’s favor?” 

Mercer looked over at me like he was surprised I’d spoken. “We start with an Argonian dockworker in Solitude.” 

“What?” That wasn’t at all the answer I’d been expecting. 

“Are you deaf, elf?” 

I scowled. “No. I heard you. But what’s an Argonian got to do with Nocturnal?” 

“The Argonian is the one behind that symbol.” Mercer pointed at the paper in my hand. “Or, rather, he can lead us to the one behind the symbol. While you were off gallivanting in Whiterun, I did some research. Our mysterious foe obviously knows the Guild well. And they’ve made one mistake -- using a Guild contact as a courier. A plant in the East Empire Trading Company named Gulum-Ei. I want you to question the slippery lizard and find out what he knows.” 

I nodded, although I wasn’t sure why Mercer wanted to send me. I’m not exactly the man for interrogation-type jobs. Not that I can’t be threatening in my own right, but I don’t look very threatening. I’m shorter than the males of most races and even some of the females and I’m young. Which means I still look innocent or inexperienced to most people. I’m the one you send in when you want me to blend in with the crowds or look inconspicuous. I’m not a knife in the dark. 

As if Mercer were privy to my thoughts, he said, “I want you to get in and get out without being seen. Do not kill Gulum-Ei.” 

“I don’t usually go in for murder,” I said drily. 

Mercer glared at me. “We’re the Thieves guild, not the Dark Brotherhood. Our ways are not the ways of the blade. It would be bad for our...reputation...if you kill him.” 

“I won’t kill him,” I promised. 

“See that you don’t. Now, here’s a map of the dockyards. There’s a carriage at the city gate that can take you to Solitude.” Mercer tossed coin pouch at me. I caught it. “That should be enough to get you to Solitude and make sure you don’t starve.” 

I tried not to be sarcastic as I answered. “Gee, thanks.” 

“Is this normal for new recruits, Brynjolf?” I asked as we walked out of the Riften gates. Brynjolf offered to accompany me out to the carriage and see me on my way to Solitude and I accepted. 

Brynjolf shrugged. “New blood always gets the worst tasks, but I find it strange that Mercer seems intent on keeping you out of the Guild as much as possible.” 

“You think he’s hiding something?” 

“Mercer?” Brynjolf laughed. “He’s most definitely hiding something.” Then he sobered. “I just don’t know what.” 

We paused at the Riften stables, standing in the autumn-leaf-speckled yard. 

“Something bad?” I asked. 

“I don’t know, lad. I mean, we’ve all got secrets, down in the Guild. It’s how most of us came to be there. Running from something or someone. A hand in the wrong pocket. A spurned lover. A lost family.” He shrugged. “And then there was that business with the former Guild leader.” 

“Business?” 

Brynjolf nodded. “Yeah. Before Mercer, we were led by a man named Gallus. He and Mercer were close, along with another thief. But she got greedy and hatched a plot to kill Gallus and Mercer and steal the Guild stash. Mercer managed to stop the plot, but not before Gallus died. The one responsible? She ran. Mercer...hasn’t been the same since.” 

I was quiet for a moment. It wasn’t unheard of for Thieves’ Guilds to fall apart by virtue of the same thing that glued them together -- greed. More fickle, even, than devotion to a particular patron. Greed brought thieves in league with each other and ripped us apart just as easily. 

“Is that what stopped Nocturnal’s favor?” 

“I can only assume so.” 

“Do you think that talking to this Gulum-Ei will actually help us get it back?” 

Brynjolf shrugged again. “I don’t know. Gulum-Ei knows a lot, but he’s a cagey fellow. He won’t talk easily. Not that I doubt your skill, lad, but Mercer made an odd choice sending you.” 

I waved a hand dismissively. After all, I thought the same thing. 

“Gulum-Ei won’t be intimidated, especially not by a kid.” Brynjolf gave me a smile to show he wasn’t mocking me. “In fact, I doubt he’d be intimidated by most members of the guild save Sapphire or Dirge. No, you’ll either want to bribe him or follow him and eavesdrop. He probably won’t willingly give you any useful information.” 

“Thanks for the tip.” 

“No problem. Good luck out there, lad.” 

I gave Brynjolf a jaunty salute as I climbed up into the back of the carriage for hire. “I’ll get the information one way or another.” 

Brynjolf chuckled. “But don’t--” 

“Kill him. I know. Trust me. I won’t.” 

Brynjolf waved a hand in farewell as I paid the driver and instructed him to head for Solitude. Then I made myself as comfortable as possible in the back of the bare wooden carriage and settled in for the long ride.

Chapter Text

Solitude was bigger than most of the cities I’d seen in Skyrim so far. The sprawling streets were lined by tall stone walls, manned by Imperial soldiers, and boasting both the Imperial headquarters and the seat of the High Jarl of Skyrim within their cold circle. Odd, that the city was called Solitude, for being such a bustling area of activity. Although not as centrally located as Whiterun, Solitude did their fair share of trade as the East Empire Company’s main hub. I shivered as I walked under the City Gate. It was colder here than in Riften and I was glad of the coat I’d brought. But the worst part was the soldiers on every corner and up on the walls and turrets. I wasn’t sure how Gulum-Ei felt comfortable operating under their watchful gaze. I know it would give me a heavy dose of paranoia. 

But I wasn’t here to worry about Imperials. I was an unknown up here. If I played my cards right, I would slip in and out without even being noticed.  

I found Solitude’s inn quickly, an establishment named The Winking Skeever. After getting a story about a pet skeever out of the innkeep, I asked about the Argonian population in Solitude and got pointed towards a dark-green Argonian sitting in one corner of the inn, nursing a bottle of ale. 

“That there’s Gulum-Ei,” Corpulus, the innkeep, said. “If you want to know anything about the lizard-folk in Solitude, you’ll want to start with him.” 

I hid a smile as I thanked Corpulus and bought a second bottle of ale. This was already going better than I thought. 

Gulum-Ei didn’t look up until I was right on top of his table. I didn’t sneak up, or try to hide, or pretend like I wasn’t coming to talk to him. 

“Buzz off,” he said when my shadow fell over him. 

“I haven’t said anything yet,” I protested, surprised. 

“Yeah, and I don’t want you to. I already know I don’t need what you’re selling and I don’t like strangers. Get out of here, kid. I’ve got no business with you.” 

I took a deep breath through my nose, set the bottle of ale on the table, and sat down in the chair across from Gulum-Ei. He glared at me, eyes bright and unblinking. 

“I said get lost. Go. I don’t want company.” 

“That’s fine,” I said. “And believe me, I wouldn’t be troubling you if it were up to me. But it’s not. So I’m here and I’m going to trouble you.” 

“Of all the--” he began indignantly. 

“It’s Guild business,” I interrupted. 

He paused. Then he laughed. It started out as a low hissing sound in his throat and then became a full-on laugh. He grinned. “You? In the Guild?” 

I nodded. “Why, you doubt me?” 

“I didn’t think Mercer made it a habit of recruiting children.” 

I frowned. “From what I hear, he’s a little desperate right now.” 

“It would seem so.” 

“You don’t think I’m a good thief?” 

The Argonian tilted his head then, eyes narrowing. “You have the build for it, but you look too young. How old are you?” 

“By the reckoning of men? About seventeen.” 

Gulum-Ei tilted his head the other way, translucent eyelids flickering across his eyes. “Hmph. What are you here for?” he finally grumbled. 

I reached into the pocket of my coat and pulled out the promissory note from Honningbrew Meadery. “What can you tell me about this symbol?” I smoothed the note onto the table between us and pointed at the circle and dagger motif. “Mercer said you’d know what it is.” 

Gulum-Ei leaned down and looked at it for a long moment, tilting his head this way and that and blinking those clear eyelids of his several times. He finally sat back up. “Nope.” 

I raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t know it.” 

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not stupid Gulum-Ei. You know something. You just don’t want to tell me.” 

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I do not know.” 

I pushed the bottle of ale toward him. 

“You think that will buy my information?” He laughed. 

“No, it’s a peace offering. Tell me what will buy your knowledge.” 

He pulled the bottle of ale to himself thoughtfully and uncorked it. After a few swigs, he wiped his mouth and looked me straight in the eye with a crafty smile that put a little shiver down my spine. He leaned forward. “There’s a crate of Firebrand wine in the Imperial Palace…” 

As it turned out, the wine was easy to steal. Although the Palace itself was pretty daunting, I snuck in behind one of the maids after she shook out a rug at one of the side doors. The crate of wine was right where Gulum-Ei had said it would be. It was a bit harder lugging the entire crate back outside, but I managed it without raising an alarm. I got the crate back to Gulum-Ei and unwrapped it from it’s burlap covering in the back corner of The Winking Skeever about an hour later. 

He smiled, face brightening as he saw the bottles inside. “Verrry good, wood-elf. This is very good indeed.” 

“So, you admit I am a thief?” 

He gave me a distracted grunt of affirmation. 

I sat back down in the chair across from him, noting that both ale bottles were empty now. “Alright, I got you what you want. Now what can you tell me about this symbol?” 

Gulum-Ei reluctantly brought his eyes off the bottles of Firebrand wine and back to my face. “It belongs to an enemy.”  

“An enemy?” 

“Of Mercer Frey.” 

We sat in silence for a second. 

“Ok. Who is it?” I asked. 

“A woman, who else?” Gulum-Ei smirked. 

“Gulum-Ei,” I began hotly. 

“That’s all I know,” he hissed. 

We stared at each other for another moment. “You sent me into the Blue Palace after a crate of wine for you to tell me that this letter was sent by a woman who hates Mercer?” 

Gulum-Ei pretended to consider it. “Yes.” 

“I already knew that!” 

“You knew she was a woman?” 

“Well, not exactly.” 

“Then I have given you useful information.” 

“No, you haven’t! There are thousands of women in Skyrim!” 

“But not that many with a grudge against Mercer Frey.” 

I gave him a dead-pan stare. “Am I to walk up to every woman in Skyrim and ask her if she knows Mercer?” 

“That would be one way to do it,” Gulum-Ei agreed, still sounding like he was enjoying his cryptic advice way too much. “Or you could ask which of them wants to kill Mercer.” 

“She wants to kill Mercer?” 

Gulum-Ei nodded once, very slow. 

“But who is she?” The woman Brynjolf mentioned on my way here? Or someone else? 

“I do not know.” 

“Is she human? Mer? Khajiit?” 

“I cannot say.” 

“Don’t know or can’t say?” 

“What’s the difference?” 

I growled low under my breath. 

Gulum-Ei smiled again. “You asked me what I could tell you about that symbol, elf. I told you who owned it. I’ve answered your question. Now, I have business to attend to down at the docks. So I bid you good evening.” He stood up, crate of Firebrand wine tucked under one arm, and gave me a mocking sort of bow. Then he turned and headed out of the Winking Skeever. 

I gave him a few minutes and then I followed him. 

Either Gulum-Ei wanted me to follow him or he was the most self-assured snitch on Mundus. He never once looked over his shoulder as I trailed him down to the docks. Nor did he try to hide, Firebrand wine clinking gently with each step. I followed him to a door in the side of the cliff wall at the base of the Blue Palace. Once he slipped inside, I figured out why he was being so casual. The place was crawling with East Empire guards. I barely managed to close the door and get behind a nearby set of crates without being seen. No wonder someone had scrawled the thieves’ sign for “danger” on the doorpost outside. 

Gulum-Ei disappeared around the corner of a crate a few feet further into the warehouse. If I didn’t catch up to him quick, he’d lose me in the maze of shipping goods. A glance showed me a piece of wood leaning up against a nearby shelf that would serve as a perfect route up to the top of the crates. No one ever looked up. 

After timing the guards, I scrambled up the board and got on top of the stacked crates. From there, I was able to trail Gulum-Ei across the warehouse like a shadow. No one noticed me. Not the guards. Not Gulum-Ei, despite taking the chance to glance smugly behind him once or twice as he crossed the warehouse. 

He entered a wooden door on the far end of the underground channel. Probably where they loaded their ships. Another quick timing of the guard and I was through the second door as well. 

This part of the warehouse looked less formal than the large cave I’d just passed through. More unfinished dirt and stone and less crates lying around. It was the collective “back room.” Every warehouse, storehouse, or company barn had one. The room where people like Gulum-Ei pretended to do something important while shuffling goods out of the way of the watchful eye of the company owners. 

Gulum-Ei’s sanctum. 

I’d found it. 

The men patrolling this area looked rougher than the guards outside and most of them were clad in furs rather than East Empire Trading Company armor. Bandits. A personal contingency then. One I wouldn’t be able to talk my way out of. I reached down to my boots and pulled out my daggers. Brynjolf had managed to secure me a second elven blade and I’d laid a few light stamina-drain enchantments on them. But tonight, they were poisoned. 

It was a precaution I’d taken in the back of the carriage on the way here. A little frostbite venom and they’d drop much larger prey than myself. I could see Gulum-Ei, still working his way toward the back of the room, his crate of Firebrand wine finally set aside on a table near the door. I slipped after him. 

I only made it halfway across the room before I heard the footstep behind me. I rolled. Right before an axe slammed into a crate where my head had just been. The crate splintered. Gulum-Ei and the other bandits flung their heads my way, eyes wide. We all paused, the bandits with weapons raised, me with my daggers at the ready, Gulum-Ei with this ridiculous open-mouthed expression. 

“You!” Gulum-Ei finally yelled. 

“Hi.” 

“You followed me!” 

“What did you expect? You didn’t give me an answer.” 

Something wild and angry flared in Gulum-Ei’s bright eyes and he waved a hand at the bandits. There were three total. That meant one more than I had daggers. I’d have to be judicious. The one closest to me lunged forward and I flicked my left wrist releasing the dagger in that hand. It tumbled end over end to strike the man in the throat. He went down with a gurgle. 

Gulum-Ei made a sick sort of grunt. “I thought you were with the Guild!” he stammered. 

“I am,” I said, voice a lot steadier than I felt. “But I’d rather not be dead.” 

The other bandits paused, looking at Gulum-Ei, as if waiting for orders. I took the chance to step over and retrieve my bloody blade from the body of their friend, all the while keeping an eye on them. 

“Th-that’s Brotherhood work,” Gulum-Ei pointed, looking strangely pale. 

“Look,” I held the daggers out towards my sides. Less ready. Less threatening. I hoped. “I wasn’t sent here to kill you. But I will defend myself. So how about we talk?” 

The bandits glanced uncertainly at Gulum-Ei. Gulum-Ei swallowed hard and stared at me, translucent eyelids practically fluttering across his eyes. 

I waited. 

Finally, Gulum-Ei motioned for his bodyguards to stand down. They warily sheathed their weapons. “Her name is Karliah,” the Argonian said.  

I tilted my head. “Who?” 

“You don’t know?” 

“Should I?” 

Gulum-Ei sighed. “Bloody typical of him, isn’t it?” 

“Of Mercer?” 

“Yeah. To keep you in the dark. Karliah was once part of the Guild. Back when Gallus ran the Guild. Before Mercer became leader. But she went rogue. Murdered Gallus. Tried to murder Mercer. Mercer fought back. She ran. Along with some gold, I think. Ever since, Mercer’s been watching over his shoulder, waiting for her to show back up and try to do him in too.” 

So it was the woman from Brynjolf’s story.

“Then why are you working with her?” I demanded. 

“I’m not!” Gulum-Ei threw his hands up defensively. “I didn’t know it was her when she contacted me! I just knew I was going to get paid well to deliver a few notes, is all.” 

I stood there, as if balancing his words. 

“By the Hist, I swear!” He rooted around in his pockets. “Here. I’ll even give you this!” He pulled out a sheet of folded parchment. “The deed to Goldenglow. Take it. Take it back to Mercer. Tell him what a favor I did you. Tell him he needs me.” He held out the page. 

I sheathed my clean dagger and walked up, taking it carefully. 

“Please?” he whispered. 

I shook my head. “I won’t say anything against you, Gulum-Ei. Like I told you, Mercer was explicit I didn’t kill you. I’m guessing he still wants you around.” 

Gulum-Ei slumped with relief. 

“But this deed can’t hurt. I’m sure Mercer will have some use for it.” 

Gulum-Ei nodded eagerly. “And there’s one more thing. Karliah said she was going back to ‘where the end began.’” 

“Where is that?” 

“How should I know? Maybe Mercer does. Tell him. It might help.” 

“Ok. I’ll let him know.” 

Gulum-Ei sketched a bow, still watching me like I might suddenly explode in a murderous shower of death. I walked over to the dead bandit, cleaned my knife on his fur kilt, slipped it back into my boot and left, feeling like I only had more questions -- and now another body -- on my hands. 

Chapter Text

“Where the end began? You’re sure?” Mercer stood at his desk, hands clenched into fists on its surface, the veins standing out in sharp relief. 

I felt myself rising to the balls of my feet, my natural instinct of fight or flight hovering just under the surface. “Yes. That’s what Gulum-Ei said.” 

Mercer snarled something I didn’t understand. 

I made sure I was out of arm’s reach before asking my next question. “This...Karliah. She’s the one who...you know...murdered Gallus?”

His head flew up then, sharp, eyes piercing me like a spear. 

My breath caught in my throat. 

“Who told you that?” he demanded. 

“Uh. Brynjolf. Well, he mentioned that Gallus was murdered. Gulum-Ei told me it was Karliah. So, uh. I kinda pieced together the rest.” 

Mercer sighed and suddenly seemed ten years older and more tired. “They’re right. I think it’s time I tell you a story, elf.” 

“Me?” 

Mercer blinked. “Yes.” 

“Uh, ok.” I tried my best to look attentive and not let Mercer know that little fingers of trepidation were still running up my spine. 

“Before I took over the Guild, there were three of us. Thick as thieves.” He chuckled at his own joke. “Myself, Gallus, and Karliah. We were...inseparable. We were...unstoppable. Or so we thought. Until Karliah let greed take over. She started proposing riskier ventures, more impractical heists. Gallus was...taken with her. They were in love, I think. He usually followed her lead. I tried to tell him that something was wrong, but he didn’t want to listen to me. In fact, they basically pushed me out of our little circle. Until the night Karliah sprung her trap. She murdered Gallus in cold blood and tried to steal the gold out of the Guild vault. Although I managed to stop her, I couldn’t save Gallus.” Mercer looked down at his hands with an expression of regret, like he was remembering that night. The night his hands failed to save a friend. 

I knew that feeling. It was the same feeling I got when I thought about Viiya, Byrn and Trian. The feeling of utter hopelessness. 

“She vowed revenge,” Mercer said. “On me. I thought maybe I’d escaped her notice, as it’s been years and I never heard anything of her. But it looks like she was just spending those years perfecting her trap.” 

“You think she managed to lay it?” 

Mercer shrugged. “Only one way to find out.” 

I waited. 

“Go to where the end began,” he said.  

“Where’s that?” 

“Snow Veil Sanctum. It’s a crypt, not too far from Windhelm and Winterhold. It’s where Gallus was murdered.” 

“The beginning of the end,” I whispered. 

Mercer nodded. “How would you like to accompany me, elf?” 

I stiffened. “Me, sir?” Another mission that it seemed odd to bring me on. Why wouldn’t he want Brynjolf? Or Dirge? Or somebody a lot more big and threatening? 

“You’ve proven your loyalty to the Guild these last several weeks. Maven told me you even turned down an offer to be her personal thief to stay with us. And you’ve proven you’re good in a tough spot. Karliah doesn’t know you yet, so you’d be a nice surprise or an unknown agent in case I need to surveil anything before making a move.” 

I stared at Mercer for a long while. While everything he just said sounded logical, there was something nagging at the back of my mind. Mercer seemed like he was almost being...nice? That was unusual. But maybe he really was scared of Karliah. After all, she sounded like she was a pretty accomplished assassin and sneak. 

Before I could answer, Mercer nodded, as if settling something with himself. “I need to sort a few details before we leave, so get ready. I’ll call for you in two hours.” 

“But...it’s the middle of the night!” I protested. I’d also just gotten back from Solitude a few hours before and I’d been hoping to get a little sleep in a real bed. Not in the back of a cart somewhere or out in the Skyrim wilds. I was tired. It had been a long few weeks. 

Mercer looked at me like I’d grown two heads. “Yes.” 

I raised both hands in a weak shrug. 

“The best time for shadow-work, is it not?” 

I couldn’t argue with that, so I just sort of opened and closed my mouth, then sighed. 

“Good, it's settled then.” Mercer walked away. 

I headed over to my bed to start packing what little I’d need to bring with me. This time, I was bringing full armor, not just my leather vest. We were fighting a lot more than skeevers. 

“Maven, I have our scapegoat.” 

Across the table, Maven smiled. Mercer stood at the edge of the dining room table in Maven’s house. He’d been let in a few minutes ago by Maven’s maid, who looked tired and worn as usual, but not surprised to find Mercer at the back door long after dark. 

Maven shuffled a few papers across the table in front of her, busily scratching away with her quill, even at this hour. A couple of candles sputtered at each side of the table. “Our little wood elf?” she asked, eyes sparkling with shadow. 

“Yes. Thanks to him, I finally found Karliah.” 

Maven’s eyes grew cold. “She’ll try to kill you, you know.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” Mercer’s wolfish smile flashed for a second or two. “That’s what the boy’s for.” 

Maven nodded thoughtfully. “You think he has enough of a bond with the Guild?” 

“Just enough for this to go either way. I’ve kept him largely a mystery, but I let Brynjolf get close. He’ll be the perfect shield and I can spin his sudden disappearance into an unexpected alliance with Karliah if we need to.”

“Very good. And Karliah?” 

“I’ll attempt to kill her, of course, but we’ll have more opportunities if she gets away.” 

“You’re sure she’s the last Nightingale?” 

“Of course. I haven’t let anyone else become a Nightingale since we kicked her out of the Guild.” 

“And the old faith with Nocturnal?” 

“Dying out, just as you planned.” 

“Good. Once we have the Guild in our pocket entirely, we’ll have them bound to a life of servitude for their survival.” 

“One that will profit us nicely.” 

“I like the way you think,” Maven purred. 

Mercer gave her a slight bow. “I’ll report on my success when I return, Lady Maven. I’ve got the elf on his toes. I didn’t even give him a chance to sleep before we head out. I’ve got to go collect him now.” 

“Do give him my regards when you send him to Oblivion,” Maven called as Mercer slipped back into the dark Riften streets. 

“Where are you off to now, lad?” Brynjolf walked up as I was strapping on my armor. He helped me with the last few straps. 

“Snow Veil Sanctum, apparently.” 

His eyes got wide. “The Sanctum? Why?” 

I sighed. “Because Mercer wants me to hold his hand.” 

Brynjolf glanced around, but didn’t silence me this time. We both knew Mercer wasn’t here right now and if he had someone on the inside spying for him -- well, it was a sentiment I’d say to his face. I was getting tired of running around for the Guild leader. 

“But you just got back from Solitude,” Brynjolf said. 

“Yeah. Seems he wants us to leave for this Sanctum immediately. Something about night being the best time for ‘shadow-work.’” 

Brynjolf sighed. “Lad, did he tell you about what happened at the Sanctum?” 

“That Karliah murdered Gallus there? Yeah.” 

Brynjolf’s eyes widened. “He actually told you?” 

“Yeah.” 

He whistled. “Mercer doesn’t tell that story to anyone.” 

“I’m starting to get that impression and it doesn’t make sense to me, Brynjolf.” I unconsciously lowered my voice. “I’m new blood. I wouldn’t trust me as far as I could throw me. Mercer even said that. I know I’ve gone on a few missions for the Guild, but I’m hardly Mercer’s trusted associate. So, why me?” 

Brynjolf was silent for a long moment. “I’m not going to lie. This makes me uneasy. But I don’t have any reason not to trust Mercer. He’s been good to the Guild so far, even if he’s hard to work with. What did he tell you?” 

“That I’d be better able to surprise Karliah, basically.” 

“He’s not wrong.” 

“That’s what worries me.” 

“Keep your eyes open, lad, but Mercer’s capable. You should be fine. I don’t think he’d throw such a promising new recruit to the wolves. The fact that he wants you with him tonight shows that he trusts you and thinks you’ll be able to help.” 

“But what do you think, Brynjolf?” 

Brynjolf crossed his arms. He answered slowly, like he was considering each word before he said it. “I think that the Guild’s in a bad way. I think that Mercer has a lot riding on his shoulders and he’s walking into an emotionally-charged situation. Mercer’s...volatile.” 

I snorted.

Brynjolf continued. “I don’t think that he’s a danger to you personally, but keep a weather eye out. He might lose his head when he confronts Karliah. Best to just step back and let what happens happen.” 

“So, don’t get involved.” 

“Exactly.” Brynjolf laid a hand on my shoulder. “Good luck.” 

“Thanks.” I gave him a smile, but I had the nagging feeling that I needed all the luck I could get on this mission. 

The trip to the Sanctum was uneventful. We arrived after a few days, once again in the dark of night. Mercer shook me awake at Candlehearth Hall, where we’d stopped for a day’s rest before heading out to the Sanctum. I was glad to be rid of the heavy stone of Windhelm, where I’d kept my hood up and kept to myself mostly. It wasn’t good to be an elf in Windhelm these days -- even a wood elf. I heard the dark elves had it worse and from what I’d seen while I was there, I believed it. 

But while I was glad to be leaving the city, I wasn’t glad to be heading further North. Mercer and I rented a couple of horses for the trek up into the mountains, but it was miserably cold. Making the trip in the dark didn’t make it easier, although I supposed I should’ve been grateful for the nearly full moons lighting our way through the snow.

We left the horses in a copse of trees behind a ridgeline. Mercer assured me Snow Veil Sanctum was just on the other side. We crested the ridge to see a small camp outside the Sanctum. There was a tent and a firepit, the recently cooled ashes still dark against the snow. A black horse was tethered nearby, stamping its feet almost with an air of nervousness. 

“Sneak down there, boy. See if the camp’s empty,” Mercer whispered at my shoulder. 

“Me? Why me?” 

“Because Karliah doesn’t want to kill you on sight.” 

“But what if she does kill me?” 

“That’s a risk I’ll have to take.” Mercer’s wolf-grin was nearly white as the snow. 

I glowered at him, but I snuck down the hill and checked out the camp. It was empty. And by the drifted piles of snow covering the fire and the bedroll inside the tent, it had been empty for a while. I stood up and waved a hand toward Mercer. He slipped down the hill like a shadow and came to stand beside me. 

“If this is Karliah’s, she’s not here,” I said. 

“Oh, it’s hers alright.” 

“How do you know?” 

“That’s her horse,” Mercer whispered as he walked up to the animal. The horse eyed him curiously, but never saw it coming. Mercer had his blade out and into the animal’s throat before the horse could do much more than spasm and wheeze in surprise. In a few moments, the big animal was bleeding out on the ground in a silent pool of blood. 

“What was that for?” I demanded. 

Mercer was searching the saddle-bags. He pocketed a few items. “Cuts off her escape route. No horse, no way home. Now let’s go.” He started walking toward the Sanctum. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” I protested as I jogged to catch up. “We’re not here to...kill Karliah, are we?” 

“Well, we’re definitely not here to have a tea party.” Mercer crept up the side of the Sanctum, until he could peer down into the entryway. It was as empty as the camp. 

“But isn’t murder more up, you know, the Dark Brotherhood’s alley?” I followed Mercer down the rickety stone steps, trying to ignore the odd splash or two of fresh blood glistening in the snow. Where had those come from? There weren’t any bodies, so who...or what...had been bleeding in the Sanctum? 

“I heard you didn’t have any qualms about murdering Gulum-Ei’s guard.” 

I felt heat rise to my face. “That wasn’t murder. He was going to kill me!” 

“And neither is this!” Mercer rounded on me right before the door. “It’s not murder, it’s revenge. Karliah murdered Gallus. I’m doing right by him and laying her to rest. And if it just so happens that it’s a violent end, all the better. Now shut up and get in there.” He grabbed me by the front of my leather cuirass and opened the door in almost the same motion, thrusting me inside. I staggered in, feeling woefully unprepared, but instinctively turning to make myself a smaller target and slipping into the shadows. I pulled my blades from my boots, once again poisoned. I’d taken the precaution of caring for them yesterday at Candlehearth, figuring Mercer wouldn’t give me much chance once we got here. Seems I was right. 

The Sanctum was silent. That sort of silence that only comes from a literal grave where everything inside is dead and even the air is still and heavy. Mercer slipped through the door behind me. 

I glared at him, but he simply drew a dwarven sword from its sheath on his back and moved further into the Sanctum. 

I followed. After all, I didn’t want to be left alone in the dark entrance with the gaping eyes of a couple of desiccated corpses lying on the table in the center of the room staring at me. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, even after we turned the corner and were out of sight of those empty sockets. 

Chapter Text

“If Karliah is here, she’s hidden pretty deep,” I panted after shoving yet another draugr corpse to the ground. Can draugr die again? Is the proper term corpse? I decided I didn’t care. So long as the things weren’t coming after me anymore. “Are you sure she made it past all the draugr and the traps?” 

Mercer looked over at me from where he shucked his own draugr off his blade. “Karliah is a master of moving in the shadows. She’s here alright, but she likely snuck past all of this without waking anyone.” 

“Then why in Oblivion are we fighting these guys?” 

“I believe you were the one who triggered that first tripwire. It probably made enough noise to wake the rest of them.” 

I opened my mouth to argue, then shut it. Technically, I did trigger the first wire. I’d hardly been expecting it and Mercer’s cagey insistence that I go in front of him down a particularly long and dark corridor had me on edge. I’d seen the wire -- a moment too late. Right before I caught the edge of it with my foot and triggered a series of blades to swing across the hall. Mercer yanked me down right before the first one would’ve taken a good slice out of me. I had a small cut on my shoulder where he hadn’t quite gotten me down fast enough. Though it was shallow, it stung and a trickle of blood stained my sleeve. 

“How much farther?” I asked. 

We’d just passed an ornate standing wall in the tomb, with a dragon motif crouched at the top. Words in a script I didn’t recognize were scrawled across the wall, humming with a sort of pent-up energy that set my teeth on edge. Mercer didn’t seem to feel it, or else he ignored it better than I did. 

“Not far,” Mercer said, leading me into a long hallway. Unlike the rest of the Sanctum, this hall was wide and thankfully empty. Tree roots spanned the floor in a few places and carvings of Nordic gods and spirits decorated the walls. At the end, was a large square-shaped door with a curved top. In the center was a circle with the impression of what looked like a giant claw marked in it. Three rings above the circle showed a series of icons with animals on them -- a moth, an owl, and a wolf. 

Mercer stopped in front of the door. 

“What’s this?” I asked. 

“Nordic burial chamber door. Standard in these old tombs,” Mercer muttered as he started pressing against the circle in the center. He ran his fingers over it’s edges. “Normally, you’d unlock one of these with a cast dragon claw. The talons are typically carved out of some sort of gemstone, and they fit here.” Mercer spread his hand over the dragon claw imprint, fingers resting over the slots where the claw tips should go. “But Karliah has probably destroyed the claw to this door.” 

“Then how do we get in?” 

“There’s one weakness in these old doors. Pretty easy if you know what you’re doing.” Mercer was feeling around the edge of the circle again, though he stood with his back to me, shielding whatever he was doing with his hands. I heard a sudden click, then Mercer stepped back. “Aha,” he murmured. 

The heavy Nordic door groaned and the circle depressed as the rings above it turned, then the door slid slowly into the floor, hidden mechanisms protesting after years of disuse. 

“Be ready for anything,” Mercer whispered, suddenly behind me, so close I felt his breath on my neck. 

I flipped my daggers into throwing position, testing their weight in my hands. Mercer and I stood to the side of the door as it opened, listening, straining to hear anything over the grind of stone on stone. Something in the door’s mechanism snapped and the door crashed drunkenly into the floor. So much for secrecy. 

Mercer motioned for me to go in. I wasn’t sure why he was so insistent that I go first, but I figured it had something to do with Karliah shooting him on sight. I just prayed that she’d realize I wasn’t Mercer before she decided to conduct murder. I could try to argue with Mercer, but I knew he wouldn’t back down, so I crouched low and peered around the door. The room beyond widened out and led to a staircase on the far end. A shaft of light hit the floor from a hole in the ceiling. A lone skeleton was sprawled on the staircase. Piles of dust lay in the corners. Nothing moved. I heard nothing but the rasp of my own breath. Cautiously, I moved forward, weight balanced evenly, ready to run or dodge. 

I heard it as soon as my feet crossed the threshold. The telltale snick of an arrow in flight. There was nothing I could do about it. The arrow took me in the chest, between the joints of my leather armor. 

I had just enough time to curse Mercer under my breath before my fingers went numb and my daggers clattered to the floor. I clasped a shaking, clumsy hand to my chest, but there was very little blood. The cut was clean. So then why was the room spinning? I blinked a few times and staggered forward. My knees felt like jelly. My vision blurred. Slowly, I sank to the floor, my limbs giving out so that I collapsed onto my side.

I tried to take a deep breath, but I didn’t get much more than a faint gasp. Everything was fuzzy, slow, as if I were underwater. Dammit. Was this how I died? 

I tried to move, tried to assess the damage, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t feel...anything.

All I could do was watch as Mercer strolled through the door, calm as you please. “Karliah,” he snarled, the name sounding like a curse. 

Karliah? She was here? Was she…? 

“Bastard.” A voice answered from somewhere near the roof. “You let him go first on purpose, didn’t you?” 

“Of course, I did.” Mercer chuckled. “I know how fond you are of poisons, my dear.” 

Poison.  

“It would’ve hit you if you weren’t such a coward.” 

“I prefer to think of it as cunning.” 

“He’s in Guild armor, Mercer,” Karliah snapped. “Don’t you care about losing one of your own?” 

Losing me? Great. I was going to die in a Nord ruin, in freaking cold Skyrim, because I’d been set up by the leader of the Thieves’ Guild. I tried to move, to speak, but nothing happened. 

“He’s not dead.” Mercer shrugged. “Just paralyzed.” 

Karliah chuckled. Then a black shape dropped from the hole in the ceiling and straightened up into a dark elf in leather armor with a drawn bow pointed straight at Mercer’s chest. 

“This arrow will kill,” she said. 

“Ah, Karliah, it seems we know each other too well.” Mercer smiled and flipped a knife into his right hand. “Go ahead. Shoot. But do you know that your arrow will reach me before my blade reaches you? You aren’t the only one that knows how to work with poisons.” 

Karliah stiffened. 

“Let’s be civil, dear,” Mercer purred. 

Slowly, she relaxed the draw on her bow. Mercer let the knife fall to his side. 

“Civil,” Karliah scoffed. “Like you were with Gallus?” 

“Gallus was a fool,” Mercer said angrily. “A weak fool hiding behind old ideals. He didn’t have the spine for what we needed, you know that.” 

“Gallus had more spine than you ever will, Mercer. He had the money and the will. All you had to do was let him lead. But your pride wouldn’t allow you to follow, would it?” 

Gallus...the former guild leader? The one Karliah...murdered? 

“I killed Gallus because he was weak,” Mercer snarled. “It was a shame you stuck with him to the end. You could have been my queen, Karliah.” 

Wait...Mercer killed...? Then that meant...

“I didn’t want to be yours,” Karliah hissed. 

“Your loss.” Mercer shrugged, that wolfish smile in place. “Now, I didn’t come to dally words with you. You can surrender or we can fight. Either way, this ends now.” 

Karliah laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “No.” She shook her head. “I’ll not fight you here, Mercer. We both know you’d rip me to pieces with that blade. I’ll fight as I always have. From the shadows.” There was a flash of purple light, a blaze of orange at its center, and Karliah disappeared. “Know this,” her voice bounced off the chamber walls, echoing and distant. “Next time we meet, I will not be lenient.” 

There was a shimmer in the air and Karliah was gone. 

Mercer stood for a moment in silence. 

I had a million questions and accusations running around in my head and a choice few names for Mercer, but I still couldn’t move. I couldn’t even grunt.

Mercer turned around. His eyes narrowed when he saw me. He walked up to me, blades still drawn and stared down at me.

“Unfortunately for you, Karliah’s paralysis poison doesn’t work on the ears.” 

Damn it. 

Mercer shook his head. “You showed promise, elf,” he said. “I’m sorry it has to end this way.” 

End? End! No, wait, Mercer!

“You really should have taken Maven up on her offer. But no matter. You’ll make the perfect scapegoat either way. I’ll be sure to give Brynjolf your regards.” 

He reached out and cut the straps on my cuirass. The stiff leather fell away. 

Good gods. He was going to murder me. Right here. In cold blood.

He drew back his sword. "By the way, Maven says hello.” Then cold, dwarvish steel ripped into my flesh as Mercer plunged his sword into my side and the world went black. 

The first thing I was aware of was the pain. Dogging every breath, a familiar old enemy. Everything hurt. My chest ached, my side, my head. My head was the worst. I felt like I’d just spent a night drinking myself under the table. But this was worse than any hangover I’d ever had. 

The second thing I felt was the cold. Mind-numbing, face-stinging cold. I could hear the wind whistling around me, feel drops of snow flick across my face and melt. Which meant I wasn’t dead -- not if I was melting snowflakes. 

I opened my eyes. 

I was lying on my side on a bedroll beside a campfire on the hill outside Snow Veil Sanctum. Someone had piled furs over me until I could feel the weight of them pressing me down, but I still felt cold. My sword, dagger and cuirass were laid out neatly on the snow beside me. The leather strapping lay loose where Mercer cut it.

By the Eight! Mercer! I tried to bolt upright only to hiss in pain and flop weakly back to the bedroll with a groan. 

A shape unfolded herself from the other side of the fire, a shape I’d overlooked in the backlight. She stood up and walked over to me and I recognized the dark elf. Karliah. The one who shot me. 

I tried to crawl away, clumsily propped on my elbows, acutely aware of the cold and the pain as the furs slipped from my chest and snow fell on my bandaged torso.

She stopped and tilted her head. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said with a wry smile. 

“F-forgive me if I d-don’t believe you,” I said through chattering teeth. I sounded pitiful. I glanced at my weapons, lying on the snow. They were barely five feet away, but I wouldn’t be fast right now. She was armed, whole and ready. I didn't stand a chance.

“You won’t get your knife before I put a blade between your eyes,” she said conversationally. 

I looked back up at the dark elf. “You read minds?” 

She threw back her head and laughed. “No, but I can see it in your eyes.” She sat back down on her side of the fire, eyes dancing. “I told you, I’m not going to hurt you. If I wanted you dead, I would have just left you in the Sanctum to succumb to Mercer’s parting gift.”

I grimaced. “That’s...fair.” She had a point. If she wanted me dead, she simply could have done nothing. Or finished me herself. Dragging me all the way out here, bandaging me, and trying to keep me comfortable were all points in her favor.  

Slowly, I sat up, testing myself. I appeared to be in one piece, plus a few holes, but I could move. Sort of. Nothing sudden. And I was definitely not in fighting shape. The cold began to soak into my bones so I crawled back to the bedroll and wrapped myself tighter in the furs.

“I meant to shoot Mercer,” Karliah said as she stoked the fire. Her voice was light and lilting now, far cry from the angry hiss back in the ruins. “You should be glad I hit you instead. It saved your life.” 

“C-come again?” 

“I meant that arrow for Mercer. Didn’t think Mercer would be coward enough to bring a scapegoat.” 

“Hey, I’m not --” 

“Hush.” She waved a hand at me. “I shot you with a paralysis poison. Fast-acting, almost completely shuts your body down. So, when Mercer stabbed you, your body didn’t react like normal, kicking you into an adrenaline rush, pumping your blood faster through your veins -- and out that hole in your side.” She gestured to my bandages. “Which gave me enough time to get back to you and pour enough healing potions down your throat to keep you alive.” 

I was silent for a long moment. “Thanks. I guess.”

“You guess?” Karliah’s eyes danced with a merry light. “Would you rather me have left you for dead?” 

“No! S-sorry...it’s just. It’s a lot to take in. I’m tired. I hurt. And I’m n-not at all sure what’s going on anymore.” 

Karliah sighed. “I understand.” She shivered and drew her knees up to her chest, suddenly looking very small in the flickering firelight. “Mercer did the same thing to me and Gallus some years back. Gallus...well,” Karliah swallowed hard and for a second, I thought I saw tears in her eyes. Then her expression hardened. “Gallus didn’t make it and Mercer pinned his death on me. I’ve been trying to open the Guild’s eyes ever since, but it’s very hard to do when everyone is convinced you’re the villain.” 

“Sorry.” 

She shook herself then, as if ridding herself of the memories. “Not your fault. But perhaps you and I can work together now. With another Guild member aware of the truth, we might be able to topple Mercer’s reign of terror.” 

I nodded and shivered again. 

It didn’t escape Karliah’s sharp-eyed gaze. “But first, I need to get you somewhere warmer. And get your name.” 

“My name?” 

“Mercer didn’t exactly introduce you.” She smirked. 

I gave a rueful chuckle. “I d-don’t think he intended for us to get acquainted.” 

Karliah snorted. 

“Brand,” I said. 

“Karliah.” She smiled and gave me a little half-bow from where she sat. “I figure it’s best we were introduced...officially. Not through Mercer’s stories.” 

I nodded. Mercer had stories, all right. Aloud, I stammered. “So, w-what now?” 

“Well, now, we find the nearest inn, get you a proper bed, some food, and some sleep. I didn’t want to move you too much before you woke up for fear of making things worse.”

“Why d-didn’t we just st-stay in the S-sanctum?” I hated the way my teeth seemed to chatter harder. I clenched my jaw to try and stop it. It didn’t help much. 

“And risk running afoul of the draugr?” Karliah arched an eyebrow. 

“M-mercer and I k-killed them.” 

“All the ones you saw,” Karliah agreed. 

I didn’t answer. After all, there wasn’t much I could say to that. She was right. If there were more draugr in the Sanctum, we’d be at a high disadvantage if we got attacked right now. Well, I would be. I had no doubt Karliah could hold her own and slip away while the draugr weren't looking. 

“F-fair enough. Where’s the c-closest inn?” I asked. 

“Frozen Hearth, in Winterhold.” 

I shivered. 

Karliah smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Don’t worry, Bosmer, they’ll have a warm fire.” 

True to Karliah’s word, Frozen Hearth did indeed have a warm fire. After getting me bundled onto my rented horse (apparently, Mercer hadn't seen fit to slaughter a dead man's mount), Karliah walked us through the snow and over the mountains to the inn. I’d like to say that I remained conscious for the whole thing, but I passed out again. Nearly fell off the horse too, until Karliah tied me to the saddle with a laugh. I wasn’t awake enough to care. 

I was, however, awake once she half-dragged me into the warm common room at some ungodly hour in the morning. Despite the hour, there was a fire blazing in the inn’s central hearth and a woman tending the counter, reading a book. 

She looked up with a wide-eyed, curious expression as we walked in. I was still bundled in the furs, which consisted of Karliah’s own blanket and saddle-pad, and Karliah was striking enough all on her own -- slim, dark skin, purple eyes, and a bearing like a soldier. 

“What can I do for you?” the woman at the counter asked after a moment of stunned silence. 

“A bed for my companion,” Karliah said. “He’s injured. Food, water, and healing potions, if you have them.” 

“Oh! Certainly!” the woman bustled out from behind the counter and motioned us toward a room on the left side of the inn. The room was small, but had two beds, a wardrobe, and a small table and two chairs. “Will this do?” she asked. 

Karliah nodded. “This is fine.” 

“I’ll be back with the rest of your requested supplies shortly.” The woman gave us a half-curtsey and hurried off into the common room again. 

Karliah brought me over to one of the beds and I sat down gratefully, sliding back until I could rest against the wall. Karliah studied me carefully, head tilted when I winced. 

“Do you feel alright?” she asked. 

“I’ll be ok,” I said. “It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Seems joining the Thieves Guild makes everybody want to stick a weapon in you.” 

Karliah nodded with a closed expression on her face. “You should be fine after a few more potions and some sleep. I’m going to go take care of the horse. When I get back, I’ll check those wounds again.” She turned to go back outside. 

“Hey,” I called. 

She turned in the doorway. 

“Thanks. For saving my life.” 

“You’re welcome.” She smiled, teeth white in her dark face, and slipped out of the room like a shadow. 

Chapter Text

Karliah was right. A few days of sleep did help. Along with the potions, I’m sure. By the third morning, I felt less like death and only about 100 years older than I was. Karliah said I looked better, but there was a hollow quality to her words that made me think I still looked like I’d been dragged through Oblivion and back. I didn’t bother trying to find something to see my reflection in. I’d seen myself injured enough. I’d take Karliah’s word for it. 

She brought me some breakfast and I ate it in bed. I found that I could move a lot easier today, if still stiffly. 

“So what’s our plan of attack?” I asked as I picked at my food. 

Karliah sat at the table in our room, waxing her bowstring. “Get you well, first.” 

“I’m already halfway there.”

Karliah raised an eyebrow. 

I coughed. “Ok, maybe half as dead?” 

She gave me a smile, but it was sad. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get caught up in this whole scheme. But Mercer’s had you standing between us since day one.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Karliah reached into a pouch at her belt and pulled out a sheet of parchment. She unfolded it. It was blank save for a design at the top -- a dagger in front of a circle of black. 

“Goldenglow and Honningbrew,” I murmured.  

Karliah smiled ruefully. “I should have known Gulum-Ei would prove to be the weak link. I really didn’t want to chance using someone so familiar to the Guild, but I was in a hurry.” 

“Still took Mercer a while to figure it out.” 

Karliah snorted. “After sending you into every nook and cranny to find his evidence for him.” 

“Don’t remind me.” 

“It’s a compliment of your skill. Mercer’s got about as much subtlety as a wounded bear in the middle of a market. But you’re sharp. Even though we were at odds, your shadow-work was very well done.” 

“I...uh...thanks. I think?” 

She laughed, but her expression grew serious again. “The Guild won’t take you back now though." 

I felt something shift in my stomach and found my appetite gone. I shivered, feeling suddenly cold. The family I’d been working so hard toward building, the friendships, the lessons I’d learned in the last few weeks...gone? Ripped out from under me just like my little guild back in Valenwood. “W-why not?” I hated the way my voice shook. 

Karliah stood up and came to sit on the edge of my bed. She slipped a hand into mine, rough and warm, and squeezed my fingers gently. 

“Mercer will tell them stories, Brand.” 

I swallowed hard. “Mercer thinks I’m dead.” 

“Perhaps,” Karliah conceded. “But there are potentially three ways he can spin this.” She paused. 

“Go on,” I whispered. 

“One is to simply say that you are dead. Most likely by my hand. The second is that I corrupted you and you turned on him and now you’re a rogue agent running around with me. The third is that you were mine all along and I sent you to infiltrate the Guild so that I could plant lies and secrets and kill Mercer.” 

“Why would he make me out to be a traitor if he thinks I’m dead?” 

“It depends on which story suits his narrative better. Mercer is a storyteller, always weaving an intricate web of lies while he schemes beneath. Despite his gruff manner, he is cunning and sharp. He’ll tell whichever story suits him. And likely his patron, Maven.” 

“His patron?” I raised an eyebrow. “I thought she was patroning the Guild.” 

“Unofficially, perhaps, she is. But you can be assured that Mercer has a better deal with her than the rest of the Guild does. He was the one who eschewed Nocturnal’s favor first, you know.” 

“He told me it was you.” 

“Of course he did. Believe me, I never lost faith in our Lady of the Shadows. She has strange ways and is sometimes hidden to her followers, but she does not abandon us. Unless we abandon her. And that’s exactly what Mercer did. He decided that he was done sneaking in the shadows. He wanted fame. He wanted wealth. He wanted the money for himself. I believe he was allied with Maven long before the true nature of their alliance came to light.” 

“But...wealth. Isn’t that why thieves steal in the first place?” 

Karliah gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. “Small-time thieves, petty pickpockets, and beggars, maybe. But not true thieves.” 

“True thieves?” 

“A true thief steals to reshape the world,” Karliah said, eyes bright and alight with purpose. “Maven and Mercer just want to profit off the Guild. They have forgotten our real mission.” 

“Which is?” 

“To redistribute wealth as Nocturnal sees fit. It isn’t just to line our own pockets, though we do that, too. It is to bring balance, to equalize -- under Nocturnal’s guiding hand. Our powers of shadow are to be put to grander use than the mere acquisition of gold.” 

I scrunched up my face.  

Karliah laughed, teeth sharp in her narrow face. “You don’t believe me?” 

“I’m...not sure.”

“We can bring an end to tyrannical rule or establish a new king just as much as war and diplomacy,” Karliah said. “Imagine an Emperor with too much power. We sneak in and steal his gold and suddenly the soldiers he was paying to wage war aren’t getting paid. His army dissolves. A poor boy with nothing to his name suddenly finds a gift under his pillow and is able to afford school, enter politics, and rise to become the king’s right-hand man. He now holds the world in his hand. Hoarding gold is all well and good -- if you’re a Dragon. We use gold to shape the world from the shadows.” 

“I can’t say I’ve ever thought of it that way before.” 

“I doubt anyone’s ever put it to you that way before. We’re not just thieves, Brand. We’re world-shapers. King-makers.”

“Is that what it means to be called by Nocturnal?” 

Karliah nodded. “Before the Guild fell, there used to be a court Thief in every hold. This wasn’t common knowledge, mind you, but we were there. To deliver messages. To be the Jarls’ unseen hand. To bring him wealth or take his neighbors’. But as the thieves became greedy and started hoarding wealth for themselves, the Jarls found less use for us. And then we fell. We became the broken shell we are now, begging Maven Black-Briar to feed us like orphans at her feet.” Karliah spat. 

“But, what about the Nightingales?” 

“Mercer told you about those?” 

“Mentioned them. Said that if they led the Guild, then Nocturnal’s favor would be on it, but that there weren’t any Nightingales left.” 

“He’s lying,” Karliah said bitterly. “There are two.” 

“Then where are they?” 

“You’re looking at one of them.” 

“You? A Nightingale?” My eyes went wide and I sat up a little straighter. Somehow, I expected the Nightingales to look a little more...impressive? Not that Karliah wasn’t impressive. After all, she was lithe and strong and had an expressive and intelligent face. And I’d seen her in action. But she was just Karliah -- an extremely talented and deadly Dunmer. 

Karliah’s answering smile was fierce. 

“And the other?” 

Her face fell. “Mercer Frey." 

“Mercer? But he’s--” 

“He performed the ritual to become a Nightingale. Doesn’t mean Nocturnal still counts him as such.” Karliah crossed her arms. 

“Is that why the Guild doesn’t have her favor? Because Mercer isn’t following her lead?” 

“Pretty much.” Karliah’s expression became distant. “Gallus, Mercer and I all completed the ritual. But for Mercer, I don’t think it ever really took. I think Nocturnal knew his false intentions, even then. That angered Mercer. He became bitter because the powers didn’t work as easily for him. He didn’t commune with Nocturnal like Gallus and I. He started to fall behind in his work. He started stealing for his own selfish gain. His eyes were fixed only on the gold.” 

“And that’s when he tried to rob the Guild?” 

“Tried? Ha. I’m sure he’s been successful by now, although Gallus and I stopped him that first night. At the cost of Gallus’ life.” Karliah turned her face away. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She squared her shoulders. “No matter. That was a long time ago. And I found something back in the Sanctum that should help us put an end to Mercer’s tyrannical rule.” She walked back over to the table, where a small leather satchel sat. She opened it and pulled out a grimy, leather-bound book. She held it lovingly, almost as if it were alive. When she looked back over at me, I thought I saw tears shining at the edges of her eyes. “I found Gallus’ journal.” 

“Is that why you were there?” I asked softly. “At the Sanctum?” 

She nodded. “I wasn’t there when Mercer killed Gallus. We’d gotten separated and I...I arrived too late. I assumed Mercer stole Gallus’ journal for himself, trying to unlock the secrets of the Guild and of Nocturnal, but as the years went by and I kept studying Mercer, I realized that he didn’t have it. Or if he did, he wasn’t acting on it. So I went back to where…” 

“...the end began,” I finished. 

She nodded. “The only problem is that dear, sweet Gallus was too clever by half. The entire book is encoded. I’ve been meeting with one of the mages from the College of Winterhold while you’ve been sleeping -- an old friend of mine and Gallus’ -- but even he can’t decipher it. He says it’s written in the Falmer tongue. I didn’t even know those vile creatures could write.” Karliah’s lip half-curled in disgust. 

“So, how do we read it then?” 

“Enthir says there’s one man in Skyrim who ought to be able to translate for us. Calcelmo, a dwarven researcher in Markarth.” 

“Markarth! That’s a week’s ride away!” 

Karliah nodded. “It’s not going to be a fast journey, but I think that it’s best if you and I make ourselves scarce for the next few weeks anyway. With Mercer on the prowl and the Guild in an agitated state, who knows what might be sent after us? We’ve already waited here too long--” she held up a hand when I opened my mouth to protest. “It’s not your fault, Brand. But I think it’s probably best if we move on. A trip to Markarth will be very unexpected. Plus, it’ll give you a chance to get your strength back before we face the Guild again.” 

The trip to Markarth was long, but not grueling. We hired a carriage and while I can’t say it was the most comfortable ride in my life, it certainly wasn’t the worst. The prison caravan from Valenwood still had that honor. We took our time traveling, mostly moving in the early morning and late evening, when other traffic on the road was less heavy, lying up by day and sleeping in the darkest hours of the night. We reached Markarth without any sign of pursuit. 

The city was even more impressive than Solitude. And, consequently, more repressive. As soon as we entered the massive stone and metal gates, I felt like I was being watched. I instinctively hunched my shoulders, feeling the need to hide, like a great weight pressed down on me. 

Karliah, standing tall as usual, dark eyes flashing under her hood, gave me a concerned glance. “Wound troubling you?” 

“No.” I forced myself to stand up straighter. The sword wound in my side was healing nicely and didn’t give me much trouble unless I pushed myself too hard. “It’s this place. It--” I looked around. 

“Feels like it’s watching you?” 

“Yes.” 

Karliah reached over and put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a reassuring smile. “You’ll be watched by a lot of things in your life, Brand. A crumbling Dwemer city haunted by the ghosts of blood spilt on its hallowed staircases is one of the less threatening things.” 

“I don’t know if that’s supposed to make me feel better or not,” I muttered. 

Karliah shrugged. “The city cannot hurt you, Brand. Only the people in it. And they do not know you here.” 

I felt my breath come a little easier. Karliah was right. Like Solitude, Markarth didn’t know me. I hadn’t left my fingerprints here. So long as we kept to ourselves and didn’t try to overextend, there was no reason anyone in Markarth should even care about two elves on a research trip. 

Though not very friendly to outsiders, Markarth was, at least, better than Windhelm, though there were other powers to be wary of out here in the Reach according to Karliah’s stories on the way here. I sincerely hoped that we didn’t end up in an entanglement with the Silver-Bloods or the Forsworn, but since our “research” didn’t lend itself towards either of those things, my hopes were likely to be met. 

I practiced standing straight and ignoring the itch between my shoulder blades as Karliah secured us a room at the inn. It was mostly for appearances, since neither of us planned to stay here long after we got Gallus' journal translated. 

About an hour later, we headed into Understone Keep, where we were told by the innkeep that we could find Calcelmo. Karliah had Gallus’ journal tucked under her arm, where it had been most days since we rescued it. On the way here, she’d poured over it most nights, in a futile effort to decipher it, but as far as I knew, she still hadn’t been successful. I’d seen her a few times, when she thought I was asleep, gently turning pages and murmuring to herself -- or perhaps to Gallus. I never asked. 

Understone Keep, as far as keeps went, was nothing like what I expected. Like the entire city of Markarth, it was heavily Dwemer in construction, style, and decor. But unlike the keeps I’d seen in other holds, Undestone seemed to be in a mixed state of disrepair. There were towering stone columns right beside piles of debris and dirt patches on the floor. It was almost like another city within the city and I found myself staring at it open-mouthed until Karliah reached over and gently popped my mouth closed. 

“Don’t gawk like a bumpkin,” she said, but she was grinning. 

“Sorry.” 

“Feeling less watched now?” 

“Mm. I think so. Is this really the keep though?” 

“What else do you suppose it would be?” 

“I...don’t know. It’s just. I mean, it seems to be falling apart, doesn’t it?” 

“Part of the charm of being built on a Dwemer ruin.” Karliah shrugged. “Hard to destroy, hard to repair. Can you imagine trying to rebuild those columns?” She pointed to a section of stonework crumbled on the floor. 

I shook my head. How the Dwemer got this much construction underground in the first place was pretty impressive. I doubted anyone alive now had the skill to replicate it as easily. Perhaps some mages working in tandem, but by hand? This place would take ages to rebuild. 

Karliah led me confidently through the outer area of the Keep, to a particularly shoddy corner where we found a slender Altmer bent over a table, studying what looked like a metal spider. It was spread out in front of him, missing a leg or two. Periodically, he lit it up with a lightning spell, watching the creature twitch and sputter for a few moments before going still again. Then he’d take up a quill and scribble something in a nearby notebook and do it again. We stood by and watched for a few moments, until it was obvious he wasn’t going to stop for us voluntarily. 

Karliah cleared her throat. 

He looked up then, half-surprised, as if he just now noticed us. “Eh, then, what’s this? Who are you? Why are you interrupting my research? Unless you brought those Dwemer struts I requested?” He continued without even giving us a chance to answer. “No? Then get out of my way, I’m very busy!” 

“Calcelmo, surely you haven’t forgotten me,” Karliah said with a small smile. 

Calcelmo paused and peered at Karliah more closely from under his hood. She threw back her own hood, letting her dark hair tumble around her shoulders. 

“Oh, yes, I think I…” Calcelmo muttered. “Karliah, wasn’t it?” 

Karliah nodded. 

“You’re the one that got rid of Nimhe, aren’t you?” 

She nodded again. I caught her eye. “Nimhe?” I mouthed. 

She shook her head and flicked her hand in a gesture that clearly meant “later.” 

“I am,” she told Calcelmo. 

“And who’s your friend?” Calcelmo peered at me. 

“My research assistant.” Karliah gestured at me. “Brand.” 

Calcelmo muttered something to himself, but he gave me a nod. 

“We are conducting research on the Falmer and came across something that needs your attention,” Karliah continued. “If I remember right, you are the foremost expert on the Falmer in Skyrim.” 

“Why, yes, yes I am.” Calcelmo looked rather proud and puffed out his chest. “You have come to the right place, my girl. I am currently on the verge of a breakthrough in Falmer studies that will astound scientific and academic communities across Tamriel. Perhaps your studies might aid mine.” 

“Perhaps,” Karliah said. “Might I be able to look at this research? I’m trying to translate a piece of Falmer writing, but I find myself in need of a guide to do it.” 

“Well, why don’t you just give me what you want to translate and let me have a look?” Calcelmo suggested. 

Karliah looked disappointed. “Unfortunately, I can’t. The writing is on a wall in an old ruin. I’m going to need some notes and common translations to take down there with me. Surely you’ve written yourself a grammar book of sorts?” 

I gave Karliah a glance. I wasn't sure why she was lying about the journal, but I guessed she didn't want Calcelmo to read it. Merely provide a way to translate it. 

Calcelmo muttered again. “I have, of a sort,” he finally agreed. “But it’s very experimental, you see. I can’t let that research get out before it’s ready. Imagine the ridicule that would come if anyone saw it before completion. No, I’m afraid I can only translate for you if you’re able to bring me a sample and let me take it to my dwemer museum. You’ve seen the museum, haven’t you? I’ve added a few new pieces that are simply--” 

“Yes, Calcelmo, I’ve seen the museum,” Karliah interrupted. 

The old man looked a little put out. “Well, take another look if you can. Perhaps you’ll find something new among the artifacts that might interest you. But if you can’t bring me a copy of the writing, I’m afraid I simply cannot help.” 

Karliah sketched a shallow bow. “Maybe I can take some rubbings of the stone and bring them your way, Calcelmo. Good luck in your studies.” 

“Yes, yes, thank you,” he waved a hand at us, but he was already bending back over the metal spider on the table and taking up his quill again. Karliah gestured for me to follow and led me back toward the main hall of the keep. 

“Well he was about as useful as a soup spoon on a battlefield,” I grumbled as we left. 

Karliah chuckled. “Already picking up Nordic slang, are you?” 

“Ha. Guess I am. It’s something Brynjolf said.” 

“Brynjolf,” Karliah sounded wistful. “He’s still with the Guild?” 

“Yeah. He’s the right-hand man around the place. He’s the one who found me. Kind of saved me from drowning, actually.”

Karliah raised an eyebrow. 

“Sapphire pushed me into the canal.” 

“You can’t swim?” 

“I was injured,” I said wryly. “Not entirely unlike right now.”

“Ah. Brynjolf noticed and pulled you out?” 

“Yeah.” 

“He was always good at noticing. And helping.”

“Hmm, yeah. Mercer’s always trying to bite off heads, but Brynjolf genuinely makes you feel like he wants you around.” 

“He always has. Just an eager young thing when we first picked him up, but he’s always had a charismatic streak larger than Tiber Septim. Makes him a very good charlatan.” 

I laughed. “I’ve seen him up there at that stall of his in the Market. Selling love potions and what-not. Do you know people actually buy the stuff?” 

“Oh, Divines. Still?” 

“I swear it.” I held up my fingers in the sign for “promise.” 

Karliah snorted. “He always has some concoction brewing for that stall and the crazy part is, people keep lapping it up.” 

“Maybe he’s just really good at hypnosis,” I suggested. 

“He does have a nice accent,” Karliah agreed. 

Just then, we came to another set of metal Dwemer doors, set off in a corner of the Keep. Karliah walked up to them. 

“What are these?” I asked, craning my head to look at them as Karliah rooted around in her satchel and came up with a key. 

“Doors.” 

I looked back over at Karliah and she was watching me, eyes glittering with a hidden smile. 

I stuck my tongue out at her. 

She laughed. “It’s Calcelmo’s Dwemer Museum.” She popped the key into the lock. “After I killed Nimhe -- a giant frostbite spider -- and cleared out an excavation sight for him, Calcelmo gave me a key to it. Let’s see if the old man’s suggestion to take a look around in here will merit anything.” 

“You think we can find his Falmer research?” I whispered. 

Karliah nodded and turned the key. Hidden gears ground as she pulled the key out and the doors swung open to reveal a stone hallway littered with Dwemer contraptions.

Karliah looked around, hands on her hips. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping.

Chapter Text

The lower floor of the museum, while cluttered, wasn’t much to look at. Just dusty corners full of dusty Dwemer artifacts, books, utensils, and hand-written placards (in Calcelmo’s spidery handwriting (I assumed) describing what the Dwemer might have used each item for in their daily lives. 

I pointed out a soup spoon to Karliah. 

She rolled her eyes. 

There were guards strolling the museum, but they seemed not to mind us being there, especially after Karliah showed them her key and reminded them of Nimhe. But after about a quarter candle-mark, we realized there wasn’t going to be anything helpful in the museum proper. 

“What about that door?” I asked. We were standing in the back of the museum where another set of the large golden metal doors led deeper into the Keep. 

Karliah shrugged. “No idea. That part of the museum is always locked and this key doesn't fit it.” 

I grinned. “Since when have keys ever mattered to us?” 

She glanced around. “Fair point. Are you a decent lockpick?” 

In answer, I rooted around in my pocket for a set of picks. 

Karliah moved toward the entrance to the area. “I’ll keep watch.” 

I nodded and got to work. While a bit more complicated than an ordinary door, it still only took me a few minutes to get the doors unlocked. Karliah stood in the entryway, pretending to examine another pile of random metal objects, but none of the guards came by while I worked on the door and we both slipped inside without notice. 

We crouched in the shadows of some large columns on the other side of the door. There was less dust on this side of the museum, like it was used more. Perhaps this was where Calcelmo actually conducted his research. More guards paced the halls, although they weren’t Markarth city guard. They wore the outfits of a private mercenary company and seemed a lot more alert than the city guards. This part of the museum was also laced with traps -- I could see a couple of spinning metal blades from where we stood. Although I’d never been one for spelunking in Dwemer ruins myself, I’d known a few thieves who had lost arms, legs, or worse to those deadly blades. 

“I think we found something important,” I whispered to Karliah. She nodded, eyes scanning back and forth. There were platforms overhead as well and guards patrolled every inch of the room -- except a hallway off to the left which seemed strangely bereft of any mercenaries. 

Karliah pointed it out. 

“You think it’s a trap?” I asked. 

“Only one way to find out,” she murmured and made her way toward it. If I hadn’t been watching her, I’d have never seen her. She moved with cat-like grace from shadow to shadow, seeming to flow from dark to dark without touching the ground. It was...stunning. Was this a power of Nocturnal? I followed, much less gracefully, but nobody called after us. We turned the corner and found a hall full of misty green haze. 

“Gas,” I whispered. 

Karliah’s eyes narrowed and she pulled a small vial from a pouch at her belt. She shook the contents, uncorked it, and swallowed them, then pulled a piece of cloth from the lower edge of her hood over her mouth and nose so that all that remained of her face was her eyes. As she did, her form shimmered and nearly disappeared, leaving just a shimmering outline to define her.  

“You can’t be serious!” I protested. 

The outline wavered toward me and I caught a glimpse of glittering eyes, then she sprinted through the cloud of gas. I saw a shimmer on the other side and Karliah reappeared, seemingly unharmed. She looked around for a moment, then stepped on a pressure plate in the floor. The gas dissipated. She waved me over. I held my breath and hurried through with an arm over my nose and mouth, just in case. I got to the other side and Karliah took her foot off the plate. The gas slowly returned, spewing from hidden spouts in the walls. 

“What was that?” I hissed. 

“Potion of Brief Ethereality,” she whispered. 

“That exists?” 

“It did.” 

I stared at her, then back at the gas. 

She chuckled. “What were you so afraid of, Bosmer? Aren’t your kind resistant to disease?” 

I frowned. “Yeah. Resistant. Not immune to poison gas.” 

Karliah’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. I rolled my eyes. We stuck close to the walls, sneaking past the remaining few guards until we reached another set of doors. These too, I picked in a few minutes. We walked into another room, this one empty except for several tables covered in laboratory equipment, research notes, and more dwemer artifacts. I noticed one table held several sections of armor made out of thick chiton. Falmer armor. 

“So, what are we looking for?” I asked, examining the other objects on the table -- Falmer ears and jagged swords, trinkets and fungus. 

“Anything written in the Falmer tongue,” Karliah murmured. She headed up a short flight of stairs to an upper level of the room that contained a large stone monument. I started searching through the various journals and books lying around. Most of them seemed to contain research notes, but they were all either written in the Aldmeri tongue or Tamrielic. 

“Brand! Come here!” Karliah motioned me to the top of the stairs where she knelt in front of the stone tablet. 

I walked up. The monument was covered in strange etchings that seemed to indicate letters and words, but it was no language I recognized. More letters ran down the side of the monument -- runes I did recognize -- that seemed to correspond to some of the etchings. A translation stone!

“This is it,” Karliah said. She pulled Gallus’ journal from one of the pockets sewn onto her armor and opened it up. I saw that the writing on the pages matched that of the stone. She scanned the monument and one of the pages. “Yes, yes, this makes sense now!” She pulled a piece of charcoal from her pocket and started transcribing letters above the scratches in Gallus’ journal. 

“Karliah, we can’t sit here and translate the book letter by letter. Someone’s bound to find us before you’re done. And somehow I don’t think Calcelmo will take translating your old friend’s journal as an excuse for breaking into his personal lab.” 

She paused, looking pained, then sighed. “You’re right.” She glanced around. “See if you can find some paper. We can make etchings of the monument and take it somewhere safe to make the actual translation.” 

I nodded and headed back downstairs. Karliah continued to scribble in the journal. 

A few minutes later I came back with several blank sheets of paper, some ripped from a mostly empty journal. We laid them up against the monument and made rubbings of the symbols and letters with Karliah’s charcoal. After carefully tucking the pages into Gallus’ journal, we stood up, wiping charcoal dust from our hands. 

“With this, we should finally be able to show the Guild the truth about Mercer.” Karliah smiled, but it looked sort of sad. “It’s been so long…” she trailed off, eyes looking at something I couldn’t see. Something in the past. 

“C’mon,” I laid a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go--” 

I was interrupted by the creak of the door swinging open. Karliah and I both ducked behind the monument as the laboratory doors swung wide. A young high-elf, who looked a lot like Calcelmo, came charging in, followed by a guard captain and a few mercenaries. 

“I swear, Captain Aquillus, I heard someone in here. Someone’s trying to steal my Uncle’s research.” 

“Very well, Aicantar. We’ll take a look. You and you, spread out. Search this place top to bottom,” the Captain ordered. 

I looked over at Karliah. “What now?” I mouthed. 

She was already looking around the room. Her eyes lit up when they fell on a door to our left, half-hidden in a little alcove on the second floor. She pointed. I nodded and we slipped over to the door as the guards fanned out below. They were checking under tables and behind suits of armor. Thankfully, the door was unlocked and we made it outside without a hitch. We came out on a stone balcony overlooking Markarth. 

I stopped at the railing and looked down. It was a pretty long drop. There wasn’t any way off the balcony -- just a railing and a solid fall. A waterfall fell from somewhere overhead and dropped within reach of the balcony, before trailing off into a pool at street level. “No way down,” I said. 

Karliah looked around and confirmed my assessment. She pulled a waterproof pouch from one of her pockets and started wrapping the journal. 

“Oh, no. You’re not--” 

Just then we heard a voice from inside. “Sir, what about the balcony?” 

“We don’t have much of a choice,” she said. She tucked Gallus' journal back into her pocket and grabbed my hand, pulling me over to the waterfall. 

“Karliah, I don’t think--” 

“Legs down, eyes up, fold your arms,” she instructed. 

“Wait --” 

“Go!” She grabbed me around the waist and, with surprising strength for her size, hefted me up and over the railing. We jumped. I barely managed not to shout in surprise as we hurtled down the falls. Water pounded our heads and shoulders. I shut my mouth and pinched my nose as we hit the pool with a splash. I hit the bottom and felt a stab of pain through my injured side so sharp I nearly inhaled a bunch of water. Then Karliah was tugging my arm, pulling me to the edge of the pool. I staggered to my feet and dragged myself out of the pool on the street beside Karliah. 

I hunched over on my hands and knees, one hand pressed to my side as my breath came heavy. 

Karliah was already on her feet. “Hey, you ok?” 

I grit my teeth as she hauled me upright. “Ahhh.” I squeezed my eyes shut. 

“Brand?” 

“Fine,” I hissed. “Divines, Karliah. Did we have to jump?” 

“Would you rather be in the clutches of the guards?” her tone was clipped. 

I opened my eyes and looked at her. “No. I mean, I get it. There wasn’t a...choice. I just...hurt.” 

Karliah sniffed. “Sorry.” The word was a little gruff. 

I took a deep breath. “I’ll be alright. But I need some time.” 

Karliah nodded, looking around the streets. “Well, we can’t stand here. Just in case those guards look over the balcony railing. C’mon, I know somewhere we can hide.” 

She led me to a Temple of Talos down a back street between two stone walls so narrow we barely had the room to walk side by side. We slipped inside and she helped me sit down behind one of the columns. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, focusing on breathing. Karliah paced for a while. When it seemed like no one was going to come looking for us (and we were significantly drier) she slipped outside to stake out the city. She came back a few minutes later.

“Seems we made it away clear,” she said. “There aren’t any guards running around the streets looking for a couple of thieves.” 

By now, I had my breath back and the stabbing pain had faded to a dull ache. “Well, we didn’t actually steal anything, did we?” 

“You think Calcelmo will notice the missing paper?” 

I laughed. “It’s possible. But I don’t think Captain Aquillus will be very keen on chasing a couple of paper-thieves. They were blank sheets, after all.” 

Karliah snorted, then she walked over and knelt by me. “And you? Feeling better?” 

“Yeah.” I gave her a lopsided smile. 

She crossed her arms. 

“No, really, I’m ok. I can walk. Just don’t ask me to jump off any more waterfalls, ok?”

She held out her hand. “Deal.” 

I took it and she hauled me to my feet. 

“Now, let’s go make use of those beds we rented. Can't hurt since we paid for them already. We’ll get an early start tomorrow. It’s a long way back to the Guild.” 

Right now, a bed sounded like a great idea. Karliah and I went back to the inn, locked ourselves in our room and took an early night. At least, I did. She was still transcribing the journal as I drifted off to sleep. 

Chapter Text

About two weeks later, we  crouched in the brush outside the Riften gate. Karliah managed to fully translate Gallus’ journal on our way back from Markarth and we’d both read it. Gallus had been a clever and thoughtful thief and, I found out, Karliah’s lover. They’d even had plans to marry right before Mercer...well. Before he ended it all. But, Gallus also meticulously documented the Thieves’ Guild’s acquisitions, along with his suspicions about Mercer’s real actions, all the way up to his death. 

With this, we’d be able to show the Guild we weren’t lying. 

Mercer really was a thief. And not on our side. 

Beside me, Karliah sighed. 

I glanced over at her. “You ready for this?” 

“I’ve been ready, Bosmer,” she murmured. She seemed a bit distracted, and her eyes were sharp, roving over every detail, every shadow. She practically hummed with nervous energy.

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll head into the Guild first, see if I can smooth a few feathers --” 

“No,” she interrupted. 

“What?” 

“We go in together.” 

“Karliah, what if--” 

She put a finger over my mouth and shushed me. 

“I could ask the same of you,” she said simply. 

“I didn’t even ask you anything!” 

“You were going to ask what if Mercer kills me.” 

My shoulders fell. She was right. We were both potential targets on Mercer’s hitlist. We already knew he’d turned the Guild against Karliah but we didn’t know if they thought I was dead or an accomplice in Karliah’s schemes. We could both be walking into a deathtrap, no matter which one of us went first. 

“Don’t worry, Brand. I have a plan. One that should, at the very least, clear your name.” 

“What is it?” 

She shook her head. “Can’t tell you. I need the element of surprise for it to work.” 

I opened my mouth to argue, but a stern glare made me shut it before I got any words out. Karliah was intense, had been since the moment I met her, but today she was even more so. She shifted then, reaching into her satchel and pulling out something wrapped in cloth. She unwrapped it to reveal an ebony shortsword. It glittered darkly between us, just a bit longer than my forearm. The hilt was carved with a rising bird motif, the wings reaching up to encircle a crest at the bottom of the blade. Karliah looked down at it almost lovingly. 

“It was Gallus’,” she finally said. 

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just waited. 

She held the blade out toward me. “Brand, I want you to have it.” 

“M-me?” 

“Yes. For believing in me when no one else did. You--you remind me of him. I think that Gallus would want you to have it.” 

I reached out to take it, my hand hovering just shy of the hilt. “Are you sure?” 

Karliah nodded. “Nothing is certain now. I want to give you this and thank you for your friendship before anything else happens.” 

“Karliah--” 

“Hush. Don’t ruin it. Just take the sword, Brand.” 

I swallowed and grasped the hilt, lifting the blade. It was extremely well-balanced, feeling almost like it was made for me. I could tell the edge was sharp, lovingly cared for, and the leather wrappings on the hilt were almost new. A quiet hum through my fingers told me the blade carried a few enchantments as well. A masterful piece, owned by a master. I only hoped I’d be able to live up to its expectations. 

“Now, let’s go. I know a back way into the city. Is the Guild still using that coffin as a secret entrance?” 

As it turned out, the coffin didn’t work. True to her word, Karliah got us into the city without being seen, but the stone coffin in the mausoleum didn’t respond when I pressed the symbol in the center. 

Karliah cursed under her breath. “Oblivion. They’re expecting someone.” 

“Us?” 

“No idea. Mercer might have them geared up for a fight. Or maybe he and Maven sprung their trap and have them locked down there like rats. There’s only one way to find out. We’ll have to go through the Ratway.” 

“That doesn’t leave us with an element of surprise,” I said. 

“Oh, it will. Just not the way we wanted.” 

I sighed. “Your plan?” 

Her smile was short, strained. “Yes. C’mon, let’s go.” 

Karliah led the way and I fell in behind her. We made it to the Ratway without meeting any Guild operatives, but that wasn’t unusual. They didn’t spend a lot of time topside. No guards or assassins tried to stop us either. Which meant Mercer thought he had us well and truly away or his real surprise was waiting for us in the Flagon. The Ratway was strangely empty as we headed down the cramped tunnels. The usual beggars and riffraff were gone. 

“He’s cleared the Ratway,” Karliah whispered. 

“You think that’s good or bad?”

She shrugged. We reached the Ragged Flagon doorway and Karliah paused. She turned toward me, her face half-hidden in the dim light. “Do you trust me, Brand?” 

“Huh?” I was caught off-guard by the sudden question. 

“Do you trust me?” 

I paused. Did I trust her? She shot me with a poisoned arrow after all. And then saved my life. On top of that, Gallus’ journal, unless it was an extremely elaborate hoax on her part, cleared her name. I met her eye and nodded. “I do.” 

“Good. Then believe me when I tell you that whatever happens next, I won’t hurt you. Just play along.” 

“Karliah, if you’d just tell me --” 

“I can’t. I’ll explain anything you want if we make it out of the next few minutes with our heads.” 

I sighed. “Ok.” 

“Good. You go first. I’ll be right behind you.” 

I nodded, took a deep breath, and walked out onto the bridge leading into the Flagon. Karliah followed, hood up, staying half-behind me. 

Dirge saw me first. His eyes got wide and he pointed a finger at me with his mouth half-open before he got the words out. “B-Brand!” 

From his reaction, Mercer must’ve made me out to be dead. “In the flesh, Dirge,” I said. 

Dirge frowned. “Mercer said you got shot.” 

I paused, hands out to my sides, making myself as un-threatening as possible. “I did. Turns out, it wasn’t fatal.” Seems he forgot to mention the part where he stabbed me. 

Dirge’s eyes suddenly slid past me -- to Karliah.

“Who’s that?” he asked, but he made no sudden moves. Either he had other instructions, or he didn’t know Karliah by sight.

“She’s a friend,” I said. “Dirge, we need to tell the Guild something. Where’s Brynjolf?” 

Dirge scowled at us for a long moment, hand wavering over his sword. Then he tilted his head, half-shrugged, and motioned for us to follow. We walked through the Flagon, which was strangely empty. No Delvin, no Vex. Tonilia wasn’t out on the dock sorting goods (just that spooky high elf, scribbling in a notebook). I felt something cold slither down my spine. The only one still in the bar was Vekel. I don’t think I’d ever seen the man anywhere else. He was studiously cleaning the already spotless bar with a rag. As soon as Dirge was past him, he caught my eye and flashed me the signal for “danger.” 

I pointed forward at Dirge. 

Vekel gave me a slight nod. 

I could only hope Karliah caught the sign as well, since I couldn’t risk stopping to ask. Dirge kept walking and it was pretty clear he was taking us straight to the Cistern. As soon as we walked through the door, we were surrounded by a rough half-circle of the rest of the Guild.

Brynjolf, Vex, Delvin, Tonilia. Etienne, Rune, Vipir, Sapphire. They were all there. Except Mercer. And they were all armed. The sound of ringing steel on leather was unmistakable. Swords and daggers and bows appeared as if by magic. Dirge swung around, pulling his axe from his belt. 

Karliah suddenly grabbed me from behind. She pulled my arm up and back in such a quick motion I didn’t have time to resist before she held my shoulder at a painful angle. Cold steel flickered at my throat.  “Stay where you are or he meets my blade!” Karliah shouted.

I made a startled, strangled sort of noise. Was this Karliah’s plan? Was this where I was supposed to trust her? I sincerely hoped so. Karliah had me nearly up on my toes to alleviate the pressure on my shoulder and I had to focus to keep my balance. 

There were cries of outrage from the Guild. 

“Let him go!” 

“Bastard Dunmer!” 

“I’ll rip her Divines-damned throat out!” That last one was Vex, whom Delvin actively held back with an arm across her chest. 

“Wait!” I shouted. “Wait!” 

The room froze. 

Finally, Brynjolf took a half-step forward. “Lad, is that really you?” 

Karliah’s knife relaxed fractionally, a movement I was pretty sure the others didn’t notice, but I felt. I could only hope that meant I had permission to talk. 

“Y-yes. It’s me.” My voice shook a little. It wasn’t intentional, but it probably helped this crazy charade. 

“Mercer said you were dead.” 

“I’m sure he thought I was.” 

“He said she killed you.” Brynjolf pointed over my shoulder at Karliah. 

“Well, I didn’t, now did I?” she snapped. 

There was murmuring in the circle and I noticed a few weapons falter. Vex snarled and Delvin pushed her back a bit more.

“Brynjolf, listen to me,” Karliah pleaded. “Mercer has been lying to you and the Guild for years. I can explain. Just let me show you.” 

Brynjolf’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at Karliah. “Why should we listen to you?” he spat. “Murderer.” 

“No!” There was something suspiciously close to tears in her voice. “I didn’t kill Gallus. It was Mercer.” 

Cries of “Liar!” and “No!” echoed around the room. 

“I have proof! Just let me talk!” Karliah protested. 

Brynjolf made a few gestures and most of the rest of the weapons lowered. Vex still brandished her knife. 

“You’re not off to a very good start, Karliah.” Brynjolf crossed his arms.  

“Brynjolf, listen to her,” I said. “Please.”

Brynjolf stared at the two of us for a while. “Let the lad go and then we’ll listen. You’ve got two minutes.” 

I heard a nearly imperceptible sigh from Karliah and then she released me and stepped back. I stood where I was, massaging my shoulder, across the ridges of scarring left over from Goldenglow. 

“Brand was insurance,” she said. “To stop you from shooting me as soon as I walked through the door, but I hope that after we talk, you’ll believe me when I say he was never in any danger.” 

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow. 

“She’s telling the truth, Brynjolf,” I said. 

Brynjolf sighed and looked at Delvin, then at Vex. 

“I trust the boy,” Delvin said. 

“If she tries anything funny, I’ll slit her throat,” Vex snarled. 

“Alright, Karliah,” Brynjolf said. “Speak.” 

Karliah stepped up beside me and laid her blade on the floor at our feet. Then she slowly reached into the satchel at her side. Weapons raised again and there were gasps and the scuffle of the Guild members readying themselves. 

“It’s not a weapon!” I threw up my hands. 

They all paused. 

Karliah pulled the journal out of her satchel. “This is Gallus’ journal,” she said. “I found it on his body in Snow Veil Sanctum, where Mercer killed him. It was written in the Falmer tongue, so we had to get some help translating it. Everything’s in here. In black and white. Mercer killed Gallus and stole the Guild stash. That’s why you all have been down on your luck. That’s why Nocturnal revoked her favor.” She held the journal out. 

Brynjolf looked from Karliah to me. 

I nodded. 

He sheathed his sword and walked up, then took the journal. He flipped to the pages that Karliah marked with a scrap of cloth and started reading her translations. His face paled. 

“What does it say, Brynjolf?” Delvin asked. 

“Yeah, read it out loud or something, damn it!” Vex seconded. 

There were more nods and general expressions of agreement around the room. 

Brynjolf turned around so that he was facing the Guild members and started reading. About how Gallus suspected Mercer of skimming the top off his takes, of how he’d been caught more than once skulking around the treasure room without good reason, how he’d grown moody and distant, how Nocturnal’s favor all but abandoned him. And, in a hurried scrawl, at the bottom of the last page, a few half-complete sentences about Snow Veil Sanctum, a last hurried message to Karliah professing his love, and the regret and certainty that these were his last hours in the mortal plane. 

Brynjolf trailed off and Gallus’ words echoed around the Cistern. The only other sound in the room was the trickle of the waterfalls in the background. 

Vex broke the silence. “Murdering bastard!” she screamed. “I’ll kill him when I find him!”

As if she’d broken some sort of spell holding everyone else silent, the room suddenly erupted in outraged cries, questions, and shouts of dismay until Brynjolf shouted over it all, “QUIET!” 

The room fell unnaturally still again. 

“I have questions.” Brynjolf turned back to me and Karliah. 

“Ask away,” Karliah said. 

“What really happened out at the Sanctum, lad? Mercer said you died.” 

I glanced at Karliah. She nodded. “Mercer used me as a shield,” I said. “Karliah shot me --” 

“She what?” Delvin demanded. 

“She shot me with a paralysis poison, expecting me to be Mercer. Turns out, that saved my life. Mercer confronted Karliah, but she slipped away. He tried to kill me on his way out because I heard him admit to murdering Gallus. Pretty sure he didn’t think Karliah would come back and save me.” 

“Mercer tried to kill you?” Sapphire demanded. She crossed her arms. 

In answer, I lifted my shirt to show her my healing wounds. Though closed up now, the stab wound in my side was still angry and red around the edges. 

“Divines, lad,” Brynjolf breathed. 

“It was actually Karliah’s poison and quick-thinking that saved me,” I said quietly, letting my shirt drop. 

Brynjolf looked back at Karliah. “Thank you, lass.” 

She half-smiled. “You know, I actually like the kid?” 

“So do we.” 

Sapphire pressed forward again. “So you’ve been stabbed,” she pointed at me, “and you’ve got this nice notebook.” She thrust a finger at Karliah. Then she addressed the Guild, “But how in Oblivion do we know that either of these lunatics are telling the truth? I mean, Mercer’s been with us for years. But these guys? I hardly know one of them and the other one should’ve drowned in that canal.” 

“Hey!” I protested. 

“We open the vault,” Karliah said. 

“The vault, lass? Are you crazy?” Brynjolf’s eyes went wide. 

“Perhaps,” Karliah shrugged. “But if the vault’s empty, it proves what Gallus wrote in his journal. Open the vault. Find out who’s lying.” 

Sapphire crossed her arms and nodded. Around the room, I saw more heads bob. 

Brynjolf looked back at Vex and Delvin. 

Delvin gave him a slow nod and pulled a slender key from an inner pocket of his leather armor. 

Brynjolf pulled a similar key from his own pocket and the whole group tramped down the hall to the Guild vault. A few Guild members kept close to me and Karliah. Nobody restrained us, but the message was clear -- no funny business. 

When we got to the vault door, Brynjolf and Delvin slipped their keys into the matching locks on either side and each turned them. The door slid open. 

We all stared inside. 

The vault was empty. 

Chapter Text

“I am going to kill Mercer Frey!” Vex shrieked. 

“So you’ve been saying,” Delvin muttered. 

The Guild members stood still, stunned, staring into the empty vault. Nobody was paying me or Karliah much attention. 

Brynjolf stood with his chin in his hand, staring at the floor, lost in thought. 

“What I don’t understand,” he finally said, his voice hushing everyone as if by magic. “Is how he did it. The vault takes two keys to open. Always has. Only Mercer, Delvin and I have a key, and I certainly didn’t come down here and open the door with him.” 

Delvin frowned. “Are you accusing me, Brynjolf?” 

“No,” Brynjolf said slowly. 

“Because I never opened the vault for him either,” Delvin declared. 

“Could he have made a copy of your keys?” Rune asked. 

“No,” Brynjolf said decisively. “We keep them on our person at all times.” 

“He didn’t need a copy,” Karliah spoke up. 

“What?” Brynjolf whirled toward her. 

“Mercer didn’t need a copy or a second key. He opened the vault himself.” 

“How?” Vex demanded. 

“With the Skeleton Key.” 

“A skeleton key?” Brynjolf looked incredulous. “You think the vault can just be opened with any old skeleton key?”  

“Not any skeleton key,” Karliah said. “The Skeleton Key.” 

“What’s the difference?” I asked. 

“I suspect that Mercer had...outside help on this job,” Karliah murmured. 

Brynjolf crossed his arms. “You mean Maven?” 

“No, I mean something higher than the Lady Black-Briar. Something darker.” 

“Daedra?” Delvin guessed. 

Karliah nodded. 

“Mercer was a Nightingale,” I supplied. “Would Nocturnal help him open the gate?” 

Karliah shot me a look that was almost displeased. 

“Nocturnal? Nightingales?” Brynjolf looked incredulous. “Lad, everyone knows Nightingales are just myth. And why would Nocturnal open the vault of her own Guild for Mercer? Especially if she’s turned her disfavor on us?” 

I opened my mouth to answer, even though I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to say, but Karliah jumped in. 

“Regardless of who or what helped him, Mercer isn’t acting alone. He has power, tools and influence that we aren’t aware of and he’s got the contents of the vault.” 

“So then, where’s Mercer now?” I asked. 

The guild members looked at each other for a minute, as if they’d all just realized that Mercer wasn’t here. As a one, they turned to Brynjolf. He raised his hands. “I don’t know where he is. Just that he said he’d be gone for a few weeks. But I think I know how to find out where he went.” 

“How?” Vex asked. 

“We sneak into his house.” 

“Mercer has a house?” I asked incredulously. 

After calming everyone down and setting Vex and Delvin to guard the Cistern in case Mercer made a sudden reappearance, Brynjolf, Karliah, and I came back to the Ragged Flagon and were sitting at the bar, all with tankards in hand while Vekel (who looked much relieved that we came out alive) busied himself with putting a couple of plates together for Karliah and me. My mouth watered at the thought of home-cooked food after a few weeks on the road. 

“Of course he’s got a house,” Vekel muttered. “You think Mercer would pass up a chance to be better than the rest of us down here?” 

“Now, Vekel, you know he doesn’t actually live in the house,” Brynjolf said. 

“I don’t care if he lives in it or not. The point is, he has a manor and Maven gave it to him.” 

“Maven gave Mercer a manor?” I raised an eyebrow.

Brynjolf shrugged. “Payment for some work he did for her, I think. Mercer mostly used it as a decoy house, far as I know. Oblivion take it all!” Brynjolf suddenly exclaimed. “I should’ve seen this coming! Mercer’s been playing the Guild for years and we ate right out of his hand like lambs.” 

Karliah put a hand on Brynjolf’s shoulder. “Mercer’s a crafty bastard. Don’t feel bad. He fooled Gallus and I as well.” 

“But Gallus caught on! And it cost him his life. Dammit! It shouldnt’ve come to that. I’m so sorry, lass.” 

Karliah gave him a sad smile. “What’s done is done, Bryn. We can’t go back. But we can go forward and make the traitor pay for his sins.”  

Just then, Vekel delivered steaming plates of mammoth steak, mashed potatoes and cabbage. I dug in enthusiastically. “Him and Maven,” I said around a mouthful of potatoes. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Karliah sighed. 

I swallowed. “Mercer and Maven,” I said again. “They’re both behind this. In fact, I think Maven’s the mastermind, not Mercer.” 

“Maven wants something, that’s for sure,” Karliah agreed. “But I haven’t been able to figure out what. Even when I was running my schemes at Goldenglow and Honningbrew, nobody seemed to know what she was ultimately after.” 

“Goldenglow and Honningbrew?” Brynjolf asked. “That was you?” 

Karliah nodded. “It was a plot to undermine Mercer and Maven. I hoped that maybe if I made some of their plans fail, Mercer’s schemes would get revealed to the Guild and you might start investigating.” 

Brynjolf sighed. 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Karliah asked. 

“Only because we got ourselves a set of sharper-than-usual eyes. Divines, lad, to think that Mercer tried to murder you.” 

I shrugged. “Tried being the operative word.” 

“I almost hate to ask you to keep getting involved,” Brynjolf muttered into his tankard. 

“Don’t worry about it. You couldn’t stop me from being involved now. I want to see Mercer get taken down. Whatever you need, Brynjolf. I’m up for it.” 

“How’s that sword-wound in your side?” he asked. 

“Fine. I mean, long as you don’t throw me down any waterfalls.” I shot Karliah a grin to let her know I was joking. 

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow. 

“I’ll have to tell you about Markarth sometime,” Karliah said. 

“Markarth? What were you doing in Markarth?” 

“Getting Gallus’ journal translated. I happen to know an old elf who specializes in Dwemer and Falmer research out there.” 

“And that necessitated throwing Brand off a waterfall?” 

Karliah suddenly found her food very interesting. “Let’s just say the elf didn’t exactly share his research willingly and a few mage-guards may have been employed to search his private lab for rats.” 

Brynjolf shook his head. 

“The only way out was over the balcony,” I added. 

“With that?” he gestured at my side. 

“It was mostly healed." I tried to sound casual. 

“Don’t let him lie to you,” Karliah said, all traces of joking aside. “He got banged up pretty bad, Brynjolf. I almost lost him. He was right when he said that my paralysis poison saved his life. But only just.” 

Brynjolf looked back over at me. I stuffed my mouth with mammoth steak because I wasn’t sure what to say. 

“Sounds like somebody’s got their eye on you, lad,” Brynjolf said. 

I swallowed hard. Being under anybody’s eye was never my favorite place to be and I got the feeling from the reverent way Brynjolf said it, he meant something...other-worldly. 

“Right, then. So, uh. Mercer’s house, yeah?” It was an obvious subject change, but Brynjolf and Karliah shared a look and allowed it. 

“Right.” Brynjolf gestured at Vekel and Vekel provided a piece of paper and a bit of charcoal. Brynjolf sketched out a quick map of Riften. “Mercer’s house is here.” He scrawled an X on the map near the Temple of Mara. “Riftweald Manor, it’s called. Our best bet at finding out where he is now is to search there and see what we find. If he made any plans, that’s where they’d be. Now, I’ve only been inside once or twice, but if memory serves, he’s got a back entrance here,” Brynjolf put another little mark on the map, “in the form of an escape bridge. There’s a mechanism for lowering the bridge to the next roof, but you can also activate it by shooting it from the ground, which should give you rooftop access. You could always try the direct approach, but Mercer’s got a guard named Vald who’s pretty good at crushing skulls. Not to mention whatever Mercer might do if he’s home. He said he was going to be out of Riften for a while, but…” Brynjolf shrugged. 

“Right. Is there any way to bribe the guard? Just in case?” I asked. 

Brynjolf shook his head. “Ask Vex. I think I heard her mention a debt Vald owed Mercer once. If that’s the case, he might be working for Mercer to pay him off and that might give you an in. Otherwise, I’d suggest you stay clear of the man.” 

I nodded. “Ok. I’ll find Vex. Anything else I should know?” 

“Just keep your eyes open,” Brynolf said. 

“And be careful,” Karliah added. 

“Yeah, Vald’s got a debt alright, but not to Mercer.” Vex lazily tossed her dagger up in the air and caught it, leaning against the Cistern wall as we talked. She’d come dangerously close to slicing her fingers more than once, but she somehow always managed to catch the dagger by the hilt, no matter how recklessly she threw it. 

“Then why does he serve Mercer?” I asked. 

Vex shrugged. “I dunno. He owes Maven a lot of money. Apparently Mercer and Maven worked out some sort of deal where Vald guards Mercer’s house and works off his debt.” 

“Ok. So, can we buy him off?” 

“Yeah, but it’ll take a lot of money. A lot.” 

“Alright, so where do we get it?” 

Vex caught her dagger again and looked at me for a while, unblinking. 

At the moment she was starting to make me uncomfortable, she spoke. “There’s a quill.” 

“A quill?” 

“Yeah, feathered thing. You write with it. You know.” 

“Ok. What’s that got to do with Vald or Maven?” 

“Vald lost it.” 

“He lost a quill?” 

“Not just any quill,” Vex said theatrically. She leaned forward, as if she were about to tell me a secret. “The Quill of Gemination.” 

I blinked. “Gemi-what-now?” 

She sighed. “Gemination. It’s...look, it’s a magic quill, alright. It’s supposed to allow you to copy any handwriting you can see.”

“Oh. That’s...powerful.” 

“Exactly. So ol’ Black-Briar wants it. Hired Vald to get it. He lost it.” 

“Where?” 

Vex shrugged. “Somewhere in Honich Lake.” 

I groaned. 

“What, afraid of a little water, elf?” 

“Let’s just say water hasn’t been my friend lately.” 

Vex smirked. 

“So, if we get the quill, we clear Vald’s debt?” I asked. 

“Probably.” 

“But Maven also gets it.” 

“Yes.” 

“Unless we make a swap,” I said. 

Vex’s smirk became positively devilish. “You want to risk that?” 

“With Maven? Yeah. You wanna help?” 

She tossed and caught her dagger one more time, this time by the blade. A thin trickle of blood ran down her finger. She licked it off. “Definitely.” 

In the end, we convinced Etienne to retrieve the Quill. It took him an hour of swimming back and forth across the lake, but he found it. In the meantime, we collected every quill we could find in the Flagon and Cistern and sent Brynjolf topside to buy us a few more from the Market. Maven would be smart enough to test the Quill upon delivery, so we had to give her the real one, then switch it out for a lookalike later. Especially if we wanted it to actually buy off Vald. 

Karliah and I avoided going out too much because we didn’t want to tip our hand. Despite our best efforts, it was likely Maven knew we were here. But if she didn’t know, we wanted to keep it that way a little longer. 

Even still, I insisted on being the one to scope Mercer’s house. After meticulously making a fake Quill of Gemination, Vex took up position outside Maven’s house, disguised as a beggar in the Market. I had the real Quill in a pouch on my belt as I snuck through Riften’s back allies to Mercer’s manor. I was going to try to sneak into his house unnoticed, but if I ran into Vald, I’d have the Quill as a bargaining chip. If Vex saw Vald go to Maven’s house with the Quill, then it was her job to sneak in afterwards and make the switch. 

I found myself standing outside the gate to Mercer’s house before I realized it. I pressed up against the wall and took a look around. Like Brynjolf said, the escape bridge was folded up against one edge of Mercer’s upstairs balcony. A heavily-muscled Nord with short-cropped hair and a fur kilt patrolled near the house, but he didn’t seem concerned with anything above ground-level. The roof it was, then. I pulled a dagger off my belt and looked up at the escape mechanism. It would be a tricky shot, but if I timed it right, Vald shouldn’t notice a thing. I waited until he was around the front of the house, then threw the dagger and cut the rope holding the escape bridge up. The bridge lowered and created a walkway between Mercer’s balcony and the building next door. I snuck back around Mercer’s courtyard and up to the rooftops, crossed the bridge and dropped onto Mercer’s balcony. I retrieved my dagger and went to work on his back door. 

Right at the moment the lock sprung open, a shadow drifted overhead. I looked up a second before Vald dropped off the roof and landed lightly behind me, a heavy rondel dagger in his right hand and a leering grin on his face. 

“They never think I can climb,” he said. 

“They?” I cautiously raised my hands as he threatened me with the knife. “There’ve been multiple break-ins in Mercer’s house?” I raised an eyebrow, trying for a casual conversation, despite the fact that I was clearly one of “them.” 

“Why do you think Mercer hired me?” Vald jabbed his chest with a thumb. 

“I heard it was because you owed Maven a debt.” 

Some of his pride dissipated and Vald stared at me with narrowed eyes. He gripped the dagger a little tighter. 

“So it’s true?” I asked. 

“So what if it is?” he growled. “Half of Riften is in debt to Maven.” 

“What if I told you I could clear your debt?” 

He blinked. 

“That...delivery you were supposed to make to Maven? I’ve got it with me.” I glanced down at the pouch on my belt, keeping my hands in the air. “You can go give it to Maven, erase your debt, and get out of here.” 

Vald tilted his head. “Why should I believe you?” 

“Because I really, really want to break into Mercer’s house?” I tried with a smile. 

Vald growled and raised the dagger. 

“Wait!” I threw my hands up. 

He paused. 

“Look, I’m going to go out on a limb and say you don’t like Mercer very much.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Because I’m not dead yet.” 

Vald half-shrugged. 

“So...I’m offering you your freedom, Vald. You can leave Mercer behind. For good. Maven too. Disappear, go do what you want. That’s a pretty good deal, yeah? All you have to do is look the other way while I walk into Mercer’s house.” 

“He told me you’d be very persuasive,” Vald said. 

“He told you I...that bastard!” So, he did have a plan for my potential survival.

Vald laughed. “But this whole ploy reeks of Vex. So I’m guessing it’s her as what told you I had a debt and it’s her as what told you what would get me out of it.” 

“I’m not sure if it helps my case to say yes,” I muttered. 

Vald snorted, but he flipped his dagger blade-down and put it back on his belt. “Not really, but what you’re offering me is a hell of a lot more than what Mercer promised me for slitting your throat.” 

I put a hand up to my neck. “Oh, good.” 

“You’re lucky, elf. There’s only one thing I like more than a pile of gold. And that’s getting to spend it any damn way I please. So I accept your offer and I’ll take that Quill back to Maven. Assuming you've got the real deal there.” He nodded toward my belt. 

I pulled the Quill out of my pouch and handed it to him. 

He took it from me and studied it. “If Vex put you up to this, how do I know this is the real thing?”

I smiled and pulled two rolled sheets of parchment out of the pouch. One was blank and one had a pointless little note Brynjolf wrote on it earlier. “She said you’d ask that. Here. Test it if you want.” 

Vald looked at me and then at the Quill, then he shrugged and grabbed the pieces of parchment. He spread them out on the balcony floor and started writing on the blank sheet. To my utter surprise, he copied Brynjolf’s handwriting exactly. He looked up at me with a grin. “So you’re telling the truth after all.” 

I nodded. 

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small key. “Here. Key to Mercer’s house. It’ll unlock anything inside. I’m taking this to Maven and then I’m ditching this backwater town.” 

“Uh, thanks. Good luck, then,” I said. 

He paused. “Good luck to you, too, kid. If you see Vex, tell her I said hello, yeah? And if you ever think of putting your heart in her hands, don’t. Run, instead.” 

“Ok. Sure.” I fought back a grin. Vex and Vald? That might be interesting to bring up later. But he could be rest assured I wouldn’t be handing Vex any part of me. Ever.  

Vald turned to leave, then turned back, as if he’d forgotten something. “I’d check the cabinets if I were you.” He winked, then ran across Mercer’s escape bridge and disappeared.

Chapter Text

“Holy Oblivion, Mercer Frey, you’re a suspicious bastard, aren’t you?” I muttered as the back of a large cabinet in his basement slid open to reveal a short set of steps leading down into a series of tunnels. Vald was right and I’d had little trouble inside Mercer’s house. There were a few more guards posted inside -- just hired thugs I easily snuck past -- and no sign of Mercer at all. Seems like he’d been telling the truth about being out of town. At least, for now. 

I stepped into the tunnels and drew the cabinet door closed behind me. “Thanks for the tip, Vald.” 

The tunnels were damp and musty, a lot like the Ratway, with grates set into the walls at intervals and water dripping from the ceiling. Unlike the Ratway, they were booby trapped. I saw the tripwire for the swinging blades before I stepped on it and was able to step over it and make it to the other side of the hall without activating death. As was typical with these kinds of traps, there was a lever on the other side that disabled it in case I had to come back this way. 

The poison darts behind the door at the end of the tunnels surprised me, but I managed to whip back behind the door just in time to avoid being impaled by a dozen lethal little stingers. I took a deep breath, watching with nearly crossed eyes as one of the darts quivered in the door a few inches above my hand. While Karliah’s poisoned arrow had saved my life, I figured Mercer’s poisoned darts would be much less helpful. 

I stepped out from behind the door and into what was obviously Mercer’s private sanctum. I had a dagger in my hand, ready to defend myself, but, as with the rest of the Manor, Mercer wasn’t here. There was a table against one wall, along with a few trunks and shelves filled with trinkets every petty pickpocket across Skyrim would give their left thumb for. I pocketed a handful of flawless gemstones sitting in a bowl, along with a few rings and necklaces. I grabbed a bust in the corner too -- looked kind of like some guy in Guild armor. A piece of paper on the table caught my eye and I walked over. It looked like plans for a theft of something called the “Eyes of the Falmer.” I grabbed those and a letter lying nearby, addressed from “R” to “M” praising “M” for some masterful thievery at Castle Dour. It meant little to me (other than an assumption that “M” was Mercer), but maybe these would give Brynjolf the clues he needed to figure out where Mercer was. 

Further exploration of Mercer’s tunnels revealed that they came out in the Ratway, not far from the Flagon. 

“So that’s how he’s been sneaking in and out of the Guild. The plot thickens,” I muttered as  I hurried across the water to the Flagon. 

Vex, still in her beggars’ garb, was sitting on a barstool bragging to Vekel, Tonilia, and Etienne how she’d managed to steal back the real Quill of Gemination from Maven. She gave me a smile as I headed into the Cistern and waved the Quill in the air over her head. I gave her a thumbs up. 

I found Brynjolf pacing back and forth just in front of Mercer’s old desk. It was covered in papers and objects, and Brynjolf had ink all over his fingers, some of which he’d run through his hair.  He gave me a half-smile as I walked up. “It’s good to see you alive, lad.” 

“Alive and enlightened.” I grinned and held up the bust I’d stolen from Mercer’s house. 

“What is…” Brynjolf stopped, taking a closer look at it. “That’s the Grey Fox!” He spluttered. “Mercer had that?” 

“The grey who?” 

“Grey Fox. Infamous thief from Cyrodiil. Traditionally, the leader of the Thieves' Guild there.” 

“Ah. Well, I took it out of Mercer’s basement. Just for fun.” I set it on the desk. “Along with these.” I dashed a handful of gems down beside the bust. “And...this.” I pulled the letter and the plans out of my pouch and spread them out on the table too.  

Brynjolf stared at them. 

“Mercer was telling the truth about one thing,” I said. “He’s not in Riften right now.” 

“Divines! He’s after the Eyes of the Falmer!” Brynjolf smacked a hand to his forehead. “Of course he is, the thief.” 

“Eyes of the Falmer?” I raised an eyebrow. From Brynjolf’s reaction, this was some incredibly large haul, but I’d never heard of it. 

“Aye, lad. Two gemstones, said to be housed in a giant statue of a snow elf, in the Dwemer ruin Irkngthand. They’re worth a fortune. Oblivion, they’re worth an empire! If Mercer gets his hands on just one of them, he’ll be set for life. He’ll be able to disappear anywhere in Mundus and I don’t think we’ll be able to find him.” 

“So, it’s bad.” 

Brynjolf nodded. 

“It was also Gallus’ last heist,” Karliah suddenly said from behind us. We both whirled around to find her standing just off the edge of the bridge across the Cistern. I hadn’t even heard her approach. “Or, at least, it was supposed to be,” she finished quietly. 

“So this is what Mercer’s been after the whole time?” I asked. 

“Likely,” Karliah said. “He knew Gallus was after the Eyes, but Gallus wouldn’t tell Mercer where they were or how he planned to lift them. When Gallus died, his plans for the Eyes died with him. But obviously Mercer uncovered another way to get to them.” 

“Which means we have to stop him,” Brynjolf snarled. “You know what it means if he gets to them, lass.” 

“I do,” Karliah whispered. 

“So, then what are we waiting around here for?” I asked. 

“For a balance of power.” Karliah met my eye and suddenly hers were glittering, dangerous, like that night at Snow Veil Sanctum. 

“Um…” I trailed off. 

“Mercer is a Nightingale. You two,” she pointed at me and Brynjolf. “Are not.” 

Brynjolf looked stunned. “Then the lad was telling the truth earlier? The  Nightingales are real?”

“Very,” Karliah said. “In fact, you’re looking at the only other remaining Nightingale right now.”

Brynjolf’s eyes got even wider. “You?”

Karliah nodded. “Gallus, too.”

“By the nine…”

“And exactly why we need to be on equal footing to fight Mercer. He might not be perfectly attuned with Nocturnal, but that doesn’t mean he can’t access her powers. He’s a clever bastard and he’ll be even more slippery than an eel covered in Horker fat if it comes down to a fight. Not to mention he’ll be armed with any boons Maven may have supplied him.” 

“Oh, Divines,” I breathed. “Maven…” 

“Lad?” 

“If she’s Mercer’s patron, that means she’s also got a hand in this Eyes of the Falmer thing. What happens if we hand Riften’s most powerful woman the wealth of an empire?” 

Brynjolf spat. 

“We don’t want to find out,” Karliah muttered. “But we won’t have to. We aren’t letting Mercer get away with this heist and we certainly aren’t letting Maven lay a finger on the Eyes. But first, you two need to commune with Nocturnal.” 

Brynjolf and I were silent for a minute. Brynjolf looked distinctly uncomfortable. 

“Say what now?” I finally stammered. 

Karliah rolled her eyes as if we were both slow. “Commune. With. Nocturnal. At Nightingale Hall. I’m offering the chance for you to become Nightingales. To restore the triumvirate.” 

“That’s...that’s..” Brynjolf didn’t manage a full sentence. 

“That’s the only way to defeat Mercer,” Karliah said. “You know he will fight to the death, Bryn. There’s no other way.” 

“I agree with you, lass, I just...Nightingales? By Nocturnal. I’d always assumed they were a legend, even when Brand said Mercer was one, I figured it was just another elaborate lie on Mercer’s part. And now...you?” 

Karliah grinned. “We are very, very real, Bryn.” 

Brynjolf still looked a little stunned, but he nodded and there was something steely in his gaze. 

“Brand?” Karliah looked at me and extended a hand. “What do you say?”

“I, uh. Yeah. Let’s go.” I managed, wincing at how inarticulate that sounded. 

Karliah laughed, eyes twinkling as she reached out and grabbed mine and Brynjolf’s hands.  “Then follow me,” she said. “We shall cloak ourselves in shadow and bring the fight to Mercer.” 

Nightingale Hall ended up being closer to Riften than I thought and we didn’t even bother with horses as Karliah led us up a short but steep mountain trail southeast of the city. We stopped at a stone that looked something like the standing stones scattered around Skyrim, but bigger -- much bigger. Karliah led us around to the side of the stone to a door set back in the mountainside, nearly invisible unless you were looking for it, and took us inside. After a short walk through some dirt tunnels, we came out in a stone atrium lit by flickering torches on the walls. I felt a shiver go down my spine -- what in Oblivion lit them? Nocturnal? On one side of the atrium was a platform with three square stones on it, painted with the same design that adorned the hilt of Gallus’ blade -- a rising bird with wings stretched into a circular shape over its head.

“Touch the stones,” Karliah instructed. 

“What do they do?” I asked. 

She smiled, teeth sharp in the gloom. “They will allow you to commune with Nocturnal.” 

Beside me, Brynjolf took a deep breath. “Not to doubt you, lass, but you’re being very…secretive about this whole thing.” 

“Is not our Lady Nocturnal the same?” Karliah arched an eyebrow. 

Brynjolf was at a loss for words, though the expression on his face said he didn’t quite agree, either. 

Karliah sighed. “Look, Bryn, I know this is hard for you, especially after Mercer. I know blind trust is asking...quite a lot.” 

Brynjolf grimaced as if that were an understatement, but I got where he was coming from. And he didn’t have the added assurance of Karliah saving his life and a few weeks traveling Skyrim with her. 

“You’re asking for a bit more than blind trust. You’re asking me to believe in things I thought were only legend just a few hours ago.” 

Karliah walked up and put a hand on Brynjolf’s shoulder. 

“I know. And I won’t force you to do this. Either of you.” Karliah’s eyes flicked back and forth between Brynjolf’s and mine. “But trust me when I say that without Nocturnal’s blessing, Mercer will tear you apart. I cannot allow either of you to go with me to the final confrontation as you are now.” 

Brynjolf looked like he might have been about to protest and I felt indignation rise up in my own chest. 

Karliah held up her hands placatingly. “I’m not downplaying any of your skills. I’m telling the truth,” she said quietly. 

Brynjolf nodded grimly and looked over at me. I sighed and gave him a nod. 

“Let’s do this,” I said. 

We turned around and each touched a stone. 

I immediately felt something cold shoot down my spine and I would have gasped except that whatever it was also stole my breath. I felt a tingling sensation in my limbs and across my chest, as if my body was going numb. My clothing shifted, rippling almost like water . I held up an arm, eyes wide as a set of armor materialized across my skin, my rusty tunic transforming into sleek, black leather as I watched. Gauntlets covered my hands and greeves encircled my legs. A cape sprung up around my shoulders, falling to the backs of my calves and a hood came up over my head, brushing my ears. A black mask wove its way across my face, until I was covered head to toe in black, only my eyes visible, bright points in darkness. My breath came back in a rush and I gasped, then turned around to face Karliah and Brynjolf. They were both wearing the same black ensemble, although only Karliah looked calm about it. Brynjolf was staring at his hands with, I imagine, an expression of shock under the mask. 

“Nightingale armor,” Karliah explained. “Now, you are ready to meet Nocturnal. Come.” She stepped out of the atrium into another hallway and Brynjolf and I followed. 

“Kind of makes your head spin, eh, lad?” Brynjolf murmured as we walked down the hall. “They’d always told me that Nightingales were just myth and now here we are about to become one.” 

“The rumor that we didn’t exist was spread intentionally,” Karliah said from in front of us. “To keep our true identities and purposes secret.” 

I wasn’t quite sure what I believed about the whole thing. I knew that Daedra often took mortal champions, but I had no frame of reference for the Nightingales or their powers, other than what Karliah told me. I wasn’t scared, not really. But I wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit, either. 

Karliah took us into a chamber that had a central platform in the center, with three more platforms branching off of it on arched stone bridges. Each platform was carved with the rising bird motif. Karliah headed toward the center platform. “Brand, you take that one,” she pointed to her left, “And Brynjolf, you take that one,” she pointed to her right. We stepped up to the platforms. “Now, whatever you see, whatever you hear, stay on the platform.”

“Uh, Karliah…?” I began.

“Not now.” She made a shushing motion with her hand. Then she raised both her hands above her head and called out, “Lady Nocturnal, Matron of Shadows, Mother of Thieves, I call upon you. Hear my cry, Lady, and come visit your servants.” 

Karliah remained still, hands over her head. The room was quiet. I glanced over at Brynjolf. He was looking around somewhat nervously. Then I felt a deep sort of thrum in my chest, as if the very earth itself were shaking, and a shimmer appeared on the central platform in the room. The shimmer resolved itself into the vague outline of a shadowy woman, draped in a long, hooded robe. 

“Karliah,” she purred. “How interesting that you summon me now, especially after your...failure.” 

I glanced over at Karliah. She was kneeling, head bowed. 

“My lady, I am sorry.” 

“Sorry? You think that will return what was lost?” 

“No,” Karliah said. “But I hope that I might restore what was lost to you. And present you with a gift.” 

The shadow tilted her head. “A gift? For me?” She sounded curious. “What could you possibly give to me that I do not already have, Dunmer?” 

“Two new Nightingales, my lady.” Karliah gestured to either side. The shadow seemed to notice me and Brynjolf for the first time. 

“I see. They look capable. A weighted gift. In my favor? Karliah, what could you possibly be thinking?” 

Karliah took a deep breath. “My Lady, we intend to take down Mercer Frey.” 

The shadow crossed her arms and seemed to consider that for a long moment. “Revenge? On my behalf?” Then I could almost swear that the shadow opened her mouth and passed a dark tongue over even darker teeth. “How...unusual. Very well, I accept.” Then the shadow split in two, mirror versions of herself. One of them walked toward me and the other toward Brynjolf. 

The room narrowed as if I were in a tunnel until it was just me and the shadow. She flickered and seemed to solidify as she walked up to me, so that I could make out features -- eyes, nose, lips, long black hair underneath her hood. Long, shapely legs swishing through the slits in her robe. My knees felt weak and I staggered. 

“Oh, how sweet,” Nocturnal giggled. “Is my new Nightingale afraid?” 

I drew myself upright with a little effort. “No.” 

She laughed and circled me, giving me a distinct image of a bird of prey. “You look strong, Bosmer. And I see that you have been hurt doing my work before.” She ran a finger down my back where, underneath my armor, old whip scars ran. And then over my side where Mercer had stabbed me. For a moment, I felt the pain of those wounds again, as if they were fresh -- a flash that sent me down on one knee, gasping, sweat beading on my brow. Nocturnal finished her circle and stood in front of me once more. She knelt so that we were roughly eye to eye. The pain faded. 

She cupped a hand underneath my chin and gently tilted my face up to hers. She tucked a finger under one corner of my mask and pulled it down so she could see my face. Her eyes sparkled. “She didn’t tell me you were handsome as well,” she murmured, her eyes flicking between mine. 

I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what to say. 

Nocturnal ran one finger lightly down my cheek. 

“Do you want this, Brand?” 

Somehow I wasn’t surprised she knew my name. 

“Y-yes,” I panted. Finding my voice was hard. 

“Do you vow yourself to me, willingly?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you pledge your life to the shadows, your soul to the dark, and your spirit to my side in life and in death?” 

“I do.” I didn’t hesitate. Something in me knew that this was what I’d been waiting for my whole life. That this was where I belonged. That serving Nocturnal would come as naturally to me as picking pockets. 

She smiled. Then she put her hands on either side of my face, leaned in, and kissed me. Her lips on mine caught me by surprise and for a moment, I forgot to breathe. She tasted like shadow and moonlight and my skin tingled where she touched me. When she drew away, my head was ringing like I’d just drunk several bottles of spiced wine. 

She laughed. 

“I name you oath-bound, Brand.” 

Then she disappeared. 

“Rise, Nightingale.” 

Light and sound came back to me in a rush and I realized I was kneeling on the platform in Nightingale Hall once more. I stared at the floor, my hands, the walls for a long minute before I looked over at Karliah and Brynjolf. Karliah looked unaffected. Brynjolf was standing up, but he looked shaky. 

“Welcome back, Brand,” Karliah said. 

I managed a nod. When I tried to stand, I felt like a newborn colt still trying to find its legs and it took me a couple tries to find my balance and my feet. 

“How do you feel?” Karliah asked. 

“I...uh...good,” I stammered. 

Karliah laughed. “She’s stunning, isn’t she?” 

I breathed a little steadier as the room around me stilled. “Yes.” 

Karliah turned toward Brynjolf, then. “Bryn?” 

“I’m alright, lass.” His voice wasn’t entirely steady. 

“Excellent.” Karliah walked down the narrow bridge, back to the center of the room. After a few minutes, Brynjolf and I joined her. 

“Now,” she said, “there’s one final thing I need to tell you both.” 

Brynjolf and I waited expectantly. 

“That Skeleton Key I mentioned back at the vault? It’s an artifact of Nocturnal.” 

Brynjolf cursed under his breath. 

Karliah nodded. “That’s how Mercer was able to open the vault without a second key. The Skeleton Key will open any lock on Mundus. It’s supposed to stay in the Twilight Sepulchre, except when needed for Nocturnal’s purposes. But Mercer chose to take it and not return it. That’s why the Guild lost Nocturnal’s favor.” 

“So we just have to get it back?” I asked. 

“Yes. But the key allows its wielder to unlock more than just physical doors.” 

“What is that supposed to mean, lass?” Brynjolf asked. 

“It also allows Mercer to unlock spiritual doors. While he’s got the key, he has access to greater powers than even a Nightingale regularly expects. He has direct access to Nocturnal’s power.” 

“What? Then how are we supposed to beat him? What did you bring us down here for?” I demanded. 

“Hush, Brand.” Karliah’s voice was sharp. “I did not bring you down here for nothing. Listen. Mercer may have access to Nocturnal’s power, but he doesn’t have her favor or her luck. Stealing the Key lost him that. And despite what most think, power without luck is bereft. Right now, Mercer is sheer chaos. We are precision. It is the difference between smashing open a lock with a hammer and picking it so that no one can tell it was tampered with. We have Nocturnal’s luck and favor on our side and there are three of us. We cannot fail.” 

I looked over at Brynjolf, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking underneath that mask. 

I took a deep breath. “Ok, then what are we waiting for? Let’s go get Mercer.”

Chapter Text

Irkngthand reminded me of Snow Veil Sanctum. It was up near Windhelm and just about as cold. I was almost glad to get inside the ruin and out of the snow -- almost. I’ve never been one who enjoys a cold, damp ruin and knowing that we were going in to hunt down a snake didn’t exactly make me thrilled to be here. 

On the way here, Karliah explained more of our powers as Nightingales to me and Brynjolf. According to her, we now had the ability to sneak nearly undetected and had strength and reflexes in greater amounts than normal. Shadows would cloak us and protect us, light would expose us, and we were blessed with Nocturnal’s luck. She hinted that other powers would become available to us the closer to Nocturnal we grew.

“And Mercer?” I’d asked. 

Karliah had gotten quiet. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “He’s had the Key for a while now. So be ready for anything.” 

But despite her warnings, we met nothing more than dusty hallways and the occasional dwemer spider-worker for the first hour. The little mechanical spiders gave me the creeps, although they were easy enough to dispatch with a well-aimed blade to the joints. They’d curl up or burst apart, scattering gears and clanking metal across the halls. With the amount of noise we were making, I wasn’t sure we were going to surprise Mercer when we finally found him. 

Then again, the halls of the dwemer ruin were constantly clanking and hissing, as if they had life of their own. There was the sound of steam through pipes, creaking metal and grinding stone. Despite the fact that I was able to identify most of the noises as belonging to the ruin themselves, it had me on edge. I felt that same crushing intensity as I did in Markarth, like someone was watching me. I tried to remind myself of Karliah’s suggestion that a bunch of dwemer ghosts were the least of my worries, but it wasn’t working. The deeper into the ruin we went, the more I felt the weight of several tons of dirt and years of dwemer lives weighing down on me. 

It probably didn’t help that there were obvious ruins of larger machinations lying on the floors deeper in the ruin. Automatons that Karliah and Brynjolf identified as Spheres and Ballistas. Had Mercer taken these creatures out already? Or had they simply succumbed to the ravages of time and lack of oil? I shivered as we passed one of the broken Ballistas. They were lined with sharp, heavy bolts that looked like they could easily shear a man in two. Maybe they’d already gotten Mercer? I certainly didn’t want to test the theory myself. 

Unfortunately, we found Mercer whole and alive when we came out onto a walkway overlooking a large, open courtyard in the middle of the city. 

“There,” Brynjolf whispered grimly and pointed. 

Karliah and I followed his gaze to see a dark shape working his way slowly across the courtyard, sword drawn, sneaking up on a Dwemer Sphere. 

“Mercer,” Karliah hissed. 

The shadow paused, just a moment, as if he’d heard us, but that was ridiculous. We were hundreds of feet over his head. 

Still, Karliah, Brynjolf, and I instinctively pulled back into the shadows. But Mercer didn’t even glance our way as he advanced on the Sphere and dispatched it with a quick and decisive thrust. It clattered to the floor in several pieces. Only then did he look up at the shadows, as if he knew exactly where we were, and then continue across the courtyard and disappear through a door on the far end. 

“He knows we’re here,” I voiced what we were all thinking. 

Brynjolf shrugged and Karliah looked doubtful. 

“We press on,” she said. “We don’t have a choice.” 

We continued through Irkngthand, working our way through more rooms and chambers and fighting more dwemer automata on the way. Eventually, we passed back into dirt tunnels and were confronted by the pale and grotesque Falmer. I’d never seen one up close and they made me shiver -- dead flesh stretched over where eyes should be, mouths gaping, teeth stuck with bits of blood and flesh from their last meal. But we found no evidence of any Falmer ripping Mercer to shreds, so we kept going, sneaking through where we could and only confronting the Falmer when we absolutely had to. 

Finally, we made it to the chamber marked on Gallus’ old map as the resting place of the Eyes of the Falmer. We paused briefly outside the door, giving each other a glance and a nod before Karliah gently pushed the door open just enough to let us slip inside. 

We found ourselves inside a large chamber, the ceiling arching high over our heads, criss-crossed by a maze of pipes leaking steam and dripping water. Directly across from us was a giant statue of a seated snow elf, holding a tablet in his lap and a staff in one hand. Dead Falmer were scattered at the statue's feet. A dark figure was braced against the statue's face, prying at his right eye. Mercer Frey. 

Karliah’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t think he’s seen us yet. Bryn, you guard the door. Brand, you come with me and let’s see if--” 

Just then, there was a tinkling sound as Mercer pried the eye out of the statue, and a glittering diamond fell into the statue’s collar. Mercer dropped down onto the statue’s shoulder and turned to face the three of us. 

“Karliah, when will you ever learn?” He tutted and picked up the diamond, stashing it in a pouch at his belt. “You can’t get the drop on me, though I suppose it was an admirable try, bringing your fledgling Nightingales with you.” 

Karliah straightened up and walked out to the edge of the platform in front of the statue. Below her feet, a basin dropped several feet down, with stairs leading into it from either side of the room. It had probably once been a pool. “Your time has come, Mercer,” she snarled. “This is where it ends.” 

Mercer laughed. “You can’t end me and you know it, Karliah. You’ve had your chance many times and you’ve failed. Let’s face it. I’m more powerful than you could ever hope to be.” 

“Pride goeth before a fall,” I muttered as I took up a position at Karliah’s shoulder and pulled my mask down.  

Mercer’s eyes got wide for just a second. 

“Surprised, Mercer?” I called. “Last you saw me I was supposed to be bleeding out in the Sanctum like Gallus.” 

Mercer gave a slight shake of his head. “A mere annoyance. You’ll fall just like Karliah. And you Bryn, don’t think I don’t see you back there, guard dog. How easy your alliances have changed. After all these years, I had thought I could count you among my friends.” 

“I could say the same for you, Mercer.” Brynjolf’s voice was tight behind his Nightingale mask. 

Mercer sighed. “You know what your problem is? All of you? You lack vision.” He spread his hands and a low blue glow appeared between them. He was preparing a spell, I realized. Something huge, by the way the very air shimmered. “And that’s why you’ll die here, in the last vestige of the Falmer!” He pushed his hands away from himself and there was a boom like thunder. The ground shook. Dust rained from the ceiling. Then the pipes overhead burst and water began streaming into the room, cascading down into the empty pool. It was filling fast. I glanced over at Karliah, but she wasn’t by my shoulder anymore. In fact, she was nowhere to be seen. 

Mercer drew his dwarven sword. “You can’t hide from me, Karliah!” he snarled and then he too disappeared. 

“What in Oblivion?” Brynjolf muttered behind me. 

“I have no idea,” I had to admit. Right before something barrelled into me from the side. 

I barely had time to get Gallus’s blade out and up to block the sword that swung at my head moments later. Though I couldn’t see it, I could feel the shock of it ring up my arm even as I tumbled to the floor underneath the weight of a body I couldn’t see. 

“Mercer!” I shouted. 

“Surprise,” he hissed. Then he grunted and his weight was forcibly shifted off of me. Karliah, I assumed. There were shouts and grunts as they fought, the clang of steel on steel and just the faintest shimmer in the air where they stood. 

Brynjolf hurried over and helped me up. “Are you seeing this, lad?” he asked, incredulous. 

I shook my head. “You mean, not seeing it?” I blinked a few times, but Karliah and Mercer remained indistinct blurs. Until I realized that Gallus’ sword was humming in my hand. I looked down at it to see a faint red and green shimmer lighting up the blade. Stamina and health drain enchantments. Little trails of enchanted light sloughed off the blade, making a line back to their target -- Mercer. 

“I’ve got a bead on him,” I muttered. 

Brynjolf nodded, watching the trails of light. “I’ll stay here, in case he tries to double-back.” He drew a pair of twin daggers and positioned himself directly in front of the door. Mercer would have to confront him to get out, invisible or not. 

“Karliah!” I shouted as a warning, right before I charged into the fight. 

Karliah materialized a second later. I swung my sword where the points of light from my blade converged. 

I was rewarded with a stunned cry and Mercer blinking into existence for a few seconds. Blood dripped from his shoulder, where I’d managed to strike a blow. It was only glancing, but it was enough to make him lose his concentration. In the short seconds I’d allowed Karliah to step back, she’d drawn her bow and an arrow hissed past me a moment later to bury itself in Mercer’s thigh before he disappeared again. 

But now he was leaving a blood trail. 

“Can you see him?” I asked, glancing back at Karliah. 

She nodded grimly, another arrow nocked already. “You can too if you focus.”

“I’ll harry him,” I said. “You shoot.” 

She nodded. 

I followed the blood on the floor and the light off my blade as Mercer scrambled up the tablet in the statue’s lap. Now that I knew what to look for, I could see faint shimmers in the air as he moved. He wasn’t invisible, not entirely. More like see-through and, if I watched close enough, I could see his edges. I swung my blade again, but he sensed it this time and turned, blocking my attack. Our blades rang against each other. 

“You’re never going to win this one, boy,” Mercer growled. “You should’ve died in the Sanctum.” 

“Yeah? And you should’ve made sure your death blow actually killed me,” I snarled. I shoved Mercer back, towards the edge of the tablet. He passed through a stream of water from the pipes overhead and the droplets glittered on his armor, letting see him even more clearly. 

Another arrow whipped by and caught him in the shoulder. Mercer hissed in pain. 

I didn’t give him the chance to recover. I was on him with a series of short, sharp attacks. He blocked them, barely. I could tell he was tiring. His injured leg shook beneath him and his last few blocks were clumsy. His invisibility spell was flickering in and out now. 

“It’s over, Mercer!” I shouted. “Just give up.” 

He met my eye. “Never.” Then he charged. 

But I was ready for him. As he raised his sword for a heavy blow at my skull, I slipped in under his guard and thrust my blade into his chest at the same time Karliah’s final arrow slammed into his throat. Mercer fully materialized on the end of my sword. He coughed, blood spraying from his mouth and ruined throat. His sword clattered to the ground behind him. And then he crumpled. 

I pulled my sword free as he fell, blank, dead eyes staring up at the ceiling. I felt my own legs shake and had to take a second to steady myself. Was it really over? Was...this it? The end? 

“Brand, the Key! Get the Key!” Karliah shouted from somewhere behind me. 

“And the Eyes!” Brynjolf called across the room. 

Their voices galvanized me into action. I knelt by Mercer’s body and searched his pouch, pulling out two large diamonds and a strange-looking key with an almost dagger-like hilt. I shoved all of them into my own pockets and stood up, sheathing my blade. 

Karliah was at my side. “We’ve got to find a way out of here,” she was saying. “It’s filling up.” 

For the first time, I looked around to realize that the water was nearly up to the statue’s lap. It had long since filled the basin in the middle of the room and was now lapping at our ankles. Brynjolf, now with his own mask and hood down, was swimming the gap across to us. Behind him, the water was halfway up the doors we’d come through. There’d be no going back that way. Brynjolf pulled himself up onto the tablet as the water reached our knees. 

“Now what?” he panted, wiping damp red hair out of his eyes. “Won’t do us much good if we die in here with the Eyes and the Key.” 

“There’s got to be another way out, right?” I asked. 

Karliah surveyed the room. “There.” She pointed to a spot over the statue’s head where the rock looked weak. “We can probably move those stones.” 

Brynjolf and I nodded and we began scaling the statue as the water lapped at Mercer’s body. 

“What about Mercer?” I asked. 

“Leave him,” Karliah said. “Let this be his grave. It was his final heist, after all.” 

Brynjolf gave one glance over his shoulder as we clambered onto the statue's head and then Mercer slipped under the dark water and was no more. Using the hilts of our swords and daggers, we managed to pry enough stone loose that the section Karliah showed us tumbled out of the ceiling, revealing a passage that had been roughly blocked up. Brynjolf boosted me and Karliah up into it and then we pulled him up as the water level rose to the statue’s chest. A hurried run through the passage brought us back out into Irkngthand proper and from there it was quick work back to the surface. 

We stumbled outside, blinking in the cold and the sunlight. I took the time to clean Gallus’ blade as we took a minute to get our breath. 

Karliah walked a little ways away and stood alone, hugging her arms around herself. 

Finally, Brynjolf spoke up. “How are you feeling, lass?” 

Karliah was silent for a long time. When she turned around, there were faint tears running down her face. “I’m not sure.” 

Brynjolf walked up and put a hand on her shoulder. 

“I thought this might make me feel...good, you know. To finally avenge Gallus.” 

“But?” Brynjolf prompted. 

“But. It does. I mean, seeing Mercer dead after all this time. Knowing I can finally rest? It’s good. But it also feels…” she trailed off. 

“Empty?” I supplied. 

She nodded. 

“In my experience, death always does,” I said. “Even when it was well-deserved.” 

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow at me. 

I shook my head and looked away, old friends coming briefly to mind. Friends who died while I stood by helpless to do anything other than watch. I’d dreamed of revenge for many nights afterward, though I’d never gotten to enact it like Karliah just did, but eventually, I’d realized that the dreams were empty and even if I could kill my friends’ murderers, there’d be no bringing back their smiling faces and laughing eyes. 

Death was empty. 

And it was final. 

“Look at us, standing around like a trio of mourners,” Brynjolf finally broke the silence. His tone was wry, but gentle. “Do you realize what we’ve just done?” 

There was a spark in Karliah’s eyes as she looked up at Brynjolf. “We retrieved the Skeleton Key.” 

Brynjolf snorted. “Not to mention the Eyes of the Falmer. C’mon, let’s see ‘em, lad, proper, in the light of day.” 

I moved over to Karliah and Brynjolf and pulled the two diamonds and the key out of my pouch, feeling a touch of excitement in my chest again. The diamonds glittered in my hands, each nearly the size of my palm and cut to angle the light perfectly. The Key rested between them, made of something like copper, reflecting the rainbows cast at it from either side. The top of the key was nearly hilt-like and covered in a set of turquoise designs cut through with obsidian. 

Both Karliah and Brynjolf seemed entranced, though I suspected it was one for the Key and the other for the Eyes. 

“So, what now?” I asked. 

Karliah cast us each a glance. “Well, we can’t just waltz straight into Riften holding the diamonds. And there’s the matter of the Key. It needs to be returned…” she trailed off. 

“Where to, lass?” Brynjolf asked. 

“The Twilight Sepulchre.” 

“Where’s that?” I asked. 

“West of Falkreath,” Karliah murmured. 

When she paused, I tilted my head. “What aren’t you telling us?” 

She sighed. “Too perceptive by half, Brand.” 

I gave her something that approximated a smile. 

“Here’s our dilemma, as I see it,” she continued. “We’re facing two challenges. One, returning the Key. And two, protecting the Guild. We know Mercer wasn’t acting alone and Nocturnal only knows what Maven Black-Briar will do when Mercer doesn’t return to their agreed spot with the Eyes. Or, Divines forbid, what she’s already been doing in our absence. I think we need to get back to warn the Guild as fast as possible.” 

“Alright, but--” Brynjolf began, but Karliah held up a hand to silence him. 

“We also have the matter of the Guild’s luck and the imbalance of losing the Key. We need to get the Key back to the Twilight Sepulchre yesterday. The only thing is, the Twilight Sepulchre is going to be dangerous. It’s guarded by spirits of former Nightingales and, without the key, they will likely be corrupted. Not to mention the other safeguards in place to protect the Ebonmere. However, whichever one of us returns the Key will be granted a large boon by Nocturnal, I suspect.” 

“Whichever one of us?” I asked. “You mean, you don’t intend to return the Key?” 

Karliah gave me a grim smile. “I feel it is not my place. I have failed Nocturnal enough.” 

I looked up at Brynjolf. He looked wary. 

“And the Eyes?” I wondered. 

“I suggest that we split them between two of us," Karliah said. "Maven is likely to come for them once she realizes Mercer isn't returning with them. That way, should she manage to apprehend any of us, she doesn’t get both Eyes in one go.” 

“You think she’ll actually hunt us down, lass?” 

Karliah shrugged. “Who knows? It’s hard to tell with Lady Black-Briar. But I wouldn’t put it past her. I imagine she wanted the Eyes for something crucial and will not easily let them go. Whichever of us takes the Eyes should make straight for Riften. We can hide the Eyes --” Karliah suddenly paused. 

“Hide the Eyes where?” I asked. 

She pursed her lips. “I’d rather not say until we decide who is going where. Just in case.” 

“You don’t think one of us is going to betray you?” Brynjolf’s eyebrows shot up. “Not after all that we just went through for you?” 

“No.” Karliah shook her head. “I’m not worried about betrayal. I’m more worried about Maven being able to wring information out of us.” 

I shivered. Brynjolf looked away, suddenly a shade lighter than usual. 

“Torture,” I whispered. 

Karliah nodded. “Now, which of you wants to take the Key?” 

Brynjolf looked back over at me and held my gaze for a long time. “Lad, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not get myself into any more hocus pocus. Becoming a Nightingale was all well-and-good, but…” he swallowed and looked away again.

“It’s alright --” I began. 

“Don’t think I’m leaving you to a bunch of angry ghosts, Brand, I just don’t think I want to --” 

“Meet Nocturnal again?” I guessed. 

Brynjolf nodded. “Once was enough for me,” he admitted. “But if you don’t want to take the Key, then...” 

“No. I’ll take it,” I said. 

Brynjolf looked infinitely grateful. 

“Are you sure?” Karliah asked. 

“Yeah. I’m sure. I’ll take the Key. Just tell me how to find the Sepulchre. Then you and Bryn get back to the Guild and make sure they’re safe. I’ll be fine. I’m not scared of ghosts.” 

Karliah’s eyes sparkled, and Brynjolf smiled, though he looked a bit uncertain. Karliah took one of the Eyes. Brynjolf took the other. I re-pocketed the Key. 

“Then it’s decided. We split here.” She held her hand out. 

Brynjolf and I put ours on top of hers. 

“We meet on the other side. In Riften.” 

“In Riften,” Brynjolf and I repeated. 

Chapter Text

I found the Twilight Sepulchre using Karliah’s hastily drawn map and some directions from a passing hunter. It was at the end of a winding mountain trail west of Falkreath, set into the mountainside beside a rippling waterfall. I sighed. It was a tomb. Of course. I sat down on a fallen piece of rubble, contemplating the door. It seemed like every treasure in Skyrim was buried in a tomb. Although I suppose treasures were pretty safe with the dead. It’s not like they could spend them or use them. And they made pretty handy guards, since the dead didn’t stay dead here and nearly every tomb boasted a skeleton guard, if not a full contingency of draugr. 

Or Nightingale ghosts, as the case may be.

I sighed. Poison wouldn’t do much good on ghosts. I’d just have to use my wits and keep a light foot. Maybe with my newfound Nightingale status, they’d be a little more friendly towards me. Though, Karliah seemed to think not. 

Well, no use dithering out here. 

I stood up and walked into the Sepulchre. The first chamber was a large, open stone room with a grand staircase at the far end. Sitting at the bottom of the stairs was the hazy blue glow of a man wearing Nightingale armor. One of the Sentinels? 

I approached cautiously, but he didn’t respond aggressively. In fact, he looked tired, even with the mask on his face covering his expression. He had one foot on the floor, and one propped on the last step, his elbow resting on his knee and his chin in his hand. He rose when I got closer and titled his head, studying me. 

“You seem different than the last adventurers who came here. I sense...something of shadow about you.” He leaned forward almost eagerly. 

“Maybe this?” I pulled the Skeleton Key out of my pocket and held it up. 

“By Nocturnal! The Key! You brought it back!” 

I nodded. 

“Then that means…” He trailed off and half-reached for the key, as if he might take it, then he dropped his hand to his side. “I don’t recognize you, Nightingale. Is Nocturnal showing her favor in Skyrim once more?” 

“I hope she will be soon,” I said. “Karliah sent me here to return the Key and regain Nocturnal’s favor.” 

The shade’s head snapped up. “Karliah? She’s alive?” 

I tilted my head. “Yes. Are you...Gallus?” 

He paused, almost as if listening to some distant voice. “I did go by that name once, didn’t I?” he murmured. 

“And carried this, yes?” I gestured at the blade on my hip. 

He came forward and walked a slow circle around me. He reached out and brushed the hilt of his old blade. His figure flickered and I could almost feel a smile from under his mask. “I did. Who are you, elf?” His voice was quiet, awed. 

“Brand. I’m the Thieves’ Guild’s newest recruit.” 

“Newest? And you’re already a Nightingale? There hasn’t been a new Nightingale since...well, in a very long time.”

“It was sort of by necessity. To fight Mercer.” 

“Mercer Frey,” Gallus spat. “You fought him? Then his treachery has been uncovered?” 

“Yes. We found your journal, Gallus. Karliah and I. She translated it. We got the Eyes of the Falmer.” 

His form glowed brighter. “For truth?” 

I nodded. “Karliah and Brynjolf have them now.” 

“And Mercer?” 

“Dead.” 

Gallus’ shoulders relaxed a little. “Then I have been avenged. Thank you, Brand.” 

“It was Karliah who really fought for you all this time,” I said. “I only got involved at the very end.”  

Gallus suddenly stood at attention, looking around, as if searching. 

“She’s not with me now, sorry.” 

He slumped. “I don’t suppose I should be surprised.” 

“It’s not because she didn’t want to come,” I said, although it sort of was. But not because of Gallus.

“She feels that she failed Our Lady, doesn’t she?” Gallus asked. 

I guess my facial expression gave it away, because I didn’t even say anything before he sighed and slumped. 

“Of course she does,” he murmured. “Karliah’s loyal to a fault. She probably sent you with the key to appease Nocturnal.” 

“I volunteered,” I said. “But Gallus, I don’t think she knows you’re here.” 

“She knows. She has to. It’s where all the Nightingales go when our lives on Mundus are complete.” Gallus' edges grew more indistinct and he flickered again. He staggered a little, as if suddenly weighed down, stumbling back a step or two. I instinctively reached out to steady him, but my hand passed right through his arm when I tried to grab it. 

He sat down heavily on the stairs with a strangled sort of sound. 

“Gallus, I’m sorry.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault, son.” 

I knelt in front of him. “I’ll tell her that you’re here. Soon as I get out.” 

Gallus laughed, but it was a choked sound. “Might be too late by then.” 

“What do you mean? You’re a spirit, right? Eternally bound to the Sepulchre?” 

“That’s how it’s supposed to be, yes, but since the theft of the key so many years ago, we’ve been going insane. Losing ourselves. Dying.”

“Dying? But you’re ghosts. You can’t die. Right?” 

Gallus shook his head. “Our spirits are sustained by Nocturnal herself. This tomb contains the Ebonmere, a portal to her realm, the Evergloam. The Skeleton Key is what unlocks that portal. When Mercer stole it to use for his own escapades, he sealed the gate. Which means he cut the Sentinels’ connection with Nocturnal. The oldest of the Sentinels lost their minds almost immediately. The younger ones...well, we’ve held off longer, but I don’t know that there are any left who aren’t crazy.” 

“Except you?” 

“Ha. I’m getting there. But I was the newest Sentinel in the Sepulchre, so I suppose I’ve been spared the longest. I had more of my sanity intact to begin with.” 

“What happens to the Sentinel spirits who die?” I asked quietly. 

Gallus shrugged. “I don’t really know. I guess they just cease to exist.” 

“Then I’ve got to get the Key back.” 

Gallus nodded. “It’s not going to be easy. There are trials set throughout the Sepulchre to sort the wheat from the chaff. I cannot go with you. The other Sentinels will rip me apart if I set foot beyond the entrance chamber.” 

“But aren’t you one of them?” I asked, eyes widening. 

“Because they’ve all lost their minds, they don’t recognize me anymore.” He held up his left arm, showing me a strange, swirling cut just above his elbow. It almost looked like a rend in his form, a spot where the ectoplasm that made up his outline wasn’t solid. “They tried to destroy me the last time I ventured into the Sepulchre.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize. Just return the Key. Please.” 

“I will,” I promised. 

“There’s a journal in the east corner of the room. Next to the last adventurer who tried to navigate the Sepulchre. He’s got the clues for passing the tests written in there. Take it with you.” 

I nodded and stood up. “I’ll get the Key back to Nocturnal, Gallus. I promise.”

“Eyes open, son. Walk in the shadows.” Gallus bowed his head and I knew he would speak no more until my job was done. 

I found the adventurer (i.e. bandit) he mentioned, some poor fellow named Nystrom, according to the runes on the inside cover of the journal. The pages detailed how he’d come to the Sepulchre with a small team, keen on getting rich. By the ragged slit across his neck, it seemed that he and his fellow adventurers didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye once they got here. 

The last couple of pages of the journal were filled with random lines of disjointed script that seemed like lines from poems or books. The clues? I scanned them and pocketed the journal, then headed deeper into the Sepulchre. 

The first room I came to was empty. Until the Sentinels noticed I was there. The first Sentinel was standing at an alchemy table, hands moving as if mixing potions, though no ingredients or tools actually moved. Unlike Gallus, this Sentinel glowed purple and pulsed angrily at the edges. I put a knife in her back before she had a chance to turn around. She exploded into a pile of ectoplasm at my feet. 

But that triggered the other Sentinels in the room and I found myself surrounded. I managed to keep most of them off my back and work my way to the main room of the chamber so that I had more room to fight. They came at me at intervals, angry. I warded them off with one of my daggers and Gallus’ Nightingale blade. A few of them paused at the sight of the blade, as if it were known to them. One of them even seemed confused and tried to talk, stuttering something that sounded like the letter G, before one his fellow Sentinels shoved him in the back and he rushed at me with a wordless cry of rage. The Sentinels weren’t hard to take down, but their sheer numbers nearly overwhelmed me. 

In the end, they got a few hits in with their spectral blades, but my Nightingale armor turned most of the thrusts and I speared the last Sentinel on my blade with an angry yell. He exploded and puddled at my feet, joining the glowing pool of his brothers and sisters. 

I took a moment to get my breath back and check Nystrom’s journal. The first line was about swift shadows dealing death to defilers. The shadows being the Sentinels, I presumed, though I’d hardly classify myself as a defiler. 

“Can’t very well get my loyalty if you kill me, Nocturnal,” I muttered. I sincerely hoped she could hear me.

The next line in Nystrom’s journal read: Above all they stand, vigilance everlasting. Beholden the murk yet contentious of the glow.

I had no idea what that meant, but I passed on through the Sepulchre and entered the next chamber. 

“Ah!” I yelped and jumped backwards, feeling like my very being was on fire. My pulse raced and I breathed heavily as the sharp sting faded in my arms and legs. I’d just walked into the next room in the Sepulchre, a strange maze of stone pillars and platforms, interconnected with bridges and walkways. Bright, unnatural lights burned in sconces set at random around the room, creating a high contrast pools of shadow and light.

The light? 

It burned. 

I flexed my arms and shook out my hands. I could move all my fingers, even if they still felt numb and tingly. There was a hollow ache in my chest. I’d never felt a more intense, concentrated pain in all my life. Though I seemed to have suffered no permanent ill effects, it certainly wasn’t a feeling I wanted to repeat. 

Contentious of the glow…

But I had to make sure. I reached a cautious hand back toward the light, until just the tips of my fingers breached the bright circle. Immediately, the sharp pain returned, radiating up my hand and through my arm. I hissed and drew back. The pain receded. 

Shadows it was then. 

I set off around the edge of the room, keeping myself out of the light. But I soon found that there wasn’t a straightforward path around or across the room. I had to traverse the deep pools of shadow in between the lights, while crawling, jumping, climbing and running across the platforms. 

About halfway across the room, I mis-timed a jump and crashed down between two pillars, knocking the breath out of me. I lay stunned for a second as light hit my face and chest. I tried to scream, but didn’t have the breath. I barely had the presence of mind to scramble into the nearest patch of shadow and curl into a tight ball to escape the light. 

“Oblivion take you, Nocturnal,” I panted when I could breathe again.

I could’ve sworn I heard a laugh. 

My whole body felt numb, the pain fading slowly to a manageable thrum. I lay on the floor until I had my wits back, then stood up cautiously. I flipped my middle finger indiscriminately at the dark. If Nocturnal was watching, I hoped the gesture made her mad. It was childish, but right now, I didn’t care. 

She was trying to kill me! And I was trying to do her a favor!

Then something in me remembered Nocturnal’s kiss and I felt my knees turn to jelly and my stomach drop to my boots. I felt the ghost of the sensation of her lips on mine and I suddenly craved that feeling once more. 

“Oblivion,” I muttered. “Of course it’s an addiction.”

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the last fuzzy feelings of affection and pain. 

“And you know I’m hooked.” I sighed. 

Onward then. The second time through, I took my time and made it past the lights without another fall. 

The next chamber was a simple affair, dirt and stone with a statue of Nocturnal at one end. She seemed to watch me, her stone lips curled into a half-smile, a beady-eyed stone raven perched on one bare shoulder, her robe negligently draped over her body. 

“What now, My Lady?” I gave her a flippant bow. “Is your raven going to peck my eyes out?” Besides the statue, the only other objects in the room were two braziers on either side of Nocturnal, casting muted firelight over the scene. Thankfully, this was regular fire. No excruciating pain for touching any light beams. As long as I wasn't stupid enough to put myself in the fire, I'd be fine. 

I pulled Nystrom’s journal out of my pocket and read the next line.

Offer what She desires most, but reject the material. For her greatest want is that which cannot be seen, felt or carried. 

“She would be you, yes?” I looked up at Nocturnal’s statue again. 

I paced a bit in front of the statue, thinking. “What is it you desire most? Obedient thieves? Sentinels?” I gave the statue a sharp glance. “I’m not dying for you if that’s what you want. Can’t give you the Key back then, can I?” I stopped and put my hands on my hips, but the statue remained silent and impassive. 

“That which cannot be seen, felt, or carried…” I muttered. “Can’t give you myself then. So, what do you want?” 

Nocturnal favored thieves. Shadows. Subterfuge. Shaping the world from it’s dark corners. 

Dark. 

I looked up at the braziers. They were above my head by some stretch, but there was a metal ring attached to a chain in the wall beside each. Perhaps to put them out? To give Nocturnal darkness? 

It was worth a shot. 

You couldn’t carry or feel or see darkness. 

I walked over to the right-hand brazier and pulled the chain. The fire went out. I repeated it with the left. There was a whisper of a breeze, like a cool breath on my neck. I felt a shiver go down my spine, and then a stone door behind the statue of Nocturnal opened. I swore I could feel warmth radiate from the statue as I slipped past her, but then I was through and onto the next trial. A few more Sentinels and some traps were easily bypassed by a door I unlocked with the Skeleton Key, and I found myself standing at the edge of a long stone shaft, like a well, though it didn’t appear that there was any water at the bottom. In fact, when I dropped a torch in, it fell so far it went out. Faint light spilled in from somewhere higher up, leaving the bottom of the hole in murky half-darkness. 

There wasn’t anywhere else in the Sepulchre for me to go. So was that the Ebonmere down there? Or had I taken a wrong turn somewhere? Was this just a trap meant for opportunistic looters who somehow managed to get this far?

I pulled Nystrom’s journal out again and read the last line. 

The journey is complete, the Empress's embrace awaits the fallen. Hesitate not if you wish to gift her your eternal devotion. 

Well, that wasn’t much help. The Empress was Nocturnal, I presumed, but she wasn’t standing around waiting to embrace me. 

...awaits the fallen…

Wait. 

I swallowed hard. 

She didn’t mean that I had to fall. Literally. Down the shaft. She couldn’t. Surely?

Hesitate not if you wish to gift her your eternal devotion…

Hesitate not. 

“Damn you, Nocturnal! Are you trying to kill me?” 

Was that the eternal part of eternal devotion? Was I supposed to leap into the shaft and break my neck? 

No. That didn’t make any sense. Mercer came here and stole the Key and made it out with his neck intact. Gallus hadn’t warned me that returning the Key would kill me. So there had to be an answer that didn’t mean death. 

I peered down into the shaft again. It was deep. Could I even jump that far without breaking anything? The walls were too far apart for me to spread my arms and legs and shimmy down. I’d have to jump. 

No hesitation, indeed. 

I took a deep breath and fingered the Skeleton Key in my pocket. It was fairly vibrating with magical energy, like it knew it was close to home and was begging to be returned. 

“Fine. I’ll do it. But if I die..” I let the threat hang in the air. 

Then I took three steps back, ran forward, and dropped off the edge. 

I hit the stone floor below both sooner and later than I expected. I remembered to stay fluid, to roll with the impact so that I didn’t break my ankles, but it still jarred me more than I expected. I rolled up against the edge of the shaft, scattering something hard underneath me. When I got a proper look, I jumped up, pressing myself against the wall. 

It was a skeleton. 

I groaned. 

A skeleton. 

Which meant I’d just thrown myself down this shaft to my death. 

“I hope you’re amused, Nocturnal!” I shouted. 

Just then, I noticed something on the floor by my foot, lying in the skeleton’s outstretched hand. I reached down to pick up a piece of parchment and unfolded it. It was a short note, scribbled in the hasty, slanting letters of a dying man. There was just enough light in the bottom of the shaft to make it out. Apparently the dead man was Anders, a partner of the unfortunate Nystrom. It seemed Anders had gotten greedy and slit Nystrom’s throat at the entrance, hoping to claim whatever treasure the Sepulchre held for himself. 

But it looked like he only shared his partner’s fate. Because he was unworthy? Or was there another reason? 

I shivered. 

Was that my fate as well? 

I reached up to feel the walls around me. They were slick with moisture, the stones smooth and fitted together so tightly that there weren’t even chinks I could get my fingers into. I couldn’t climb back out.  

“Well, you’re thorough, Nocturnal, I’ll give you that.” 

I crossed my arms and stared down at Anders. 

Just then, the Key in my pocket began to pulse. 

“What the…?” 

I pulled it out. It was vibrating so hard, I nearly dropped it, and emitting a clear note like a bell being struck by a hammer. I looked around. Was there somewhere to put the Key into? A lock? A door?

Just as I turned to scan the opposite wall, I heard the grinding of stone on stone and the floor dropped out from underneath me. There was a split second where my stomach dropped and seemed to leave my body hanging in mid-air without it and then I plummeted. 

I hit the ground a lot faster than I expected this time. 

As such, I wasn’t quite ready for it and I folded awkwardly, tumbling into a heap and dropping the Key. It clattered across the stone floor of the chamber I’d landed in to come to rest against a raised platform in the center of the dark room. The platform almost looked like a stained glass window, but set into the floor. It glowed in shades of purple and blue. I grabbed the Key and stood up. In the center of the platform was a lock. 

I walked closer, staring alternately at the lock and then at the Key. 

Was this the portal Gallus was talking about? 

The Ebonmere? 

The gateway to Nocturnal herself? 

I suddenly felt weak-kneed and reached out to steady myself on one of the decorative stones around the platform. 

If I put the Key back into the lock, would I meet Nocturnal face-to-face? Would she be proud of me? Or would she be displeased? 

I suddenly, desperately, didn’t want her to be displeased. 

I shook my head. That was just Nocturnal’s magic talking.

Wasn’t it? 

There was only one way to find out. 

I walked onto the platform and thrust the Skeleton Key into the lock. 

Chapter Text

The platform glowed brighter as I turned the Key and I instinctively backed up. The platform dematerialized, becoming insubstantial where moments ago my feet had been. A pit of glowing purple mist opened up in front of me and a figure rose elegantly from the shadows. 

My knees gave out and I ended up kneeling by necessity. 

Nocturnal laughed. Much like the first time I met her, she wore a dark robe that barely covered her chest and split all the way up to her hip on each side. A raven perched on each of her shoulders, watching me with beady eyes. Her long dark hair matched the dark shade of her full lips as she stared down at me with an amused twinkle in her eye. 

“So, once again a champion brings my Key back to the Sepulchre. I thought it might be you, Brand. Did Karliah send you?” 

“N-not exactly,” I stammered, mouth suddenly dry. I ducked my head. 

“Oh?” She quirked an eyebrow. 

“I volunteered, My Lady.” 

“My lady now, is it? I thought I heard you damning me to Oblivion earlier. Or was I mistaken?” 

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I felt a blush creep up my face. 

Nocturnal laughed, head thrown back. The ravens on her shoulders fluttered their wings to keep their balance. 

“I-I didn’t--” I stammered. 

“Didn’t mean it?” she asked. 

I swallowed. Because I had meant it. In the moment. 

She made a little signal with one hand and the ravens left her shoulders to perch on the stones surrounding the platform. Then she moved, as if walking through the mist, until her feet touched the solid stone steps at the edge of the platform. She descended until she stood in front of me. 

She knelt, then reached out and closed my mouth, which I’d hardly realized was hanging open. 

“Do I stun you so?” she asked. “You’re normally rather...eloquent.” 

“I suppose it’s a little different when you’re talking to a Prince of Oblivion,” I murmured. 

“Is it? You seemed fine the first time you saw me in person.” 

I sat back on my heels and exhaled. 

“Am I that beautiful?” She looked at me from under her lashes. 

“You’re stunning,” I said. “Though I don’t know if I entirely trust my senses.” 

She tilted her head. “You’re more perceptive than most. I am a daedra. I do not have a strictly human form. But this is how I choose to appear to you mortals.” 

“Well, you chose a very...beautiful form.” 

She smiled and her dark eyes were lit from within. “You flatter me, Brand.” 

The haze in my mind and the glue on my tongue dissipated. “I would never.” 

She laughed. “There’s my lovely, sharp-tongued Bosmer.” 

I blushed again. 

Nocturnal stood and offered a hand to me. 

I hesitated only a moment before I took it and let her pull me to my feet. “I see my Sentinels roughed you up a bit.” She pouted, running one hand lightly down the side of my face, trailing my neck to my chest, where she flattened her palm against my heart. 

“It was nothing.” I waved it away.

“Hmm, and was the trial of lanterns also nothing?” Her eyes flashed with amusement. 

“I’d prefer it hurt a little less. My Lady. If I’m being honest.” 

“You only fell once.” 

“You saw that?” 

“Of course. Mercer may have locked my portal to Mundus when he stole the Key, but that does not mean I do not have eyes. After all, I am present wherever there are shadows.” 

I decided she didn't intend that as a vague threat. 

Nocturnal looked amused, though her tone was stern when she spoke next. “But now that you returned the Key and opened Evergloam once more, I suppose you want an accolade, do you not?” 

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to say that the only accolade I need is your smile?” I raised an eyebrow. 

Nocturnal’s mouth turned up into a full grin and she chuckled. “No. Though if that’s all you want, it is freely given.” 

“I should hope that there’s more reward for returning your Key than that!” 

“Hmm.” Nocturnal laid a finger on her lips and tilted her head, as if considering me from all angles. I suddenly felt not unlike a butterfly pinned to a corkboard for examination. “There are three rewards, Brand, and I’ll leave it to you to choose the one that best fits your purposes. You will find three designs carved into the floor at the edge of the room -- crescent moon, half-moon, and full moon. Shadows, subterfuge, and strife. My three boon companions.” She smiled, her teeth suddenly sharp and bright against her dark lips. 

“What do they do?” I asked, curious. 

She threw her head back and laughed. “Few ask me,” she said when the laughter died away. Many of them simply choose on name alone. Though they often return to change their powers when they begin experimenting with their own personal styles.” 

“You mean, these powers are accessible always?” 

She nodded once, slow. 

“You have merely to return to the Sepulchre. Once a day, you may choose a different power to aid you in your pursuits.”

I glanced toward the edge of the room, where I could just make out the carved moons Nocturnal spoke of. 

“But since you asked, I see no harm in giving you a description. The crescent moon will bind you to the shadows, allowing you to become ethereal for short periods, the better to move unseen.” 

A thought struck me. “That’s what Karliah did at the Dwemer museum!” 

Nocturnal grinned. 

“She told me it was a potion.” 

“My Nightingales do not divulge their secrets to the uninitiated.” 

"Of course not.” I rolled my eyes.  

Nocturnal quirked an eyebrow. “Do you understand, Nightingale?” The tone of her voice was compelling and nearly sent me into a kneel again. She put a hand on my shoulder to steady me and I found my gaze locked with hers.

“Yes, My Lady.” I managed the words without a stammer. 

She looked amused. “Good. The second power, the half-moon, will allow you to cause confusion and fear. Exercising the power of subterfuge will cause creatures and people within your vicinity to attack each other. Allowing you a perfect distraction. Or getaway.’

“And the third power, the full moon, will allow you to instantly steal health from the creatures and people around you. Your work is dangerous, and so, just as you cause strife, others may seek to harm you. The power of strife may save your life in a harrowing situation.” 

I nodded. 

Nocturnal released my shoulder. One of her ravens cawed. Nocturnal tilted her head toward it, as if listening to something only she understood. She nodded once and half-turned. 

“My Lady,” I called. 

She paused. 

“I have a question. If I may.” 

“I do not refuse my followers’ curiosity,” she said. 

“Your Sentinels. Now that the Key has been returned, what will happen to them?” I asked. 

Her eyes took on a distant look and, for a moment, I could’ve sworn that the emotion etched on her features was sadness. It surprised me. I didn’t think that the Daedra were typically given to heavier human emotions. Capriciousness and rage, amusement, satisfaction, even determination, were all things I’d heard of in Daedra before, but never sadness. 

“I suppose I must start anew." She finally looked back at me. 

“You mean, you’ll kill them?”

She nodded. 

“My Lady, please…” I paused, unsure of how to ask my next question. 

She tilted her head. “You wear his blade,” she said, her eyes locked on Gallus’ sword. 

“Yes, I--” 

“You would intercede for him?” 

“Please.” 

Her lips curled upward. “And why would you do that, Brand? You are too young to have known Gallus in life.” 

“I never knew him, you’re right. But I know Karliah. And I met Gallus, at the entrance of the Sepulchre. Please, Lady Nocturnal, let them meet again. Here, on Mundus. Let him be your new chief Sentinel. If you clear the Sepulchre, spare him. You won’t be disappointed.” 

Nocturnal studied me for a long moment and I felt that distinct feeling of being searched to my very soul again. 

“For a thief, you have a surprising heart for others.” 

“But isn’t that what you want from us, Lady? An ability to lay the gold aside for a greater purpose? To shape the world from the shadows?” 

Nocturnal hummed. “You have been speaking to Karliah too much, Bosmer.” 

I gave her a hesitant grin. 

“Very well. I will leave Gallus alive. I believe his loyalty unaltered by our untimely separation.” She began to ascend the platform once more. Her ravens fluttered back to her shoulders. “And Brand?” She paused.

“Yes?” 

“Tell Karliah, the next time you see her, that she has no more need of trying to hide from me. I can see her in the shadows.” 

“Yes, My Lady.” I bowed. 

“Eyes open, Brand. Walk in the shadows.” She stepped back into the mist. “We’ll meet again soon, love,” she whispered as she disappeared. 

The floor of the platform returned to its stained glass appearance and the lock reappeared, with the Skeleton Key sitting in it. I could feel a steady, subtle pull toward it, but I forced myself to ignore it and walk over to the three moons. 

Shadow.

Subterfuge. 

Strife. 

I stepped onto one of the carvings and felt something cool and heady and unseen rush into me, from the top of my head to my feet. It was invigorating. I blinked, feeling suddenly alive. Then I left the chamber. 

I found Gallus in much the same place I’d left him, sitting on the steps at the entrance to the Sepulchre. 

“You returned the Key!” He sounded much happier than when I’d encountered him before, lighter somehow. His form was brighter, his glow steadier. When he stood up to greet me, he was steady on his feet. 

I couldn’t help but smile. “I did.” 

“Then you spoke to her, Our Lady of the Shadows?” 

“I did.” 

Gallus seemed proud of that. “I thought so. I can feel her again, her presence once more fills the Sepulchre. It is good. But what of my brothers and sisters? Did she say anything of their fate?” 

My face fell. 

Gallus’ shoulders did the same. 

“Gallus, I -- they’re gone.” I didn’t see any way to sugar coat it. “Nocturnal laid them to rest.” 

Gallus paused, and I imagined, had I been able to see his face, that I might have seen a ghostly tear fall. As it was, his eyes were suspiciously bright in the dark recesses of his hood and mask. “From shadows forged, to shadows returned,” he murmured, as if repeating a mantra. 

I nodded. I wasn’t sure what else to do. 

Gallus stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then looked back down at me. “What will you do now?” 

“Now? Return to Riften,” I said. “Find Karliah and Brynjolf and the Eyes of the Falmer and topple Maven Black-Briar’s little empire.” 

“Maven?” Gallus titled his head and I almost imagined him raising an eyebrow. “Was it her all along then?” 

“Behind Mercer?” 

He nodded. 

“Yes. Though I don’t quite know her real purpose yet.” 

Gallus sighed. “She’s a crafty liar, that one. She hides under her mask well. She had everyone from the jarl to the Dark Brotherhood eating out of her hand. It was only a matter of time before she set her sights on the Guild. I suppose I can be glad I didn’t live to see her get her teeth into us fully.” 

“I aim to get us out of the wolf’s jaw,” I said. 

“I suspect you will, son.” Gallus sounded like he was smiling. “But be careful. Maven’s not one to be underestimated.” 

“Neither am I.” 

Gallus laughed softly. “And that’s where Maven will slip up.” 

I smiled. “Gallus?” 

“Yes?” 

“When this is all over, I’ll send her to you.” 

He paused, his body going completely still. 

“Karliah. I’ll tell her that you’re waiting.” 

I saw his shoulders relax, his posture melt into something wistful. “I--” he swallowed hard. “I would like that.” 

“I know. So will she.” 

Gallus nodded several times, like he couldn’t find the words. 

“Walk in the shadows, Gallus.” I saluted him. 

“Walk in the shadows, Brand.” 

I came back to Riften by night. It had been five days since we separated at Irkngthrand. Five days for Maven to work her mischief. Five days for Karliah and Brynjolf to hide the Eyes and keep two steps ahead. 

From the outside, Riften didn’t give an indication that anything was wrong. The city lay quiet in the early morning hours, asleep. A few torches dotted the streets as guards made their rounds, but this far away, scouting from the slope above the city, I couldn’t tell if they were making their rounds with any more intensity than usual. 

There were certainly no shouts of alarm. Nothing untoward. 

But there’d be no way of knowing exactly what was going on until I got down there and got closer. No way to find Bryn or Karliah without scouting for some shadowmarks or finding my way down to the Ratway. Although I didn’t have either the Eyes of the Falmer or the Skeleton Key on my person, I knew I’d still be a prime target for Maven, especially if she already made her move on the Guild. By now, she probably had evidence of my survival, but even if she didn’t, I didn’t think she’d let me into the city without having eyes on me. She’d go after me as soon as she figured out I was still among the living. After all, it had been her intention that I die back when Mercer stabbed me. He’d all but said so. 

And his failure to return with the Eyes and my failure to die weren’t coincidence. Maven was smart enough to see that. 

So I’d have to approach with caution. 

The front gates were too obvious. Maven would have eyes all over the city. Not to mention all down the Ratway. My best bet to return to the Guild (if the Guild was even still here) was through the graveyard and the coffin, assuming that no one had locked it. But I was banking on the fact that Karliah and Brynjolf would find some way to warn me if Maven had taken over the Flagon or the Cistern. 

Riften was quiet as I made my way across Honich Lake. I pulled myself out of the water and onto the docks, keeping to the shadow of the warehouses. I scanned surfaces and doorframes, window ledges, even the boards of the dock, checking to see if anyone had scribed any shadowmarks for me. I didn’t see anything to warn me off, so I kept going. 

Riften, from what I understood, had always been Skyrim’s haven for thieves. So there were several old shadowmarks around the city, but nothing that caught my eye as being freshly scribed in the last week. I didn’t head toward the city gate, but instead worked my way onto the back porch of the abandoned house on the water, Honeyside. Despite it’s great location, it had yet to sell (perhaps because of the city’s reputation) and it made a great way to get in and out of the city without being seen. Rune had pointed the house out to me back at the beginning of my tenure with the Guild. 

I could use the house as a temporary base if I needed to, perhaps scout the city a little before I made my way to the graveyard. 

I knelt by the back door and had the lock picked in seconds. 

I knew something was wrong as soon as I stepped inside, but I wasn’t fast enough to dodge the hood that came swinging out of the dark over my face. Something heavy cuffed me upside the head hard enough to send me to my knees as someone tightened the hood around my neck and tied it off. I coughed and struggled, but a second blow to my head had me on the floor seeing stars. 

Somebody put a knee in my back and wrenched my hands behind me. Rough rope scraped my wrists as my hands were tied. Another rope was secured around my ankles. I felt hands at my waist, searching my pockets, the contents of which were scattered on the floor. Somebody pulled Gallus’ blade out of its sheath at my hip. My daggers were wrenched from my boots. 

“Where are they?” A female voice hissed in the dark. 

“I dunno, Maven said he’d have ‘em,” a male responded.

“Well, I don’t see them.” 

“Maybe he swallowed ‘em?” 

“The Eyes? You’ve got to be joking. Have you seen those gems? He’d have to be a freaking snake to swallow something that large.” 

I felt a brief surge of relief that Karliah and Brynjolf seemed to have slipped the noose . 

There was a grunt from the second speaker. 

Somebody yanked me upright and shook me roughly. I groaned as my head protested the movement. 

“Where are the Eyes, elf?” the woman snarled. 

I took a shaky breath. “What eyes?” 

A hand slapped me, open-palmed. My head snapped to the side. I would have fallen if there weren’t meaty hands gripping my shoulders. I had no balance with my ankles tied together. 

“The Eyes of the Falmer. Where are they?” 

I spat inside the hood, feeling spittle and blood run down my chin. “I don’t know.” 

I heard a tell-tale whistle in the air right before someone hit me again, this time a heavy blow to my ribcage. I doubled up, coughing.  

“Hit me all you like,” I gasped. “But I can’t tell you what I don’t know.” 

The hand descended again, in a blinding strike to my neck. My knees went out from under me. The hands on my shoulders let go. I crumpled and fell to the floor. 

The world went dark.

Chapter Text

I woke up with the taste of blood in my mouth and a splitting headache. 

I was sitting in a straight-backed wooden chair. My hands were tied behind me and my ankles were strapped to the chair legs. A quick test of the bonds told me I wasn’t going to break out of them soon. I lifted my head slowly, trying not to think about the stiff ache in my neck, but there wasn’t anything to see. I still had a sack over my head that only let in muted light. It smelled like blood and other things I didn’t want to think about.

As soon as I moved, I heard something across the room, a soft thud, as if someone had jumped off a shelf or table onto the floor. Someone else shifted behind me, the tell-tale creak of the floorboards giving them away. 

“I think he’s awake,” a female voice said. “Arnbjorn, be a dear and take off the hood.”

A heavy hand scrabbled at my neck, yanking at the tie on the hood. Then someone pulled the burlap off my head. 

I resisted the urge to cry out as bright light flooded my vision. I turned my head, blinking as the light seared my eyes, making my headache worse. I was in a small cabin, I could tell that much between the welling tears. It was empty except for a table and a few shelves against the walls. There were suspicious rusty stains on the walls and floor. Someone put several hooded lanterns on the table, floor and shelves, set so that their light pointed straight at me. I groaned again. 

A woman, no more than an indistinct shape against the light, walked toward me. I could just make out the hulking shape of a man looming over my shoulder.  

“Hello, shadow walker.” There was a smirk in the woman’s voice as she knelt in front of me. “You don’t like the light, do you?” 

I spat stale blood out of my mouth, missing her by inches. Blood dripped down my chin from a busted lower lip and I winced. 

The woman turned her head negligently to look at my bloody spittle on the floor. Then she looked back at me. She leaned closer, tilting her head. I leaned back as much as the chair allowed. She braced her hands on my knees and reached up to wipe the blood and spit from my chin. 

She was human, Nord probably, with dark grey eyes and blond hair. She wore a black and red set of leather armor with knives strapped to her chest on a bandolier. I swallowed hard. 

She smiled, showing pointed teeth. “Do you know who I am, elf?” Her question was a low, dangerous purr tipped in amusement. 

I started to shake my head, then grimaced and stopped the motion. “Not so much,” I murmured. 

Her smile grew wider. “Then do you know what I am?” 

“I…think so,” I whispered. 

She laughed. “Did you hear that Arnbjorn?” Her eyes slid up to the man standing behind me. “He thinks he knows what we are.” Then her eyes snapped back down to me. “And what do you think that is, boy?” 

I took a deep breath, not sure if I should voice my suspicions aloud. 

“Say it, thief,” she hissed. 

I felt Arnbjorn shift behind me.

“Brotherhood," I said.  

The woman sat back on her heels, looking somewhat disappointed. “So, you’re not an idiot.” 

I licked dry lips, exploring injuries with my tongue. “Sometimes I’d like to think not.” 

The woman snorted. “Didn’t help you much back at Honeyside, did it?” 

“Mmn.” 

She stood up and crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Now, the real question is, what to do with you?” 

“Whatever Maven told you, I suspect.” I scowled. 

Behind me, Arnbjorn laughed softly. 

The woman frowned. “You know you’ve made yourself quite a thorn in her side, elf?” 

“I intended to.” 

“She’s not a woman to cross lightly.” 

“I don’t do any of my crossing lightly.” 

The woman rolled her eyes. 

I tried to crack a smile, but I’m not sure I succeeded. Fresh blood beaded on my lip again. 

“Maven sent us to retrieve something from you. Unfortunately for you, you appear not to have it.” 

I sighed. “The Eyes?” 

“Exactly.” 

I glanced around the room, feeling slightly more steady, though I still found the light unsettling. "I don't--" I began.

“Know where they are, yes, yes.” The woman waved an impatient hand at me. “That’s our problem.” 

“I can’t--” 

Her slap cut me off. My head snapped back, eyes watering. I would’ve put a hand up to my face if they weren’t tied behind me. 

“But you know where we can find them, yes?” 

I brought my head up with effort. “No.” 

She was in my face in seconds, her hands braced on my legs. “I obviously gave you too much credit before. You’re not very smart, are you?” 

I blinked. 

“We have you at our mercy, Nightingale.” 

I flinched. 

The woman grinned. “Yes, we know what you are, too. Maven was kind enough to inform me that you had probably been through the ritual. And thanks to Mercer, we knew what to expect. What else do you think all these lanterns are for?” 

“But how--” 

“Arnbjorn!” the woman interrupted me. 

A hand grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. I yelped. 

“No questions, elf,” the woman snarled. “Or I tell Arnbjorn to break your neck.” 

I didn’t figure she’d actually break my neck. At least, not yet. I couldn’t very well lead them to the Eyes if I was dead. But I figured it was wiser not to press the issue. Especially if I wanted to keep all my body parts in working order. I knew the Brotherhood was down for murder, but by the stains on the walls and the way these two assassins were playing with me, I gathered they liked torture just as much. I swallowed hard. 

The woman leaned back, standing up and crossing her arms. "There is no escape, shadow walker. You can’t dematerialize or whatever the hell you do with this much light. I know you need shadows to fuel your powers.”  

Did I? I hadn’t had my powers long enough to know what they really let me do or if there was a limit to their use. I was kind of wishing that I’d chosen the ability to go ethereal right about now. That, at least, might get me out of the ropes. 

“Talking is your best bet. We know you were in Irkngthrand when the Eyes were stolen. So, where are they now?” 

I took a deep breath and looked the woman in the eye as best I could. “I. Don’t. Know.” 

“They’ve got him! They’ve got Brand!” Etienne ran into Nightingale Hall, out of breath. The slight Breton doubled over, hands on his knees. 

“Whoa, lad.” Brynjolf looked up from where he’d been conferring over some papers strewn across a makeshift table with Karliah. Most of the rest of the Guild Members ranged the edges of the room, some sleeping on the few bedrolls they’d managed to bring with them. “Who’s got Brand? Where?” 

Etienne looked up. “The Brotherhood.” 

“The Brotherhood?” Karliah’s eyes flashed. “Are you sure?” 

“It was Astrid and Arnbjorn, I swear. I saw them.” 

“Oblivion take them!” Brynjolf exclaimed. “How’d they do it?” 

Etienne had recovered enough of his breath to stand up straight. “Brand came around back of the city, like you said he would. Snuck through the docks and up to Honeyside. I tried to warn him before he got there, but I didn’t want to risk shouting and giving both of us away. I tried to signal him, but he never looked my way. By the time I got down to Honeyside, they already had him inside. I watched through the window. They put a hood over his head and roughed him up and then they took him out of the city. I don’t...I don’t know where.” 

Brynjolf and Karliah were silent for a long moment. Delvin sat nearby, arms crossed. Behind him, Vex, surprisingly, refrained from making any death threats, but her expression was murderous. 

“He’s still alive,” Etienne said. 

“Then we need to get him back,” Karliah declared. “Brynjolf?” 

“Right beside you, lass.” 

“And what about the rest of the Guild?” Delvin asked. “What do you want us to do?” 

Brynjolf and Karliah shared a glance, then Brynjolf tilted his head toward Karliah. She turned to Delvin. “Stay here. Keep an eye out for each other. Don’t go wandering and don’t go anywhere alone. Maven will have eyes all over the city.” 

Delvin sighed, but he nodded. “Just bring the boy back safe.” 

Vex stiffened. “So you’re just going to agree to it, like that? That we all stay here, sitting on our hands?” 

“This isn’t a job where numbers will be helpful,” Karliah said softly. “If the Brotherhood has Brand, then speed is of the essence. Especially if they figure out--” she broke off, biting her lip. “Well, if they find him less than helpful.” 

Brynjolf nodded. 

Vex scowled. 

Brynjolf put a hand on her shoulder. “We need you here, lass. Where you can put some of your enthusiasm to work if Maven should find the Guild.” 

Vex’s frown lessened a little. “You want me to carve her up?” 

“If she finds the Guild, you have permission to do whatever you want to her.” 

“But keep her alive,” Karliah added. “At least until we get back. I want to question her.” 

Vex ran a tongue over her teeth, nodding thoughtfully. “Will do, boss.” She grinned and it was terrifying. 

“Where do you think they took him?” Brynjolf asked. He and Karliah stood inside Honeyside, keeping a wary eye on the shuttered windows, but so far, no one had disturbed them. Brynjolf wasn’t sure if that was because Maven quit watching the house after she got Brand, or if they really had been that successful at keeping to the shadows. 

Karliah looked up from where she knelt on the floor by the back door, examining a few marks on the pale wood in what little starlight filtered through the half-open door. “Blood,” she grimaced. She pointed to another mark. “And some scuffing. They dragged him -- or something -- through here.”

Brynjolf’s eyes followed the faint trail through the house toward the front door. He put his hands on his hips and sighed. 

“But as for where?” Karliah stood. “I don’t know.” 

“There must be a trail.” 

Karliah nodded. The Brotherhood was good. Better than most at keeping themselves to the shadows, despite being devoted to Sithis and not Nocturnal. They were adept at making a kill and disappearing into the night. So it didn’t bode well for Brand that they took him with them. Karliah crossed her arms. “I know of a few Brotherhood houses. My guess is that they took him to one of them.” 

“Brotherhood houses?” 

“Aye. Abandoned shacks, mostly, scattered across Skyrim, where the Brotherhood take their live victims.” 

“Let me guess, the victims leave those houses significantly less alive than when they arrived.” 

“Usually.” 

“Oblivion take them all!” 

Karliah put a hand on Brynjolf’s arm. “This is going to sound bleak, but there is some hope. As long as Maven doesn’t have the Eyes, Brand is a useful pawn. Even if he refuses to tell them where the Eyes are, she'll likely use him as leverage.” 

Brynjolf sucked a breath through his teeth. “That’s what I’m worried about.” 

“He’s resilient.” 

“Lass, do you know how many people have hurt him just for joining up with us so far?” 

Karliah scowled. 

“Exactly.” Brynjolf shook his head. “Call me sentimental, but I was trying to save him from another set of scars.” 

“Then we’d best hurry,” Karliah said, voice crisp and tight. 

Brynjolf nodded. 

Two shadows slipped out of Honeyside and through the Riften streets, out the side gate and into the woods.

Eventually, they left me alone. 

With the lanterns, of course.

I didn’t even have the strength to turn my face away. So I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the pain of my various wounds -- old and new. 

My right arm was numb from shoulder to fingertips where I lay on it. I felt something sticky under my cheek and smelled the metallic tang of blood. I tried to lick cracked lips, but my mouth was dry. Blood flaked off on my tongue. A fresh well of it trickled from my split lip and splashed onto the floor. 

I wasn’t in the chair anymore, so I suppose that was a plus. 

No, now I was lying on the floor, utterly unable to move. I don’t think Arnbjorn had broken anything. Not yet. Maybe my nose, but that wasn’t necessarily vital. Actually, that had been Astrid. The striking Nord woman proved just as handy with her hands as her husband. They’d chatted amicably with each other while they beat me, as if this were just a normal day’s work and they were going to step out and have a nice supper afterward. 

I suppose for them it was just a days’ work. 

They hadn’t resorted to blades. Yet. 

Just fists. 

But by Oblivion, Arnbjorn knew how to use those. The man hit like a sledgehammer. Astried wasn’t much softer. My left eye was swollen shut and I felt something funny in my side when I breathed in. The same side Mercer had stabbed me on. They’d seen the scar when they pulled my shirt off and Astrid had been particularly enamored with it. 

But I’d maintained my story. 

I didn’t know where the Eyes were. 

Because I didn’t. 

Eventually they gave up. Was it minutes later? Hours? I didn’t know. I’d lost track of time. I wasn’t sure if it was dark or light outside, not with all the bright lights in the house. It was cold, despite the many flames of the lanterns. I felt a faint breeze blow across my bare back and shivered. Goosebumps crawled across my flesh. 

I tried to take a deep breath. It caught in my nose and I coughed, spasming as the action pulled muscles in my chest. I spat a gob of something that was probably mostly blood. I didn’t open my eyes to look. 

At least they’d left the hood off. 

Actually, at this point, I’d prefer the hood and the little darkness it offered. Nevermind the cloying stench of fear inside the burlap. I’d finally figured it out. Blood and fear. That’s what this place smelled like. 

How many others had lain here in the dark, waiting for their fate? 

I couldn’t hear anything outside since Astrid and Arnbjorn left. Nothing but the quiet swish of wind through grass, the occasional elk. Some running water. But that could be anywhere in Skyrim. Maybe anywhere but high north. Was I even still near Riften? 

Could Brynjolf and Karliah find me? 

Did the Guild know I’d been taken? 

Something warm and wet slipped down my cheek. 

The Guild had to know. 

Brynjolf and Karliah were on their way. 

They had to be. 

I had to believe that. Because if I didn’t, I wasn’t going to hold out much longer.

Chapter Text

“They have him silenced, the bastards,” Karliah hissed from where she and Brynjolf crouched on a small rise overlooking a dilapidated shack outside the Eastmarch sulphur springs. Tall marsh grass swished beside them in the otherwise still night. The two moons rode low in the sky, their light obscured by scattered clouds, speckling the landscape with deep pools of shadow.

“Silenced?” Brynjolf whispered. 

Karliah pointed one slender finger. “See the light leaking under the door? That much light and Brand’s powers will be all but useless. Nightingales are fueled by shadow. Throwing him into that much light is like telling him to make fire without a spark.” 

“If we go in there to rescue him, will the light do the same to us?” 

“Not to the same degree, no.” 

“Oh?” Brynjolf raised a brow.

Karliah grinned at him in the dark. “You haven’t made a visit to the Twilight Sepulchre yet and I’ve had experience with this sort of thing.” 

“You want to be any more cryptic, lass?” 

“I’ll tell you more when the time is right, but for now, trust me.” Karliah’s eyes met his in the dark and they fairly seemed to glow, her gaze steady and earnest. “The light won’t hurt you, yet, Bryn.” 

Brynjolf scowled. “I trust you,” he said slowly. “But if all this Nightingale stuff is such a secret, then how did the Brotherhood know to use light?” 

“Mercer.” Karliah’s voice was laced with venom. “It’s the only way they could know.”  

Brynjolf cursed under his breath. “We should’ve killed the lying bastard sooner.” 

Karliah grimaced. “We didn’t know.” 

“Looking back, I don’t understand how we were so blind.” 

Karliah put a hand on Brynjolf’s shoulder. “Mercer was once one of us and he was charismatic, despite his gruff exterior. It’s not your fault he deceived you. He nearly deceived me as well. If not for Gallus exposing him, I would never have known.” 

“Yeah, well, Gallus shouldn’t have had to give his life to expose the rat.” 

Karliah’s eyes grew distant. “What’s done is done, Bryn. There’s no use in pining after would have and could have. The only thing we can do now is walk forward.” 

Brynjolf nodded. “Well, to move forward, we have to get Brand back. What’s our plan, lass?” 

Karliah turned her attention back to the shack. “We need to scout the area for any Brotherhood agents, then get inside so I can speak to Brand. I need to find out what Nocturnal blessed him with at the Sepulchre.” 

“Nocturnal blessed him for returning the key?” Brynjolf asked. 

Karliah laughed softly. “That’s one way to look at it. Initiates of Nocturnal take their final oath to Our Lady of the Shadows in the Sepulchre. A true test of our loyalty, you might say.”  

“I see.” Brynjolf didn’t sound certain. 

“You can ask Brand about it when we get him back. I’m sure he’ll have something to say about his experience. Now, c’mon.” Karliah gestured to the shack. Best to move now and not let Brynjolf question Nocturnal’s motives. “You circle left, I’ll go right and we’ll meet in the middle. Keep an eye out for the Brotherhood.” 

Brynjolf pulled his mask over his face and the two split up. They reconvened a few minutes later in front of the shack. Karliah shot Brynjolf the hand signal for how many?  

Brynjolf signaled back none. 

Karliah signaled the same, then gestured toward the door. Inside? 

Brynjolf shrugged and put a hand on his sword. Karliah drew her bow off her back and leaned against the door, closing her eyes and slowing her breathing. She didn’t hear anything on the other side. No scuff of feet against the floor, no creak of floorboards, not even the rustle of fabric. 

Karliah shivered. That either meant that the assassins were out and Brand wasn’t able to make any noise or that the deed had already been done. Karliah pressed her lips together in a thin line and opened her eyes, meeting Brynjolf’s grim gaze. She nodded toward the door. Brynjolf dipped his head and stood up just on the other side of the doorway. Karliah nocked an arrow to her bow and nudged the door with her foot. To their surprise, it swung open a few inches. Karliah’s bow was up in an instant, arrow at full draw and she swung the door the rest of the way back, aiming into the room. 

But there was no cry of outrage, no attack. Nothing but heavy, awful silence and blinding light. Karliah felt the light reaching for her like a living thing and pushed it away, willing what little shadow remained in the room to her side. A quick sweep of the room showed it to be empty of all but one occupant. 

“Brand!” Karliah gasped. 

The young wood elf lay against the far wall of the cabin, his back to the door, at the center of a pool of harsh light. He was shirtless and wore no shoes. Scraps of bloodied rope lay nearby, matching red marks around his wrists and ankles. He wasn’t bound now, but Karliah quickly saw why. If the blood in the floor was any indication, the boy was in no shape to leave under his own power. Red welts and ugly purple bruising criss-crossed his bare skin. Karliah dropped her bow and ran across the room to him. 

Brynjolf stepped into the room behind her. “Talos preserve him,” he murmured. 

“Brynjolf, douse the lights,” Karliah instructed. 

Without a sound, he moved around the room and began snuffing lanterns.

Karliah knelt beside Brand. She held her breath as she reached out and lay a hand against his neck. She found a pulse and sighed in relief. Gently, she reached down and gathered Brand into her lap, cradling his head in the crook of one arm. He whimpered. 

Though his left eye was swollen shut, his right eyelid flickered and he hissed as light struck his face. Karliah shielded him with her hand. 

“Shh, Brand. It’s me. Brynjolf is here too,” she whispered. “Wait a moment. We’ll be in shadow soon.” 

“K-Karliah?” His words came thick and slurred and she had to lean forward to hear him. 

“Yes.” She brushed a hand over his head, through blood and sweat-slicked hair. 

The light diminished as Brynjolf continued working his way around the room. 

“Brand, we don’t have much time. Where’s the Brotherhood?” 

He shuddered. “Don’t…know. They left.”

The last of the lanterns went out and Brand cracked open his good eye. Muted moonlight filtered through chinks in the wall near the ceiling. 

Brynjolf appeared over Karliah’s shoulder. 

“Oh, lad,” he breathed. 

Brand tried to laugh, but immediately seized up, grimacing in pain. Karliah held him until he relaxed. “It…looks worse than --” 

“Don’t lie. Don’t waste the effort,” Brynjolf growled. “What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on those bastards.” 

“Astrid,” Brand whispered. “And Arnbjorn.” 

“By the Eight,” Karliah hissed. 

Brynjolf whistled low. “Maven wasn’t messing around. She wants you dead, lad.” 

“Don’t…remind me.” 

Just then they heard a wolf cry off in the distance. Brynjolf and Karliah both stiffened and gave each other a look. Brynjolf silently slipped back outside, sword drawn. A lone wolf howling could be just that -- a lone wolf. Or it could be an arranged signal between the Brotherhood. Or an animal startled by the return of the assassins. They couldn’t afford to get caught off-guard. Not now. 

As soon as Brynjolf was gone, Karliah leaned down. “Brand, did you make it to the Sepculchre?”

His eyes were closed again, but he nodded, the movement small. 

“And the key?” 

“Returned.” 

“Did you…” Karliah felt the words catch in her throat. But now was not the time to ask after Gallus. “...talk to Nocturnal?”  

“Yes.” 

“And she granted you a boon?” 

Another nod.

“Which did you choose?” 

She had to lean down until her ear was nearly touching the boy’s mouth to hear his answer. 

Karliah’s answering grin was fierce. “Then listen closely. This is what you need to do.” 

I heard their footsteps before they reached the cabin.

“I would have thought him broken by now. He’s surprisingly…resilient.” Astrid said from just a few feet off the left side of the shack. 

I waited in the newly darkened cabin and tried to keep my breath steady. My heart beat against my chest harder than it should, creeping up my throat until it was hard to breathe. I could feel a well of power in my chest that hadn’t been there before, slowly seeping back into me with the shadows. Blessed darkness, thank Nocturnal. I’d wanted to hug Brynjolf for dousing those damn lanterns, but I didn’t have the strength and Brynjolf was still outside somewhere.

Karliah was inside with me in the rafters, though I couldn’t see her or hear her. Then again, if she’d gone ethereal, I didn’t expect to. 

Arnbjorn grunted in reply and then I heard a sharp intake of breath. “The lights,” he hissed. 

The footsteps started running. 

I braced my arms against the table in the center of the room, trying to convince my shaking legs to hold me up a bit longer. 

Karliah had been against helping me stand for this very reason. I wasn’t going to remain on my feet for long. She’d been worried I’d collapse and not be able to summon my powers, but I’d be damned if I didn’t meet my torturers head on. I wanted them to look me in the eye as I cursed them. 

My breath hitched in my chest and I put a hand to my left side. Something under my skin grated and I had to bite my tongue to keep from making a sound. The combined effort nearly sent me to the floor. 

The door was yanked open. Astrid stood framed in the doorway, flanked by her much larger husband, a sputtering torch in his left hand. It cast flickering shadows around the room. 

Astrid’s eyes immediately flew to the floor where I’d been laying.

“Hello, Astrid,” I said. 

She whirled toward my voice, eyes going wide as she realized I was standing behind the table. 

“You! How’d you get --” 

She didn’t get the words out before I unleashed my well of power. Fueled by pain and shadow, the spell caught Astrid mid-yell. She screamed and dropped to the floor, her face twisted in pain, hands clawing at the air as if fending off an invisible attacker. Arnbjorn leapt forward, trying to see what was attacking his wife, and entered the spell as well. The big man gave a grunt and sank to his knees, his own face a rictus of pain. 

I felt something warm and soothing wash over me, easing the fiercest of my aches and pains, and then my eyes rolled up and I collapsed. 

But I was grinning.

As soon as Brand collapsed, Karliah dropped out of the rafters with a soft thump. Arnbjorn and Astrid were both prone now, occasionally twitching or gasping as Nocturnal’s Strife took its course. It had been, perhaps, the best of Nocturnal’s boons Brand could have taken. Karliah walked over to the Nord woman and knelt beside her. She grabbed Astrid’s hood and yanked it back, exposing her blond hair. She grabbed a fistful of it and forced Astrid to look up at her. 

Astrid’s eyes rolled. 

“Can you hear me?” Karliah hissed. 

After a moment, Astrid nodded. 

“Good. Then listen closely, voclur. You will return to your master and you will tell her that the Thieves' Guild rises once more and that if she wishes to do us further harm, we will go to war for our own. What you have experienced here is just a taste of the wrath that we can call down on you. Know that we will bring our power to bear for the Guild and for our own. Do you understand?” 

Astrid nodded again. 

“Next time, we won’t stop at mere pain.” 

Astrid whimpered, but underneath the pain, her face was drawn with anger. 

Karliah dropped Astrid. She hit the floor with a thump and lay still. Karliah stood and walked to the doorway. Brynjolf waited just outside, his expression hidden underneath his black mask, though his eyes were wide in the shadows of his hood. 

“C’mon Bryn, it’s time to take Brand home,” she said softly. He nodded and walked inside. He lifted Brand easily, carrying him like a child, his head cradled against Brynjolf’s shoulder. Brand didn’t respond, though Brynjolf thought that the bruising on his face was slightly less, a few of the welts across his skin slightly lighter. He breathed, steady in, steady out. 

“Lass, what did you do in there?” he asked as they left the shack. “One moment, I was sneaking up to get a hit on Arnbjorn, and the next, they were both on the floor as if attacked.” 

Karliah tilted her head for a moment, then she answered. “I didn’t do anything. That was Brand.” 

“Those extra blessings?” Brynjolf asked. 

Karliah was quiet for a moment, considering what to answer, then she spoke. “Yes. Nocturnal’s Strife. It is a power that allows a Nightingale to make an exchange of energies. A wound for a wound. You steal life from those around you.” 

“So he made Astrid and Arnbjorn feel what they did to him?”

“Not in equal, no. The power of Strife doesn’t allow us to deal exact copies of our injuries onto another. But it can save your life when you are walking close to Oblivion’s door.” 

Brynjolf cursed under his breath. “And now?” He tilted his head toward Brand’s limp form. “Will he be alright?” 

Karliah nodded with a lot more conviction than she felt. “Using his power like that took a lot from him, but he should be ok as long as we can get him somewhere safe so he can rest. His wounds…” she frowned. “Well, they’re just going to take time.” 

“Good. That gives us time to plot revenge,” Brynjolf said grimly. 

Chapter Text

“So, you’re finally awake.” 

I blinked bleary eyes and turned my head. Brynjolf came into focus, sitting cross-legged beside me on a dirt floor, several pieces of parchment spread out around him, and another currently balanced on top of a book on his knee. He had ink on his fingers, but by the frayed tip of his quill, he’d been doing a lot more worrying than writing. 

I took a deep breath and got my bearings. I was lying in a nest of blankets and bedrolls, piled at the edge of the main chamber in Nocturnal Hall. There was a makeshift desk set up on the platform where Nocturnal appeared earlier, with more books, parchment, and quills spilling off of it and onto the floor. I could make out a few figures moving around behind Brynjolf, Guild members. More bedrolls lined the available floor space, leading out into the atrium, some occupied. I blinked. “We’re in…” 

“Nightingale Hall?” Brynjolf finished for me. “Aye, lad. The Cistern and the Flagon were compromised.” 

I frowned. “Maven?” 

Brynjolf sighed. “Who else?” 

I cursed under my breath. 

“But how about you? How do you feel?” 

How did I feel? I wiggled my fingers and toes. They all seemed to be in working order. I could move my arms and legs. I turned to prop myself up on one elbow and hissed as something pulled in my side. I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed hard, willing the pain to disappear. 

“Lad?” 

I gulped down a breath and opened my eyes. “Fine,” I gasped. “I’m fine.” 

“Your face says otherwise.” 

“Dammit, Brynjolf.” 

Brynjolf had the audacity to grin. Then he sobered. “I’m sorry, Brand.” 

I eased myself up until I was sitting, my back to the wall, facing Brynjolf. “Sorry?” I shifted to get more comfortable, but couldn’t find a position I liked. My entire body ached, and what I could see of my skin was mottled in shades of blue and green. Underneath my tunic, I could see the edges of bandages around my torso. Ach. The Brotherhood really worked me over. “What for?” 

“For everything,” Brynjolf said quietly. “I haven’t been fast enough to save you, not once. Not at Goldenglow, not with Mercer, not with the Brotherhood. I--” 

“You pulled me out of that canal,” I interrupted. 

Brynjolf paused, mouth open. He shut his mouth and nodded. 

“Bryn, it’s not your fault. Any of it. I don’t blame you, so you shouldn’t either.”

Brynjolf frowned. “Karliah said something similar, but I can’t help but feel that if you didn’t get caught up in all this Guild business, you’d be in a lot less pain.” 

I shrugged. “Or maybe I’d be dead somewhere out in Skyrim. We don’t know what would’ve happened if I didn’t join the Guild. We can’t chase what ifs, Brynjolf.” 

“You’re too philosophical for your own good, lad.” Brynjolf shook his head, but there was something like a smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

“I learned quick that if I only focused on what I wished happened, it made reality hurt worse. But if I focused on what I had, what was real, what was happening? Then I had something I could work with.” 

Brynjolf shook his head. “I take it you were on your own young.” 

“I was four when my parents died. Made me grow up real fast.” 

Brynjolf nodded. “I’ve seen the same look on others in the Guild. Etienne, Sapphire, Ravyn. I got lucky enough to have a decent childhood, but most of the Guild didn’t. We’re all outcasts for one reason or another.” 

“Makes us stick together closer.” 

“Aye, lad, that it does.” 

We sat in silence for a few minutes. I took the time to look around the room. I didn’t see Karliah anywhere, but I caught a glimpse of Delvin napping in the background. Vipr was sitting off to one side, cleaning a pair of daggers. Sapphire sat on one of the platforms at the top of the room, moodily contemplating something in her lap. 

I looked back at Brynjolf. “So, Maven." 

“What about her?” 

“What’s our plan?” 

Brynjolf sighed and gestured at all the parchment laid out in front of him. “This.” 

“And those are?” 

“Shipping manifestos, work orders, notes, business documents. Everything Karliah was able to snitch from Maven’s businesses while she was working the Goldenglow and Honningbrew jobs. We’re trying to find a loophole somewhere. Something we can exploit. But, in the meantime, there’s also someone you should meet. We’ve been waiting on you to wake up so you can talk to him.” 

“How long have I been asleep?” 

“Three days.” Brynjolf looked grim. 

“Three days?” I stuttered. “That’s…a long time.” 

“Aye. Karliah thinks it’s because you overused your powers. On top of being beaten. We were starting to think…” he trailed off and shrugged. “Well, you know.”  

I shivered. “That I might not wake up?” 

Brynjolf nodded. 

I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the sudden pit that opened up in my stomach. This was no mere game anymore. We were playing for keeps and Maven wasn’t pulling punches. Which meant we couldn’t either. If we were going to survive this, we’d have to play as dirty as she was. After what the Brotherhood did to me, I was more than willing. And I was pretty sure the rest of the Guild was too. There was a restless quality to the air in the Hall, the smell of fear, the tang of impatience. They might look calm on the outside, but inside, they were roiling. 

It was going to take time. And planning. But we had the shadows on our side. We were king-makers, world-shapers.

I forced my shaking hands to still and met Brynjolf’s eye. “Let’s dethrone queen Black-Briar." 

Brynjolf grinned. “Agreed. We'll start with Vex’s prisoner.” 

“Vex has a prisoner?” I raised an eyebrow. 

“She caught him skulking around the Hall after we moved everybody here. So far, we haven’t gotten him to talk.” 

“Oh?” 

“Vex has the poor lad scared witless,” Brynjolf said simply. “We’re hoping maybe he’ll talk to you, since he hasn’t seen you yet. And…well, you know.” 

“Because I don’t look like a threat?” 

“Well. Yes.” 

“It’s ok, Bryn. I know I'm not frightening. I’ve never tried to be. People open up faster when you don’t look like you’re going to gut them like a fish.” 

Brynjolf chuckled. Then he shifted a few papers around and stood up. “You up to talking?” 

“Sure. What else am I going to do?” 

“You could sleep, I suppose.” 

I felt a tendril of fear stir in my belly. “No. I think…not. Not for a while.” 

Brynjolf looked concerned, but he didn’t press the issue. “Think you can stand, then?” 

I looked up at him. “You want me to stand up? Now?” 

“No, next week.” Brynjolf rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. 

“I don’t know, Brynjolf. I just woke up. I’m not--” 

“You keep sitting around, you’re gonna stiffen up. Especially with those bruises.” 

I frowned. “I’ve been impersonating a corpse for three days. I can hardly get stiffer.” 

Brynjolf laughed. 

I stretched experimentally. Nothing twinged so painfully I couldn't move. “Help me and I might be able to get up.” 

Brynjolf reached down and grabbed my hand and between the two of us and the wall, we managed to get me on my feet. 

I swayed and sagged against the wall, feeling dizzy. My head spun and my mouth was suddenly dry. I closed my eyes so the room would stop swaying. 

“Too much?” Brynjolf asked quietly. 

“No.” I stopped myself from shaking my head and slowly opened my eyes. The room stayed still. “No. I’m--” 

“Don’t say fine.” Brynjolf glared at me. “Because you’re not.” 

I grimaced. “Alright. I'm thirsty.” 

Brynjolf watched me carefully for a few more seconds, then he nodded. “That is a problem I can solve.” 

“Good. Then get me a drink and take me to this prisoner.” 

“Well, you look like Oblivion chewed you up and spat you back out.” 

“Hello to you too, Vex,” I said as I hobbled up to the white-haired Imperial. Brynjolf walked by my side, but I stubbornly refused to take his arm for support. For now. 

Vex stood near the entrance to the Hall, guarding a makeshift cage that had been built by shoving a series of iron bars into a hastily dug out section of dirt wall. It wouldn’t hold anybody with a decent amount of strength, but I was guessing Vex had her captive so cowed that the bars didn’t really matter. A huddled form lay near the back of the dug out, his back to us. His wrists were bound behind his back. 

“We were worried about you,” Vex admitted. 

“Thanks. But I’m ok.” 

“Mm-hm.” She clicked her tongue. “Liar. Karliah and Brynjolf dragged you back in here so black and blue you could’ve passed for a dunmer.” 

I gave her a weak grin. 

“Good to see you on your feet, kid.” She looked over my shoulder at Brynjolf. “You bring him to meet our new friend?” She smiled, running her tongue over bright teeth. 

“I thought he might like to get acquainted,” Brynjolf answered. 

I looked down at the huddled form in the cage. 

“Says his name’s Relan,” Vex supplied. “Other than that and the fact that he works for Maven, the skeeving s’wit ,” she spat into the cage, “he’s been silent. Ay! Numbskull! Wake up! I know you can hear me!” she yelled at the prisoner. “And you know what happens when you ignore me, so I suggest you roll over and greet your guest. And be polite. I happen to like him.” 

I hid a smile at Vex’s dramatic overture. The man in the cage groaned and stirred. After a moment, he rolled over so that he was facing us, and levered himself to his knees. He was young, not much older than me, Imperial or Breton, probably, with shoulder-length black hair and dark green eyes. He had dark circles under his eyes, and a fading bruise on one cheek, but the most noticeable injuries were two identical cuts across his face, extending from either side of his mouth. They were bloody and crusted over and while they didn’t cut all the way through the skin of his cheeks, they’d scar up and leave him with a permanent gruesome grin. I shuddered. Vex’s knife-work, most likely.

As if to confirm my thoughts, Vex pulled a knife from her belt and started flipping it casually into the air. 

Relan watched it warily. I saw his throat bob nervously. 

“Alright, Relan, this here’s Brand.” Vex waved toward me. “He’s the one Maven sent the Brotherhood after. As you can see, he’s here and the Brotherhood’s nowhere to be seen. So keep that in mind when you talk to him, yeah?” Vex lunged forward and rattled her knife across the bars. 

Relan flinched. 

Vex laughed and stepped back to lean against the wall beside the cage, her knife still making silver arcs up into the air, down into her hand. 

Brynjolf crossed his arms. 

I shambled to the edge of the cage and dropped unsteadily to one knee. I steadied myself with one hand on the ground, wincing as my body protested. 

“So, you work for Maven?” I asked. 

Relan’s eyes followed Vex’s blade over my shoulder for a few seconds before he looked down at me. “N-not no more, I don’t,” he stuttered. “She’s n-not p-paying me enough for this.” 

“And what did she pay you to do?” 

Swish, flip. Relan’s eyes bobbed in time to Vex’s knife again. 

“Follow you lot,” he said. “F-find out where you went. She knew you left the Ratway.” 

“That’s when I caught him,” Vex cut in. “Skulking about in the bushes outside the Hall after Karliah and Brynjolf moved us up here.” She leaned down and leered at Relan. He scooted away as far as his tiny cell would allow. “‘Cept you weren’t very good at skulking, now, were you?” 

He shook his head. 

Vex waved her knife menacingly. 

He hunched his shoulders. 

“Vex,” I said sharply. 

“Yes, sera?” 

“Can you give us some space? You too, Brynjolf.” I wasn’t going to be able to talk to Relan with Vex hanging over us and I figured he might be more willing to talk without Brynjolf too. I wasn’t big or intimidating and I clearly wasn’t in a state to become either of those things. If he didn’t feel threatened, he might be more willing to give me information.

Reluctantly, Brynjolf nodded and, slinging an arm around Vex’s shoulders, pulled her down the tunnel leading to the Hall before she could protest. I waited until they were out of sight before I addressed Relan again. 

“I’m sorry,” I said. 

His eyebrows flew up. “F-for what?” 

I gestured loosely at my own face in a semblance of the ragged smile on his. He looked away, letting his hair fall over his face like a dark curtain. Then he cleared his throat, steeled himself, and looked back over at me. “‘S’okay. Least she didn’t slice me open.” 

I grunted and shifted again, slowly lowering myself until I was sitting. 

“What happened to you?” Relan asked, then shut his mouth quickly, like he shouldn’t have talked out of line. 

I waved a hand dismissively. “That would be the Dark Brotherhood Vex mentioned."

He grimaced. “I thought they usually went in for murder.”  

“Yeah, me too.” 

Relan relaxed until he, too, was sitting on the ground inside the cage. “Lucky they didn’t, I guess.” 

“It’s only thanks to my friends. They rescued me before we got to the murder part.” 

Relan shivered. “Now that’s the real luck, ain’t it?” 

I raised an eyebrow. 

Relan gestured with his head to encompass the Hall. “Having this lot at your back. Must be nice.” 

I tilted my head. Perhaps he’d given me the in I was looking for. “It is,” I agreed. “What about you? You got friends?” 

He laughed, but it wasn’t a cheerful sound. “You think I’d be working for Maven if I did?” 

“What’s she got over you?” 

He ducked his head again, hiding his expression behind his hair. “Just made a bad deal,” he finally murmured. “Got lured in and bit by the snake. Then I couldn’t leave.” 

I nodded. Sounded like Maven. Sounded a lot like the deal she’d offered me all those weeks ago. I rubbed a hand across my face. It felt like it was a lifetime ago. The offer had been tempting. But I’d recognized Maven for the snake she was. She had lots of others in her employ that didn’t get so lucky and ended up at her mercy. Leaving Maven wasn’t an option. Unless you wanted a really powerful enemy on your tail.   

I decided honesty might work best on Relan, a man used to being lied to and used. I knew I found it refreshing. “She offered the same to me."

He scoffed. “You didn’t take it though.” 

“No. But I’m not going to lie. It was tempting. Whatever else Maven has, she has power and that’s a nice feeling when you’re used to not having it.”

Relan watched me carefully, green eyes bright in the darkness, curious, wary. 

“I was a thief before I got to Skyrim, you know,” I said. “Back in Valenwood.” 

“You’re from Valenwood?” 

I flashed him a grin. “Where else?”

He moved a little closer in the dim light.

“What about you?” I asked. 

“Me? I was raised in Skyrim. Falkreath, originally, though I made my way east after my…” he paused, “...family...” He choked up on the words and stopped talking. 

“Sorry,” I said. I didn’t know exactly where he’d been going with his story, but I could take a pretty good guess from the way his expression turned tortured and his eyes misted up. A boy fresh off the end of tragedy would be exactly the kind of person Maven would snatch up. She might have even pretended to comfort Relan for a while. And by the time she revealed her fangs, he was too caught up in her schemes to run away. And besides, where else would he go? If his family was gone, there weren’t a lot of prospects available to him. Skyrim was a harsh place and it didn’t favor the weak or helpless.

We sat in silence for a while and I let Relan compose himself. 

“I can help you,” I finally said. “If you want.” 

He watched me, but he didn’t answer. 

“If you help us catch Maven, we can take her down. Destroy her little empire. You won’t have to go back to her.” 

Something in his expression turned hopeful, though he still looked wary. 

“I’ll keep Vex away from you,” I said. 

Relief washed over his features. “Please,” he said, voice cracking on the single word. He ducked his head again. 

By the Eight, what had she been doing to him? I felt something hot and angry settle in my chest and resolved to have a chat with Vex after this. But first, I needed Relan to talk. 

“Promise,” I said. “Now, tell me everything you know about Maven Blackbriar.” 

He did.

Chapter Text

“Brand.” 

Someone shook my shoulder gently. 

“Hey, Brand.” 

I woke up with a start, inhaling sharply. I blinked a couple times and the blurry face in front of mine resolved itself into Karliah, kneeling in front of me, her steadying hands on my shoulders. 

“Huh?” I rubbed a hand over my face. “What? What’s wrong?” 

She chuckled. “Nothing’s wrong, sleepyhead. I just thought you might want to lie down. That’s the third time you’ve nodded off in your chair. Can’t be comfortable.” 

I looked around, still feeling disoriented. I was sitting in a straight-backed wooden chair beside Karliah and Brynjolf’s makeshift command center so I could help them review papers. Although my bruises were healing up nicely (according to Tonilia), I still couldn’t stay in one position for too long and standing seemed to aggravate things the most. I was getting really damn tired of it. I wanted to be able to move without seizing up. 

I sat up a little straighter, shrugging Karliah off. “I’m fine. I’m awake.” 

She stepped back and leaned against the table, crossing her arms. “For now.” 

I sighed. There were papers scattered all over the floor around me. I’d obviously dropped what I’d been reading. I reached down to pick them up, then stopped. It was late and I was tired and there was no point gathering them up now. Karliah was right. I’d only nod off again. 

I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since I woke up in the Hall a few days ago. I didn’t know if it was the atmosphere of unease pervading the place or my own worries, but almost every time I closed my eyes, I felt like I was drowning, suffocating. I’d only been able to take short naps and those in the company of either Brynjolf or Karliah. 

I looked around the dim interior of the Hall. It was late and the Hall was darkened, most of the torches being put out. The brightest light came from a lantern and a couple of candles on the table beside me. Most of the figures I could see in the room were bundled in blankets and bedrolls, sleeping. I could see someone’s shadow fall across the doorway every so often, as if they were patrolling the entrance. Dirge, probably. Maybe Bryn.

Against the far wall, Etienne sat guard beside the sleeping form of Relan. I’d convinced Brynjolf and Karliah to let him out of his cage, though his ankles were still bound by a length of chain to keep him from running. Etienne had his back against the wall, hands propped on his up-raised knees, but by the way his head was tilted under his hood, he was asleep too. 

Karliah’s gaze followed mine and she smiled. “It’s alright, I’ve been keeping an eye on him,” she said softly. 

Her words were like a lure, pulling my gaze back to her face. 

“Septim for your thoughts?” she asked. 

I swallowed. I knew what she was really asking. And I knew my next answer was a non-sequitur, but I said it anyway. “I had a word with Vex. She threatened to cut me up too, but I told her it was pretty damn hard to cut a shadow. I think she’ll leave Relan alone now.” 

Karliah’s expression softened. “That’s not what I’m asking about. Although I am glad you stood up for the boy.” 

I looked away, feeling heat rush to my face. Could she see through me that easily? I knew I wasn’t at the top of my game and that I’d probably not been keeping as tight a reign on my expressions as I’d like. Or was Karliah just getting that good at reading me? Something unpleasant coiled in my stomach and I felt like my mouth was sewn shut. I couldn’t give voice to the nasty fear that sat heavy on my chest. Not like this. It was weakness, that was all, and to admit weakness…? I couldn’t.

“Brand,” Karliah’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “Are you afraid?” 

Something inside me broke loose, like a weakened dam spewing water, and I had to hold back a sudden urge to sob. I blinked a few times. Something wet slipped down my cheek. I didn’t trust myself to speak. 

“Oh, Brand.” Karliah came back to me and leaned down to gather me in a hug. “It’ll be alright,” she murmured. 

Without even realizing I was doing it, I buried my face in the crook of her shoulder and neck. I focused on breathing. Slow, steady. I was not going to cry. 

But that was before Karlaih’s hand cradled the back of my head. The dam broke. I cried. Karliah didn’t say anything. She just held me, muffling the sound of my sobs against her shoulder. When my tears finally abated, she leaned back so she could look me in the eye. 

“Better?” she asked. 

I sniffed. “Yes. Maybe. I-I’m not sure,” I stuttered. 

She reached into a pocket somewhere and produced a handkerchief, which she handed to me. I wiped my face and blew my nose and started to feel a little more like myself. 

“It’s ok to be afraid,” Karliah said when I was done. 

I looked up at her, the words I’m not afraid perched on the end of my tongue, but I couldn’t make myself say them. Because I knew they weren’t true. 

“Everyone’s afraid sometimes, Brand. Doesn’t make you any less brave or strong.” 

I mustered a hesitant smile for her. “I know, Karliah. But I--I’m just so tired.” Tired of being beaten. Tired of being used. Tired of feeling in over my head. When I looked back on the last few months, I felt like a pawn in a game of chess, moved willy-nilly by forces I couldn’t control. It was exhausting. 

Karliah gave me a knowing look. “I know,” she said, as if she were privy to my thoughts. “Which is why you should get some sleep. Real sleep,” she continued as I opened my mouth to argue. I shut it. 

She ran a gentle finger along my cheekbone, under my eye. “Not all these shadows are bruises.” 

The words felt like a lead weight on my tongue, but I forced them out. “I can’t.” 

She was quiet for a long moment, then she sighed. “Nightmares?” 

“Not…exactly.” 

“Then what?” 

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “It’s like, when I close my eyes, the darkness is going to swallow me. Like I’ll just…never wake up.” 

Karliah listened intently, head bowed for a few moments. Then she looked back up. “It’s Nocturnal.” 

“Nocturnal wants to swallow me up?” 

Karliah’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “Perhaps.” 

I scowled. 

Karliah sighed. “Brand, look. It’s like this. When we use our powers as Nightingales, we use a piece of the shadows. A piece of Nocturnal. If we take too much too fast, then we owe her the deficit.” 

“I thought she was infinite.” 

“She is.” 

“Then how can she have a deficit of shadow?” 

“Not a deficit in the sense that Nocturnal will cease to be able to provide power to us.” Karliah tilted her head as if considering her next words. “Our mortal bodies aren’t meant to be made of shadow. While we can be conduits, yes, we cannot make ourselves entirely out of the darkness like Nocturnal. So if we take too much, too fast, she gives us a part of herself to keep us from being swallowed by the darkness. And when that happens, that piece of her demands reunification.” 

I stared at Karliah for a long moment. “You’re using words that are too big for my brain right now."

“When you overextend your Nightingale powers, Nocturnal lends you a bit of herself to keep you from being lost to the darkness. And now you have to give that piece of her back. That’s the feeling of being swallowed you’re talking about.” 

“It’s not going to hurt, is it?” I asked. 

Karliah shrugged. “Not sure. I’ve never experienced this personally.” 

“But why me?” 

“Probably because you used your power with very little control. You were injured and directing it at targets you felt an emotional anger toward. You likely opened yourself to the darkness and never closed that door.” 

I dropped my head into my hands. “This is entirely too complicated."

Karliah put a hand under my chin and tipped my head up. “Just sleep, Brand. She’ll come to you. Commune with Nocturnal. Then the feeling will go away.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“I promise. I’ll stay with you, just in case.” 

“Just in case what?” 

Karliah shrugged. “You need a hand to hold.” 

I made a face at her, but I didn’t resist when she offered me a hand and pulled me out of the chair. Or when she settled down next to my bedroll with another stack of Maven’s documents to read while I slept. 

I closed my eyes. 

The darkness swallowed me. 

“There you are, little one.” Nocturnal was sitting on a throne that looked as if it were made of shadow itself, on a dais three steps high. We were inside a throne room, with soaring columns leading up to a ceiling I couldn’t see. Stained-glass windows lined the curving wall behind Nocturnal’s throne, lit in shades of purple and blue, like moonlight. They cast an eerie glow on the pale marble floor as I walked toward the throne. 

My feet seemed to move of their own volition, despite my heart hammering so hard against my chest I thought it must be visible to Nocturnal. 

She held out a hand to me as I walked up. 

I knelt. I had no idea if that was me or her compulsion. 

“Do not be afraid, Brand,” she said. There was a smile in her words, even if her expression remained neutral. 

I swallowed. 

“You seem reluctant to see me.” Her dark lips pulled into a pout. “Have I so offended you?” 

“Of course not,” I stammered. 

Nocturnal leaned back in her throne, crossing her legs and resting her head in her hand. “Then what has you so afraid of the shadows, love?” 

“I’m…not afraid." I pushed the words past a lump in my throat. 

Nocturnal laughed. 

“You know you have only to give back what is mine.” She stood up and descended the dais, slowly, step by step until she stood in front of me. She knelt so that we were eye to eye. “Don’t you?” 

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. 

Nocturnal reached up to my right shoulder and the weight I’d felt on my shoulders suddenly materialized into the form of one of her ravens. It cawed next to my ear. I jumped. That certainly hadn’t been there before!

Nocturnal stretched out her hand and smiled. “There you are.” 

The raven cawed again and hopped onto her hand. Nocturnal raised him to her own shoulder and he hopped off her hand to settle amid her midnight hair. 

“I…he…how?” I felt like a fool. 

Nocturnal laughed, the sound like crystal. She touched one finger to the tip of my nose. “You tried to use too much of your power at once. Had I not sent you Munin, you would not have survived.” 

“Th-thank you.” 

The raven gave me a beady-eyed look and cawed. 

“He likes you, you know.” 

“Oh. That’s…good.”

“Brand.” Nocturnal gave me a look like a mother to a small child who is insisting he stay up even though it’s past his bedtime and his eyes are clearly falling shut. “Rest now, my foolish, brave elf. Close your eyes and sleep. I will be here when you wake.” 

I nodded, feeling at once like a fool and significantly more at ease.

Nocturnal brushed a kiss across my forehead and the darkness swallowed me again.

Chapter Text

I stepped outside of Nightingale Hall and stretched, taking a deep breath. The Hall was too close, too tense. I needed space. There were only a few twinges as I raised my arms over my head, pushing up on my toes until I was extended to my full height. My fingers reached toward the sky above, blue, like a promise, but so out of reach. I exhaled as I dropped back to my heels. I had a few new scars and lingering pains from my misadventure with the Brotherhood, but nothing that would cripple me. 

Brynjolf said I was lucky. 

Karliah didn’t say it, but I saw the sentiment in her eyes when she glanced at me over the paperwork we’d all been pouring over for the last five or six days. 

Another constant reminder of Maven Black-Briar’s long reach. 

I looked down off the mountain toward Riften. I could just make out a few rooftops and the edge of Honich Lake through the trees, sparkling like a diamond far below. 

It was rare that I’d been outside this last week. We’d all been staying in as much as possible, to avoid any other spies Maven might send after us, though Relan insisted he was the only one sent this direction. Surely Maven suspected something when he didn’t return? If she did, she hadn’t sent anyone to confirm her suspicions or rescue Relan. Which could mean a number of things. Either she didn’t trust Relan and considered him a runaway and was not in a hurry to retrieve him. Or she was biding her time and building a trap, hoping to catch him and us up in it. Or, she assumed Relan dead. 

None of them boded well for us. 

And we had yet to find a loophole in any of her paperwork. That was why I came out here. So I wouldn’t lose it with Karliah and Brynjolf. Much as I liked them, they were both starting to get on my nerves with their incessant insistence that we’d find something in Maven’s records to exploit. I had looked at records until numbers were coming out my ears and I was cross-eyed. But there was nothing there to find. Maven was too thorough. And Karliah too pessimistic.

She shot down every potential angle we suggested as being too dangerous or not solid enough.

Until I finally snapped at her and accused her of being on Maven’s side. She’d gotten upset, her lips compressing into a pale line, nostrils flaring, hand going to her dagger. 

“That poisoned?” I’d asked, pointing at her side. “You want to do it right this time?” 

She had yanked the knife from her belt. Vex and Brynjolf both jumped to my defense, but Karliah only slammed the blade into the table and stalked off, arms crossed. 

Brynjolf tried to call her back, but she disappeared into the shadows without another word. Then he rounded on me, brows drawn down, head tilted in concern. 

Vex just stood there with her knife, like she wasn’t sure who she should threaten with it. 

I left, too. I didn’t want their pity, their concern. I could take care of myself. And besides, they’d been stifling me with it since they rescued me from the Brotherhood. At first, I’d needed it. 

Needed the reassuring glances, the murmured encouragement, a shoulder to lean on. But now that I could walk on my own and was nearly back to my old self, I wanted to leave all of that behind. I wasn’t fragile. I didn’t need bodyguards or babysitters. I wasn’t some sort of valuable treasure to be locked up and protected.

Which is why I was very glad no one followed me outside. Because it meant that someone, at least, recognized I needed my space.

I paced back and forth in front of the Hall a few times, working the stiffness out of my joints. Being cooped up in the Hall certainly wasn’t helping my recovery, despite my concentrated efforts to exercise. I did a few jumping jacks and practiced a few punches and jabs. Physical movement felt good. Felt productive after so many days of absolutely nothing. And it was something I could do. In the face of insurmountable odds, at least I could move again.

Relan and Etienne found me in the middle of a set of push-ups. I heard the chain between Relan’s ankles clinking and looked up to see him shuffling toward me, with Etienne half-holding, half-guiding him with a grip on his arm. I wasn’t going to admit that I was glad of the interruption. My shoulders were protesting more than I’d like and sweat dripped down my face and back. 

Etienne gave me a smile as I sat up, breathing hard. “You look better,” he said. 

I took a couple of deep breaths. “Thanks.” I looked back and forth between them. Relan looked guilty, uncomfortable, and kept casting glances over his shoulder, but Etienne seemed relaxed, his grip on Relan’s arm loose. Having recently been a prisoner himself, and of the Thalmor no less, I wasn’t surprised that he’d been gentle with Relan. It was why I pushed so hard to have him replace Vex as guard. 

Relan shifted again. 

“Are you supposed to be…?” I trailed off, gesturing at Relan. 

“Technically?” Etienne grinned. “No. But you can cut the tension in there with a knife.” He shrugged. “Someone’s got to do something. And I trust Relan doesn’t want to try his chances with Maven again.” 

“I won’t run,” Relan said quietly. “Swear.” 

Etienne nodded at me as if to say I told you so.

I stood up and brushed my hands off on my pants. “That bad, huh?” 

Etienne grimaced. “I’ve never seen you and Karliah at odds. What’d you say?” 

I felt my face get hot. “Accused her of working with Maven,” I grumbled. 

Etienne whistled. 

Relan’s eyebrows went up. 

“What for?” Etienne asked. 

I shrugged. “I didn’t mean it. Not really. But I just…” I raised my hands helplessly. “We’ve been digging through Maven’s paperwork for almost a week. There’s nothing there. We can’t get at her. Brynjolf and Karliah seem to think that if they just keep looking at the same damn papers over and over that we’ll find something, but --” 

“You won’t,” Relan interrupted. 

Etienne and I both looked over at him.

He looked a little nervous at the sudden attention, but he looked me in the eye when he spoke again. “Maven knows that people are gonna come after her sooner or later. She’s prepared for that kind of stuff. There’s no hole in her business practices. Trust me. I’ve looked.” 

I crossed my arms and scuffed a rock across the ground with my boot. “Ok. So if we can’t go at her from a business angle, then what do you suggest?” 

“What do I suggest?” Relan asked, incredulous. 

“Yeah. You didn’t just come out here for a friendly chat. Not worth the risk. You’ve got an idea.” 

Relan looked uncertainly at Etienne, who nodded encouragingly. 

“Ok. Yes. I do,” Relan said. He smiled faintly, but the movement was small, contained. Probably to avoid stretching the still-healing marks on his face. Both cuts had scabbed over now and looked clean, with no sign of infection. Which meant someone had been taking care of Relan. Probably Tonilia. The cuts were fainter now, and though they’d still probably scar, they wouldn’t be ugly scars, just faint marks on his skin. Still, I had to hold back a shudder. Marks to remind him of Vex every time he saw his reflection. 

I motioned towards a nearby rock and the three of us sat down, Relan settled somewhat awkwardly between myself and Etienne. I noticed Etienne didn’t keep a grip on his arm now, but his chances of being able to run anywhere before either of us could catch him were very slim. And I believed him when he said he wasn’t going to run. After all, from what he’d told me, he didn’t have anywhere to run to. And while he was a prisoner with us, at least he was fed and clothed and relatively safe. Though I knew the chains must chafe and not just his skin. 

“So,” I prompted. “What’s your idea, Relan?” 

He took a deep breath and a moment to put his ideas in order. “Brynjolf and Karliah aren’t going to like it,” he said. He shuddered. “Or Vex.” 

“Don’t worry about them,” I said. “If you convince me, I’ll take care of them.” 

He nodded. “Ok. Look, it’s risky, but here’s what I’m thinking. You can’t take Maven with a frontal assault. She’s too well-armored.” 

I nodded. 

“We’re going to have to catch her at her own game.” 

“I’ve been thinking the same thing. But how?” 

Relan took another deep breath. “You have the Quill of Gemination, don’t you?” 

“You know about that?” 

“I told him,” Etienne said. 

Relan gave me a sheepish grin. 

“Ok. Yeah. We have it.” 

“And you have documents in Maven’s handwriting, right?” 

“Yes, a few.” 

Relan nodded, as if confirming details to himself. “Then undermine her. Write letters to her clients refusing to work with them. Dismiss her guards. Stop her shipments. Cut ties with her suppliers. Screw her over.” 

I just stared at him for a long moment. 

Relan shifted and cleared his throat, opening his mouth as if to speak again.

I clapped him on the back. “Relan. You’re a genius.”

He shook his head, dark hair hiding his expression. 

“Told you you should tell him,” Etienne said. “Now tell him the second part.” 

“The second part?” I asked. 

“I don’t know about --” 

“Go on.” Etienne nudged Relan’s arm. 

Relan looked out over the mountain for a minute. “Ok, well, you know you couldn’t keep up the sabotage on Maven forever, even with the Quill. She’d find a way to weasel out of it. Or she’d hunt you down until she recovered the Quill. You’ve got to…get rid of her.” 

“Kill her?” I asked. 

He shrugged. “That’s up to you and the Guild. But no matter what you do, you’re gonna have to get close to her to do it. I have an idea how to get you right next to her.” 

“Me?” 

“You’re the one she wants most.” 

I shivered. “Fair.” 

“Once you have her off-balance with the false documents, then I miraculously show back up with you as my captive. I’ll arrange to present you to Maven. She’ll bite because it’ll be exactly the windfall she needs to stop the chokehold the Guild will have on her by then. You’re her greatest bargaining chip. She knows the Guild cares about you, so she could try to make an exchange -- you for the Quill -- or threaten the Guild with your life. She won’t be able to refuse.” 

“And then we lay a trap,” I said thoughtfully. 

“Right. It’ll be dangerous though. We’ll have to make it look good. I’ll have to actually bring you to Maven. You know. Tied up.” 

I waved a hand, my mind racing ahead. “Sure, sure. We’ve got to make it look realistic. But that’s all in the details. Relan, I think this might just work. We’ll squeeze Maven right into our hands. She won’t be able to turn away without revealing her own lies.” I jumped up and started pacing. “We would be able to negotiate our own terms, lay a trap on our ground this time. We’ll be the ones two steps ahead. And then --” I stopped. 

“Then?” Etienne prompted. 

“Well. I don’t know. Death seems too easy an escape for Maven, don’t you think?” 

Relan frowned. 

Etienne shook his head. 

“I want to humiliate her,” I said. “I want her to know full well that she’s lost her empire. I want her to look me in the eye when I put her crown on my head.” 

“I want to be there when you do,” Relan said. 

“Done. Now let’s go tell Brynjolf and Karliah.” 

They all stood there at the table with crossed arms and frowns. Vex, Brynjolf, Karliah, Delvin. I felt like I was on trial. Though neither Karliah or I had explicitly apologized, there seemed to be an uneasy truce between us after my angry words from earlier.

“Look, I’m fine.” I waved my arms around as if to demonstrate. “Nothing tried to kill me.” 

“You went outside, lad." Brynjolf sounded disappointed. 

“Yes! We do that daily to piss. C’mon!” 

“But you went alone. Without telling anyone,” Karliah pointed out. 

“You all saw me walk out!” 

“And you took the prisoner!” Vex hissed. 

“I didn’t take him with me. He came outside and found me.” 

“I knew we shouldn’t’ve posted Etienne as a guard. He’s divines-damned useless!” Vex snarled.

“No, he has a heart, Vex!” I snapped. 

She scowled at me. 

I glared back. 

She looked away first. 

“Look, no damage done. Ok? I didn’t do anything reckless. Relan didn’t run. He’s right there, for Oblivion’s sake!” I pointed at the wall where Relan was standing, looking unseasy, with Etienne beside him. 

“And you say he has a plan for destroying Maven,” Delvin spoke up. 

“Yes.” 

“Lad,” Brynjolf began, “don’t you think that’s…risky?” 

“Of course I do, but hear me out first. Then make your decision.” I met their gazes one by one, looking them each in the eye. 

“Alright,” Karliah said. “We’ll listen. What’s the plan?” 

“We’ve got to lure Maven out, right?” I said. 

Nods all around. 

“And we have the Quill of Gemination.” 

More nods. 

“And documents written in Maven’s hand.” 

Brynjolf slapped a hand to his forehead. “We’re a bunch of skeeving idiots. The answer’s been here all along. We don’t have to find a loophole. We can make one!” 

“Yes. Exactly,” I said. “We tear down Maven’s empire with her own hand.” 

“Thereby making ourselves bigger targets in her mind,” Karliah said. “You think I haven’t thought of this? If we start forging documents in her hand, she renews her efforts to find us, hunt us down, and kill us. I’m sure she’s discovered the switch in quills by now and it’s not going to take her three guesses to figure out who has the real one.” 

“Right, we’re counting on the fact that she has noticed. But it will take her some time to reverse anything we write with the Quill. So, we write up a few fake documents, get her in a tight spot, and then offer her a deal she can’t refuse before she has a chance to take action.” 

“Which is?” Brynjolf asked. 

I took a deep breath. “What she wants most. Me.” 

Chapter Text

“There’s no way in Oblivion --” 

“I’ll carve her up before she lays a hand on you!” 

“No! Lad, that’s insane!” 

“We are not handing you over to that woman for a second time!” 

My declaration was met with cries of outrage from all around the table. Delvin looked angry, Karliah and Brynjolf concerned, and Vex murderous. 

I held up my hands to quiet them. 

“Lad, we are not handing you over to Maven,” Brynjolf insisted. 

“You’re right,” I said. “You’re not. Relan is.” 

More cries of outrage. Vex pointed a knife in Relan’s direction. I saw Relan flinch. Etienne put a hand on his shoulder.

“Would everyone shut up and listen!” I shouted. 

Voices went quiet. By now other members of the Guild were gathered in the Hall, watching, listening. Four pairs of eyes stared back at me. There were crossed arms and tense expressions and hands on weapons. 

“We’re listening,” Karliah said. 

“Thank you.” I pointed at all the paperwork covering the table. “This isn’t working. It was a good shot, Karliah. But Maven’s too thorough. She knows people will try to find loopholes in her business practices. They’ve done it before. We have to be sneakier. We have to beat her at her own game.” 

I met each face in turn. Brynjolf gave me a slight nod. Delvin looked thoughtful. 

“If we pull the rug out from under her, then offer her something to fall back on, she won’t have all her lies and defenses to stand on. We have to put her in a place where she knows she isn’t in control, then dangle me in front of her.” 

Karliah frowned. “There must be something else we can use.” 

Everybody looked around the table uneasily, expressions tense. Nobody wanted to answer the question. 

“You know there’s not,” I finally said. “I’m your surest bet.” 

Karliah and Brynjolf briefly met gazes over the table and something unspoken passed between them. 

Karliah turned back to me. “This is dangerous.” 

“I know.” 

“Are you sure you’re ready for it? You know what happened the last time Maven got ahold of you.” 

I stubbornly refused to think of Astrid and Arnbjorn. “I know.” 

“And you’re willing?” Brynjolf asked. 

“Yes.” 

More shared gazes. Vex muttered something under her breath. Delvin shrugged. 

Karliah turned to me. “Alright, Brand. Let’s put your plan in action.” 

I grinned. “Let’s dethrone Lady Black-Briar.”

The next few months were the best the Guild had had in a long time. We gave Vex free reign with the Quill and she redirected Maven’s shipments to our own fences, warehouses, and desolate locations were fellow Guild members waited to ambush unwary merchants and redirect their goods. 

Most of the merchants delivering goods for Maven were just that -- merchants -- and didn’t put up much of a fight when we met them on the road. A few tried to resist, but they were convinced pretty quickly that putting up a fight wasn’t worth it. 

We kept ears to the ground in Riften (mostly Sapphire and Etienne) and they reported chaos galore in Maven’s empire. Her meadery was short on honey at all hours of the day. Her guards were in a constant state of confusion as to whether they’d been dismissed or not, leading to several of them quitting. Business contacts across Skyrim were demanding why their shipments were late, or why Maven began upcharging them so ludicrously. In the meantime, we started reselling some of her re-directed goods at lower rates and fencing the rest of it to private buyers. 

Septims were pouring in, flowing through our hands like water. The Guild treasury slowly refilled, piling up in trunks, boxes, and crates in a corner of Nightingale Hall, since we still didn’t have the Flagon or the Cistern back. Our scouts reported that Maven wasn’t using them, either, but it was too dangerous to return just yet. 

Maven wrote redirectives as fast as we sent our misdirections, but in the end, it only led to a muddled mess where Maven’s usual contacts simply got fed up with the ever-changing instructions. A lot of them refused to continue doing business with her. 

Tonilia became the face for the Guild, negotiating new deals and contracts across the country. She soon had a network of merchants and fences stretching from Riften to Markarth, moving goods faster than they’d ever been distributed before. Cities clamored to get us into their pockets. 

Brynjolf and Karliah even discussed the possibilities of reinstating Court Thieves. 

Life was good.

“Again!” Karliah snapped. She raised a hand and, around the room, lanterns unshuttered as if by magic and the space was flooded with light. 

I winced, throwing up a hand to block the blinding rays. 

Karliah paced at the edge of the light, watching me, looking collected and predatory. 

I reached into my well of shadow and came up empty, dredging the bottom for a few scraps. 

“Karliah, there’s no shadow in the room!” 

“Wrong.”

“There’s no shadow in light!” 

Karliah tilted her head. “Is that what you think?” 

“It’s what I know,” I grumbled. 

“Is that so?” 

I scowled at her. 

She took two steps into the pool of light and disappeared. “The shadows are always with us, Brand,” her disembodied voice said. “You just have to know how to look for them. How to draw them to yourself when they seem out of reach.

I sighed and clenched my fist, trying to focus on the shadows between my fingers and call them to me. 

I’d gone back to the Sepulchre and switched my power to that of Shadows for now so I could practice without hurting anyone. 

“Karliah. I can’t.” 

“You can. You have to.” 

“Why?” 

Karliah sighed and rematerialized at my side. “You know what happened to you back in the shack. Surely you don’t want to repeat that?” 

“Of course not.” 

“Then you must learn to deceive the light, call the shadows, borrow from Nocturnal herself. You did it once. You can do it again.” 

“Yeah, but the first time was sort of an accident. It was a life or death situation. I didn’t consciously do anything.” 

“Then replicate the feeling.” 

“Sheer, blind panic?” 

Karliah tilted her head, as if that wasn’t the answer she was expecting. “No.” 

“Because that’s pretty much what I felt.” 

“Surely there was something else? A sense of right-ness with your surroundings?” 

I thought back to the night I’d nearly destroyed Astrid and Arnbjorn. “I had a desire not to fall,” I said. “Until I saw the fear on their faces, the pain in their eyes. I wanted revenge.” 

“Good, that’s a start.” 

“Revenge?” 

“A desire for something to be set right. Conviction.” 

I sighed. 

“It is harder in practice, because you are not convicted that these lanterns must die.” Karliah gestured around the room, a bemused smile on her face. “But focus on Maven. Focus on your desire to see her fall. Focus on your anger. Focus on the peace Nocturnal brings. You can summon the shadows, Brand. You will.” She backed out of the circle of light. “Again.” 

This time, I closed my eyes and I pictured Maven. I thought about how good it would feel to destroy in a night what she took years to build. I thought about the Guild members she’d hurt. I thought about how she’d coerced Mercer into killing his own for her. 

I took a deep breath and thought about how it felt when I encountered Nocturnal. I imagined the weight of Munin on my shoulder. 

And suddenly I felt it, a subtle shift in the balance of light in the room. The brush of a ghostly wing against my cheek. The world stilled, and things felt right. 

“Brand! You did it!” Karliah exclaimed. 

I opened my eyes and looked down. My body was just a faintly shimmering outline. I held my hands up, realizing I could see through them. I laughed. 

Karliah grinned. 

I released the shadows and rematerialized. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Text

Vex slipped into Riften on a misty morning in one of her favorite disguises -- a hunch-backed beggar woman leaning on a crooked staff. Beggars were universal. And universally ignored, for good or ill. Vex often found that people would go out of their way to avoid a beggar, especially if she held out her hand and asked for a few septims in a creaky voice. 

But this morning, people gave her a wider berth than usual. She didn’t even have to ask for a coin.

Riften was on edge. The city was well-used to looking over its own shoulder. After all, housing a literal den of thieves necessitated some paranoia, but even Vex had never seen it this subdued. People hurried through the streets with their heads down, hands on their blades and pockets. The market was surprisingly empty. A few of the stalls were even closed up, Brynjolf's among them, of course. Permanently? Or just until the storm blew over? Vex slipped into a few of her usual haunts and found that even the beggars, usually chatty and eager to share a life-story, were taciturn. 

What she did learn from her foray was that no one was happy, most of all, Maven Black-Briar. The merchants had either cut ties with her or were disgruntled and refusing to deal with her anymore. Maven’s magnanimous funds were drying up. Guards and snitches were leaving her employ due to a lack of pay. The mysterious gifts that used to find their way into pockets around the city to bribe officials, guards, merchants, and thieves were disappearing. Her pool of loyal followers was shrinking now that their loyalty wasn’t being bought. The rest of the city seemed to be waiting in a sort of terrified silence for the axe of Maven’s wrath to fall. 

Maven was on the war-path. That much was obvious. She wasn’t sailing through this conflict with her usual bright-eyed smirk. 

Vex fingered the sheets of parchment hidden in the folds of her ratty cloak and grinned. 

Lady Black-Briar would be even less happy after tonight.

“What is this?” Maven snapped at Maul, one of her few remaining bodyguards whose loyalty wasn’t purchased. 

“A letter, ma’am.” 

Maven gave him a scathing glare. 

He stood at the edge of the table and met her gaze calmly. She almost missed Mercer Frey’s excitable irritability. By contrast, Maul was a stone wall. He’d brought her the sheets of unobtrusive parchment a few minutes ago, having collected them from where they’d been pinned -- with knives, no less -- on various doors of her house.

Maven stared at the pages in her hands. 

Lady Black-Briar, 

I have the one you seek. Come to Fort Greenwall in three nights and I will deliver him. 

Relan

She scowled. The whole thing reeked of a trap. 

The one you seek…

That could ultimately be anybody, but she knew who she’d find at the other end of the note. In some way, shape, or form, it was the cheeky little wood elf. Brand. Maven felt her lip curl into a sneer. He’d been a thorn in her side since the day she’d met him in the Bee and Barb. Insolent, young, foolish. 

Or so she’d thought. 

He should have been in over his head. He should have been easily manipulated. He should have been killed. 

This is what came of leaving important jobs to others. In the end, Mercer had proved too soft, and the boy escaped with Karliah. All because Mercer hadn’t had the foresight to make sure the boy was dead. 

Maul took a breath. 

“Yes?” Maven looked up sharply. 

“It’s a trap,” Maul said simply. 

“Likely.” 

“You think that little milk-drinker actually managed to capture the wood-elf?” 

Maven half-smiled. Relan had been a late acquisition of hers, a boy she’d managed to wrap around her finger after the death of his parents. Grief was an excellent motivator and once she had him under her thumb, he hadn’t the guts to leave. 

Until he met the guild. 

Maven had assumed the boy dead or captured. Or perhaps even turned. She hadn’t spent many resources to find him because he was an expendable pawn. Perhaps she should have tried harder to recover him. Secure his loyalty. 

She met Maul’s unwavering gaze again. “Anything is possible.” 

Maul scowled, but he didn’t say anything. It was one of his more endearing qualities. 

Maven laid the letter on the table and stood up. “If it is a trap, it’s a shoddy one. Surely they don't think they're fooling us with this?” 

Maul shrugged. 

“How many men do you have at your disposal?” 

Maul considered for a moment. “At short notice? Six.” 

“Reliable?” 

“Yes.” 

“Can you get them to Fort Greenwall?”

“When?” 

“Two nights hence.” 

Maul paused, nodded. “Yes.” 

“Good. Get some eyes on the place. See what you can see, but don’t get seen.” 

“You’re answering the summons, my lady?”

Maven’s answering smile was positively devilish. “With bells on.”

Fort Greenwall was lit up brighter than the Bard’s College during the Burning of King Olaf. Even lying on a small rise outside the fort, sheltered by a few rocks in the otherwise mostly grassy landscape, we could see the glow. Occasional shadows crisscrossed the courtyard as people walked in front of the fire, but it was difficult to tell how many henchmen Maven mustered from here. If she was smart, she wouldn’t be in the Fort herself, but I was betting on the fact that her ego wouldn’t let her back down this late in the game. She’d be there. She had to be.

Karliah lay at my shoulder as we looked down over the plain, watching the fort with a frown.  “She’s ready for us.” 

“I figured she would be,” I said. 

Karliah murmured something under her breath. 

On my other side, Brynjolf shook his head. “You sure you want to go through with this, lad?”

“More than ever. We can’t back down now. We’re too close.” 

“Aye, but that’s a lot of light down there.” 

“I know.” 

Brynjolf glanced over at me. I gave him a smile. He looked a little uncertain, but he returned it. 

“Now, you two go back and get the others ready. I’ll join you in a minute,” I directed. 

“What are you going to do?” Karliah asked. 

“Commune with Nocturnal.” 

Karliah looked a little surprised, but she nodded, and she and Brynjolf slipped back down the rise and disappeared into the shadows and long grass behind me. I slunk down the hillock far enough that I could kneel without being seen by any scouts at the Fort and stared up at the stars. They winked overhead like so many eyes. 

I felt something heavy settle in my stomach. Nerves, I guessed, though I didn’t feel much yet. I took a deep breath. I didn’t really know where to start. Other than Nightingale Hall and The Sepulchre, I didn’t know a specific way to summon Nocturnal, so I could only hope she was listening. 

“Lady Nocturnal, I don’t think I’m very good at this,” I said aloud. “But you already know that, I guess.” I half-smiled, remembering my empty threats at the Sepulchre and her amusement. 

“I don’t know if there’s some official channel I’m supposed to use to talk to you, but I figure if you’re always in the shadows, you’re watching us now. And you know what we’re about to do.” I glanced at the glow of the Fort over the hill. 

I pulled one of my daggers from my belt and held it over my open palm. “I could offer you gold, but that seems kind of empty, seeing as how you probably already have your fair share of it. So I offer you the only thing I have left -- me.” I slit my palm, wincing as my blade cut skin and squeezed my fingers into a fist, letting the blood well up in my hand. Then I opened my fingers and tilted my hand, letting my blood spill out on the pale grass. “From shadows forged, to shadows returned,” I murmured. “This is for your sentinels. For Gallus. For Karliah and the Guild. Nocturnal, lend me your strength. I can’t fail. You know what’s at stake.” 

I closed my eyes and breathed deep. The night stilled. I heard the rustle of the breeze in the grass and a few distant crickets. I could smell the promise of distant rain, the heady scent of the earth beneath me. 

And then I felt it. The brush of a shadowy wing against my cheek. For a moment, I imagined I felt arms wrap around me in a hug. Then the sensation disappeared. 

I opened my eyes and smiled, then I slipped back down the hill to join the rest of the Guild. 

Vex, Delvin, Karliah, Brynjolf, and Relan met me at the bottom of the hill. We’d opted against bringing a large contingency of the guild with us, just in case things went sideways, but I figured the five members I had on hand were more than a match for Maven and her lackeys, no matter how prepared they thought they were. After all, three of us were Nightingales, and nobody wanted to stand between Vex and her blades when she was angry. I’d never seen Delvin fight directly, but Brynjolf vouched for his skill, so he must be good at whatever he did. 

Relan was standing a little apart from the group, fidgeting, a length of rope in his hands. He rocked back and forth from foot to foot. 

Vex held a small kit in her hands and she was grinning. 

Karliah, Brynjolf, and Delvin were talking with each other, heads bent, nearby. 

“You ready for this, Brand?” Vex asked. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I think.”

“Good. Let’s go hand Maven her head on a silver platter.” Vex’s smile in the dark was fierce. She motioned for me to join her on the grass and opened up her kit. Inside was a collection of paints, make-up, and brushes, all pieces of Vex’s various disguises. 

I sat down in front of her and she proceeded to smear dirt on my face, give me a passable fading black eye and a few rips and tears in my clothes. We even used some blood from my cut palm before she bandaged it up for me to further the illusion that I’d been in a fight. 

Vex presented me to the others when she was finished. 

They agreed that in the moonlight and flickering firelight, it would be hard to tell that any of the bruising on my face was fake. 

Brynjolf motioned Relan over. “Alright, lad, it’s time.” 

Relan walked up, looking nervous. 

I held my hands out. 

“It’ll look more real if…you know…they’re behind your back,” Relan said.

I put my hands behind my back instead. He started tying them together. “You sure this is going to work?” he murmured, so low I doubted the others could hear him. 

Again I felt that shadowy wing brush my face. I grinned. “I’m sure. How about you? You ready?” 

He swallowed hard and pulled the ropes a little too tight. I hissed. 

“Sorry,” he muttered.  

“‘S fine.” 

The knot loosened somewhat.

“I-I’ll be ok,” he whispered. He came around in front of me when he was satisfied with his knots. “She’ll overlook me for you, anyway,” he said like he was trying to convince himself. 

“She might,” I agreed. 

He cut me a side-eyed glance and a frown. 

“Relan, we’re not alone, you know.” 

He cast an uneasy glance at Brynjolf, Karliah, Vex and Delvin. 

“We got your back, lad,” Brynjolf said. 

“Yeah, and we’re sure as hell not letting Maven take you back,” Vex declared. 

Relan shivered and looked away. 

Karliah walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “No one will hold it against you if you back out now, Relan."  

Relan cast a nervous glance at Vex. He clearly believed she’d hold it against him if he backed out. Karliah gently turned his head back towards her. “You’re choosing to take a big risk for us. I know that’s hard. We’ll only move forward if you want to.” 

Relan rubbed his hands over his arms, as if he were cold, and stared at the ground for a long while, considering. When he looked back up, there was a new glint in his eye, certain, steely. “I’ll do it,” he said. “I want to see Maven fall just as much as you do.” 

“Good.” Karliah patted his shoulder. “Then let’s put Brand into the lion’s den.” 

Relan looked at me. 

I nodded and grinned. 

Vex, Delvin, Karliah and Brynjolf melted into the shadows, each heading for a different entry point at the Fort. 

Relan and I stood behind the hillock, giving the others a head start. 

After a few moments, Relan took a deep breath and grabbed my arm. “Now?”

I nodded. “Now.” 

Chapter Text

Maven stood in the courtyard of Fort Greenwall and surveyed her handiwork. The entire courtyard was ablaze with light. A giant bonfire stood in the center, with scattered smaller fires around the edges and across the ramparts. Maven wasn’t taking any chances. The Nightingales ran on shadow, she knew, and cutting them off from their source had proved effective.

As long as there were no untimely rescues and unexpected dousing of the lights. But Maven didn’t plan on letting anyone interfere tonight. 

If her wayward milk-drinker really was returning with the wood elf as his peace offering, she wasn’t taking chances. 

She’d managed to drum up a desperate company of archers as well as Maul’s six bruisers. They were all posted by the fires. With this much light, she couldn’t disguise her numbers, but that suited Maven just fine. She wanted as much of a display of force as she could muster. She would not appear beaten. 

Maul stood by her side, impassive as ever, as the minutes ticked by. 

Maven looked up at the two moons. It was nearing midnight. 

“Do you think he turned coward and backed out?” she asked Maul. 

Maul shrugged. “The letter didn’t specify a time.” 

“Like as not that conniving wood elf stabbed him in the back and dumped him on the way here.” 

Maul grunted.  

They lapsed into silence again. Maven could see her men move occasionally around the courtyard, stretching kinks out of their muscles, taking a few steps in place. At least it wasn’t a cold night, she thought. Then, they’d be complaining. As it was, a few of them were talking in low voices, but everyone looked reasonably alert. 

Maven scowled. 

Just a few months ago, she wouldn’t have had to rely on a rag-tag team like this. No, she’d have been able to hire the most prestigious mercenaries on Mundus. She could’ve had the Brotherhood, or a contingent of Morag Tong, or Al’akir mercenaries with their curved swords. 

Instead she was stuck with half a company of Maul’s mercenary brethren and a drunken contingent of archers whose leader owed her a favor from years back. In fact, she’d been quite surprised she’d been able to pull them together in time at all. 

They would have to do. 

They would do. 

Because she was Maven Black-Briar and nobody stood up to the Black-Briar family like this sniveling, nameless, houseless little wood-elf and got away with it. Where did he even come from? What was his background? Surely he’d just been lucky so far? There was no way his luck would hold out forever. 

Gallus’ hadn’t. 

Neither had Mercer’s. 

Brand was just another thief who needed a proper upbraiding. And then a nice, long, slow death. 

Preferably at her hand. Because she’d do it right this time. Not leave any chance for escape, rescue, or survival. 

And if she could catch that elusive Karliah in the deal as well, she’d finally be wrapping up the whole Guild mess with a nice bow. After all, Karliah was the real mastermind of the Guild. She’d been suspicious of Mercer from the beginning and caught on faster than Gallus. Fortunately for Maven, she hadn’t been able to convince Gallus in time. 

Unfortunately, she had gotten her hooks into Brand. 

But, Maven supposed, saving someone’s life did engender a sort of loyalty. She shouldn’t have sent Mercer to finish the job. He’d always been a half-way man, putting his own interests first. Easy to exploit, but unreliable. She shook her head. 

“My lady, figures approach!” a scout from the top of the rampart called down, interrupting her thoughts. 

Maven looked toward the gate, though she couldn’t see anyone yet through the leaping flames in the courtyard. “Good. How many?” 

“Two.” 

Maven smiled her wolfish smile. “Let them in.”

“Don’t be nervous,” I muttered under my breath as we approached the fort. “Walk in like you own the place. Tell whatever lies you need to and leave the rest to me.”

Behind me, Relan muttered quick agreement and then we were underneath the gate posts of Fort Greenwall. I ducked my head, let my shoulders drop, and shambled forward, making Relan prod me in the back with his free hand to keep me going. In his other hand, he held a large torch, whose firelight he kept toward me. 

“Halt!” Someone shouted before we were halfway through the gate. 

Relan took a deep breath behind me and then grabbed my arm and jerked me to a stop. I didn’t resist and let him pull me nearly off-balance before I recovered. He stopped behind me. 

“Lady Black-Briar demands you state your name and intention!” A hefty mercenary stepped out of the firelight on our right and stared at us, war axe held casually across his chest. 

“It’s Relan Greenhart, returning to our benevolent mistress, and bringing a gift.” Relan made a bow. “I hope she finds it sufficient.” 

Benevolent mistress? He was laying it on a bit thick, wasn’t he? Despite his earlier doubts, Relan’s voice was clear and steady. A good bit of acting. 

Maven herself stepped out of the firelight. 

“Is that right, milk-drinker?” 

Relan shuffled behind me. “Yes.” 

Maven walked toward the two of us, one of the mercenaries following at her shoulder like a heavy shadow. She paced a circle around us, hungry, leering. I kept my head down and concentrated on finding bits of shadow in the courtyard. There weren’t many. 

“Masterful bit of work, Relan,” she purred.

Relan shrugged. 

“But tell me, how is it that this wood elf has been able to escape two different attempts on his life and ends up getting caught by a milk-drinker like you?”  

Relan shifted again and inhaled. “He wasn’t expecting me, Lady Black-Briar.” 

“Oh?” 

Relan nodded and forged into an explanation. “The Guild caught me, as you probably guessed. They kept me prisoner and --” 

“Gave you these?” Maven interrupted. She traced one finger along Relan’s face, following his scars. 

Relan flinched. “Yes.” 

“Poor dear. But do go on.” 

“I…um. Well.” Relan sounded flustered. 

Pull it together, Relan, just a bit longer. I could feel a well of power open up in my chest even as figures started closing in on us from around the courtyard. Good, the closer the better. 

Relan rallied and continued. “I waited, convincing ‘em I was scared. He,” Relan shook my arm a little. “Took pity on me. Let me out of my prison, made Vex leave me alone.” 

“The one with the knives.” Maven sneered. 

Relan nodded. “I waited till I got him out alone and jumped him.” 

“All by yourself?” Maven didn’t sound convinced. 

“Lady Black-Briar, I’m not useless.” Relan sounded indignant. “‘Sides, he was still recovering from his time with the Brotherhood. I caught him off-guard. We had a scuffle.” 

This time, Maven reached out and put a finger under my chin, tilting my face up into the light. I blinked at the suddenness of it. 

“I can see that.” She tilted my head this way and that, closely examining Vex’s handiwork. 

“Nice to see you too, Maven,” I said. 

She grinned, that wolfish, hungry smile. “Ah, Brand, I see he neglected to cut out your tongue.” 

I returned the smile. 

She slapped me. It was a sudden move, unexpected. I stumbled back into Relan. He unobtrusively steadied me, but I felt my grip on the shadows loosen a little. I hissed. 

“Oh, did I catch you off guard, too?” Maven asked innocently. She shook her head. “You are losing your touch.” 

She had surprised me but I wasn’t about to let her know that. I stayed quiet, focusing on drawing in more shadow. I could steal it from between the flames, from under their feet, from the very night sky, but it took time. I had to keep her talking. 

Luckily, that wasn’t hard to do, as Maven liked hearing her own voice. 

“What, no comeback?” Maven asked. “Not so cocky now, are you wood elf?” 

I grunted. 

“You really thought you could outsmart me?” Maven continued. She made a gesture with one hand and a few of the figures around the fire started advancing, swords drawn. I ignored the flutter in my stomach. If I had anything to say about this, it was not about to turn into an execution. At least, not of me. 

Relan shifted from foot to foot. 

Maven’s smile grew hungrier. “You should have known it would end like this, elf. With you on your knees, bowing before the true Jarl of Riften. You should have known that all your petty back-biting and undermining wouldn’t get you anywhere. You see, I have Skyrim in my pocket. Always have. Always will. That is the natural order of things and you will not disrupt it any longer.” Her eyes flashed fire. 

She drew a dagger from her belt and walked toward me again.  

Nocturnal, if ever there was a time to come to my aid, now might be it. 

“On your knees, elf,” Maven snarled. 

Something dark and soft settled on my shoulder. I had to adjust my stance not to give it away. I drew in the last of the shadows. “No.” 

“What did you say?” Maven seemed surprised. 

I looked her in the eye as I felt the shadows press against my chest, writhing like live things, hungry for prey. “You heard me. I said no.” Though my words were quiet, they were laden with power, sibilant, laced with an undertone of another voice, dangerous and female. 

Maven’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. 

I unleashed the shadows. “Nocturnal says hello, Maven Black-Briar.” 

As I spoke, my own shadow leapt up behind me, becoming a figure itself, of a woman with dark, flowing hair, and long, black robes, with a raven perched on each shoulder. She towered over me and everyone else in the courtyard and the temperature dropped several degrees. The fires seemed to lose their light, turning cold and grey, barely illuminating anything beyond their direct edges. 

I heard moans of distress and shouts of fear, the clatter of weapons dropping to the cobbles. Around the courtyard, the mercenaries and archers Maven had gathered were either cowering in terror, their eyes fixed on Nocturnal’s shadowy form, or running away as fast as they could. At least one archer flung himself straight off of the parapet. He hit the stones below and lay still. Fights broke out between soldiers as they struggled to be the first out of the Fort.

I looked around for Relan and found him still beside me, rooted to the spot, eyes wide. Although he seemed unnerved, it appeared that Nocturnal was shielding him from the brunt of the Power of Subterfuge. He looked over at me and met my eye. I nodded at him. He swallowed hard, but he gave me a tentative smile. 

I stepped toward Maven, who, to her credit, wasn’t running. But she was shaking, her eyes on the shadow behind me. 

“On your knees, Maven,” I said. My voice was so laden with power, I nearly knelt myself. Only Nocturnal’s shadowy hand at my elbow kept me on my feet. I felt at once light-headed and heavier than I’d ever felt in my entire life. Like the weight of the world was on my shoulders, but I was drunk on every ounce of wine in Skyrim. It was awesome and terrible. 

Maven sank to her knees. 

Though the words came out of my mouth, they were Nocturnal’s. I was merely her conduit. “You have toyed with my Nightingales long enough, self-proclaimed Lady of Riften,” Nocturnal said. 

Maven opened her mouth as if to reply, but no words came out. 

“Do not be surprised. I watched you from the shadows as you lied, cheated, tortured, extorted, and weaseled your way into your position of power, at the expense of my people.” 

Maven’s brows knotted in anger. “You presume to call your den of rats and thieves people? Taking what isn’t theirs and hoarding it down in that nasty Ratway. They’re no better than the rats their little hovel is named after.” She sat up a little straighter.

There’s her usual spirit.

My lips twisted in a cold smile. “If my thieves are rats, then you are a cockroach, Maven. You know nothing of my people. I may patron thieves, but a true follower of Nocturnal does not steal only for their own gain. My true followers shape the world from the shadows.” 

The same words Karliah said to me all those nights ago. 

“My Nightingales topple kings and steal thrones. They write decrees and puppet lords. They influence kingdoms and replace Jarls with thieves. Their ambition far outshines yours, Black-Briar. Where you sought to rule one small town, my Nightingales take the world.” 

Maven spat. “Then where are they now?” 

“Here, Maven.” This time, the voice was mine, but Nocturnal guided my steps forward until I stood right in front of Maven. “Here we are. Thriving in the shadows you created in your own empire.” 

Maven glared at me and started to stand. 

My shadow, completely detached from me now and fully formed as Nocturnal rushed forward and slapped her across the face. Though she was made of shadow, she connected with Maven as if she were flesh and blood. 

“I did not say you could rise!” Nocturnal snapped. 

I staggered without her hand on my arm. Relan stepped up and put a hand on my shoulder, something fierce shining in his eyes now. The scars on his face only lent to his stern expression. 

Maven spit blood from a split lip and stared up at Nocturnal with something flickering behind her eyes I’d never seen before -- fear.

“You have no right --” she began. 

Nocturnal loomed over Maven, her presence so heavy I felt as if she might break the very ground under our feet. 

“You underestimate me, Maven. I am a daedric prince. I have all the right in the world.” 

Then she touched her finger to Maven’s temple. Maven’s eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed. 

The fires in the courtyard died. 

Shadow and silence reigned. 

Chapter Text

We cleared Fort Greenwall in short order. 

Or rather, Brynjolf, Karliah, Vex and Delvin swept the fort for stragglers while Relan and I watched. As soon as Nocturnal released my shadow and disappeared, my legs turned to jelly and I couldn’t stand, much less string together a comprehensible sentence. Relan caught me before I fell and sat me down on a nearby piece of rubble, then hovered over me looking worried. As it turned out, playing host to a Daedric Prince wasn’t something mortal bodies necessarily knew how to do. 

Brynjolf walked up to us as Delvin, Vex and Karliah gathered Maven’s still-unconscious form. 

“You feeling better, Brand?” 

I blinked and swallowed a couple of times and then my brain remembered how to move my mouth. “I-I think so.” 

“Don’t let him lie to you, Brynjolf.” Even Relan’s voice sounded a bit unsteady. “The man’s barely sane.” 

I tried to make a nonchalant noise, but it came out more like a gurgle. I coughed and squeezed my eyes shut as my headache spiked. When I risked a glance at Brynjolf, he was shaking his head. 

“Why do you let her do this to you, lad?” 

“Who, Nocturnal?” 

"Who else?" 

I felt my face split in what I was pretty sure was a loopy grin. “I don’t think I can’t let her do this,” I said, honestly. 

Brynjolf shook his head, but the corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. “You like this.” It wasn't a question.

I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, but it didn’t clear my vision as much as I’d hoped. “Can’t complain.” 

Just then, Karliah joined us, finished, I assumed with her supervision of trussing up Maven. From the grim look on her face, I almost expected her to announce she’d been unable to stop Vex from taking her knives to Maven in a final sort of way, but her expression softened as she looked at me. "Now you've tasted Our Lady's true powers," she said. "How does it feel?" 

"Disorienting as Oblivion," I said. 

Karliah's brows creased. 

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”  

Karliah smiled despite herself. Behind her, Brynjolf shook his head, looking at us with a somewhat mystified expression. I was pretty sure I caught the word "fanatics." 

“Are you up to the ride back to Riften?” Karliah asked me. 

“Yeah.” 

“Good. Because there’s nothing left for us here. Seems Nocturnal scared all of Maven’s followers away, even that brute, Maul. Maven’s trussed up in the wagon, but I don’t want to wait to find out if anyone manages to regroup and come after her.” 

“After that display of power?” Brynjolf raised his eyebrows. “If they know what’s good for them, they’ll be running home with their tails between their legs, lass.” 

Karliah snorted. “Thugs aren’t known for their brains, Bryn.” 

Brynjolf shrugged. He and Relan got me to my feet, propped between the two of them. I had most of my motor skills back, but I wouldn’t exactly call them fine. They bundled me into the wagon and our trip back to Riften was uneventful. Perhaps it was Nocturnal’s power, but Maven didn’t wake up the whole time. 

“You can’t hold me here! This is illegal. It’s unethical! You will be punished for this!” Maven’s shouts echoed through our newly reclaimed Ratway from one of the dank cells outside the Ragged Flagon. 

I rolled my eyes. It had been almost a week since Fort Greenwall and so far, no one had mounted a rescue of dear old Maven. She also hadn’t lost her voice yet, unfortunately. 

Beside me, Vex growled softly. “You sure I can’t just gut her now and be done with it? She’s giving me a splitting headache.” 

I grimaced. “I’m sure. We want her to stand trial, Vex. Pretty hard to do when you’re dead.” 

“Yeah? Well it’s skeevin’ hard to hold trial when you’re deaf, too.” She rubbed one ear. “She’d be more attractive without a tongue, you know.” 

I sighed. Though Vex was designated to be our executioner, we hadn’t told her yet. For the exact reason that she was too eager to carve Maven to pieces already. 

“Want me to relieve you of guard duty for a while?” I offered. “You can take this plate back to Vekel.” I held out the battered tin plate I’d delivered Maven’s breakfast on. She’d looked disdainfully at the biscuit and oatmeal and flung the plate back at me. Luckily for me, my fast reflexes and the bars of her newfound home kept me from getting splattered with the gooey oatmeal. 

Though Maven was fond of throwing her food, she must be eating some of it because she certainly hadn’t starved to death yet. 

“When is this trial taking place, anyway?” Vex asked. 

“Soon as Karliah gets back from the Sepulchre,” I said. On the way back to Riften with our trussed prize in tow, Karliah and I finally had a chance to talk about Gallus and everything I’d learned at the Sepulchre. We’d hardly touched Riften soil before Karliah disappeared to commune with Nocturnal and Gallus. 

“Always Karliah.” Vex threw her hands up. “Why wait? I could gut Maven now and let Karliah see the aftermath when she gets back.” 

“Vex, one day you’re going to have to learn that gutting and slicing things isn’t always the answer.” 

Vex gave me a devilish grin. “It’s always worked out for me.” 

I couldn’t argue with that. Not really. It did always work out for Vex…not so much for her victims, though.

“The Jarl will hear of this!” Maven screeched from around the corner. “You won’t get away with imprisoning me down here. I am Lady Maven Black-Briar, you hear me?!” 

Vex gripped her knife. 

I put a hand on her arm and motioned with my head for her to leave. She looked murderous, but she nodded and stalked back toward the Flagon, plate in hand. 

I stepped around the corner and leaned up against the wall where Maven could see me, but far enough out of reach in case she decided to throw anything else. It wasn’t unusual for her to pelt us with scattered pebbles, moss or dirt from her cell. She even threw her shoes at Delvin once and they lay outside the cell, where she’d tossed them, despite all her protests and pleading to get them back. 

Maven came to the front of her cell and glared at me. We’d had her in custody for nearly a week and she was looking pale and disheveled. 

“You won’t get away with this,” she hissed. 

“I believe we already have,” I said. 

“Your charges won’t stick,” she said. “As soon as you drag me in front of the Jarl, she’ll let me go and you’ll --” 

I snorted. “What makes you think the Jarl is going to try you?” 

Maven went a shade paler. “I thought you wanted justice, elf.” 

“I do. But Jarl Law-Giver has a lot on her plate, don’t you think? We didn’t want to burden her with something this inconsequential.” 

Maven’s brows snapped into a frown. “You call me inconsequential?” 

“You are now,” I pointed out. “Plus, I’m not taking chances that you’ve bought out the Jarl. No, the only thing she’ll do is enforce our sentence.” 

Maven continued to glare at me.

“We informed the steward of the general situation though and she’s agreed to look the other way long as we’re quiet about it. There are still a few in Riften you haven’t fooled.” 

Maven’s mouth moved a couple of times, but she didn’t say anything.

“You’ll be heard by a proper tribunal, Maven. There’s no buying your way out of this one.”  

“You’re putting me in front of the Thalmor?” she asked. I couldn’t tell if that was a note of hope in her voice or not. 

I shook my head. “Now you’re just grasping at straws. You’re going to face the Nightingale court.” 

Maven’s eyes flashed, mouth shut tight, thin line. Of anger or fear, I wasn’t quite sure. 

“You have no authority,” she finally hissed. 

I shrugged. “Nocturnal and the steward say otherwise.” 

“Oh? Then where is your precious Nocturnal now, elf? Why isn’t she meting out justice as we speak? Or did she have to take a nap after that little display of power at the fort?” 

I rolled my eyes. “We’re waiting on the third Nightingale. Nocturnal could kill you now and be done with it, but Brynjolf insists you get fair trial.” 

“And you, elf, what do you want?” 

“My name’s Brand, you know.” 

Maven flashed a quick grin and, for a moment, some of her smug wolfishness was back. “I am aware.” 

I sighed. “I want to watch you walk away and never come back.” 

“That simple?” Maven looked surprised. “Then just let me out.” 

“No.” 

“Bastard.” 

I shrugged. “You will stand trial, Maven. You have to answer for your crimes.” 

“I’m innocent! I committed no crime!” 

I ticked off on my fingers as I spoke. “Fraud, murder, extortion, blackmail, theft, illegal seizure of goods…should I continue?” 

Maven looked darker than a thundercloud. “Just you wait, boy, you’re smug now, but I’ll have my revenge, mark my words. One day, it’ll be you in this cell and I will be your judge and executioner.” 

I narrowed my eyes. “You keep telling yourself that, Maven. But your reign of terror is over.” 

She screeched then, like some sort of unearthly banshee and flung handfuls of dust and pebbles at me. They fell short, clattering across the floor to barely brush the toes of my boots. 

“That’s hardly civil, Lady Black-Briar.” I frowned in mock consternation. “I expected you to be more dignified.” 

“You stole my dignity, you thief.” 

I took a bow, spreading my hands slightly. 

Maven spat, but I was far out of her range. 

“Are you trying to anger me?” I raised an eyebrow. 

Maven didn’t answer.

“If you think you’re going to get me angry enough to do something stupid and give you a chance to escape, think again, Maven. I’ve got nothing but time.” 

“A curse upon you then, elf. May the divines shun you and Talos himself reign hell upon you.” 

I grinned. “Let them try.” 

Maven flipped me off. 

As it turned out, Maven wasn’t any more graceful at her trial. 

Karliah returned to the Sepulchre a few days after my chat with Maven and she, Brynjolf, and I commenced preparations for the trial. We decided to hold it in Nightingale Hall. For effect, of course. 

We constructed three thrones and placed them on each of the three platforms where we’d been officially inducted as Nightingales. On the center platform at floor level, we constructed a box for Maven to stand in while she plead her case and received her sentence. 

The day of the trial, Karliah, Bryn and I donned our full Nightingale regalia and ascended the thrones. The rest of the Guild ringed the edges of the room, our witnesses and jury. Delvin and Vex marched a cuffed and shackled Maven through the room and up to the box to a chorus of boos and hisses. 

Maven looked equal parts cowed and furious. 

Delvin attached her handcuffs to the box so she couldn’t run. Vex stood nearby with a knife, grinning wickedly. From the crimson stain on the end of the blade, she’d already found excuse to use it on Maven, though I couldn’t readily tell where. Karliah, in the center throne, stood and held up a hand. The room quieted. 

“Maven Black-Briar,” Karliah began, her voice laced with quiet authority. It echoed around the room as if enhanced. I felt my stomach flutter. Nocturnal was here. “You stand accused,” Karliah continued. “How do you plead?” 

Maven spat and held her head high. “Accused of what, elf? I am innocent, especially of charges you have yet to bring forth.” 

Karliah tilted her head in acknowledgment. “Then let the trial proceed. Do you have a representative, Lady Black-Briar?” 

“Of course not! You pigs have had me locked up for the last two weeks. How could I get a representative?” 

Karliah waved a hand. “Then one shall be appointed to you, should you wish.” 

“One of your kind? I’d rather die.” 

Vex grinned wickedly and brandished her knife.

“That can be arranged,” Karliah said softly. “Let the grievances be read.” Karliah motioned to me and I stood up and stepped forward, a small scroll in my hand. I unrolled it. 

“Lady Maven Black-Briar, I henceforth accuse you of the murder of Gallus Desidenius, the attempted murder of myself and other Guild members, the corruption and manipulation of Mercer Frey, exploitation of the Guild, theft of Guild vault contents, blasphemy against Nocturnal, and conspiracy, fraud, and financial deceit in the city of Riften, all for your personal betterment and the detriment of those around you.” 

When I finished, I rolled up the scroll and looked down at the accused. “How do you plead now?” 

Maven snorted. “Still not guilty. Where is your proof? You can’t just read a list of crimes and expect me to own up to them.” 

Brynjolf raised a hand. “Then the Nightingales call their first witness. Tonilia!” 

Tonilia stepped up from the gathered Guild members and stood near Maven’s box. She carried several ledgers under her arm. “I would like to introduce some evidence.” She smiled. 

Maven went still, like a rabbit that knows it’s in the hunter’s sights.

Tonilia proceeded to provide a list of businesses that Maven had cheated, including Maven’s own account books showing her false transactions and exorbitant money laundering. Maven quit trying to protest after Vex pricked her side for speaking against Tonilia one too many times. 

After Tonilia, Vex offered up the Quill of Gemination as evidence. Relan told his story of manipulation and enslavement. I described Maven’s plot with Mercer to kill me in Snow Veil Sanctum and produced Mercer’s secret maps and schemes from his house. Karliah read pieces of Gallus’ journal and spoke of Maven’s collusion against the Guild from the beginning. 

Maven grew even more pale and stony-faced as the list grew. 

When the last of the evidence was produced, I looked down at Maven from my dais. “Anything to add, Maven?” 

She was silent for a long time. Finally, she spoke. “You would accuse me of thieving when you’re thieves yourselves? Hypocrites! I did nothing you rats hadn’t already done. Living down here in filth, sneaking up to the light to rob Riften of her spare change and scraps. I simply saw an opportunity to turn your failures into success. If not for me, the Guild would have gone under long ago.” 

“You’re the one who sank it!” Brynjolf shot to his feet. He walked to the edge of his platform and crossed his arms. “Don’t try to play savior, Maven. Not when you’re the one who destroyed us in the first place. You can’t ride in on a white horse here. We’ve seen through your lies.” 

“Oh, yes, like you saw through Mercer’s selfishness? Like you saw through Gallus’ death? You were all blind.” 

Karliah flinched at Gallus’ name. “Perhaps we were,” she said softly. “But our eyes are open now.” 

Maven jerked her chin haughtily. “And what are you going to do about it? Kill me? The damage has already been done. You can’t bring Gallus back. You can’t restore Nocturnal’s glory. You won’t save this Guild!” 

A sudden wind blew across the Hall, rippling through the gathered Guild members, and blowing Maven’s hair around her face before coalescing in the center of the room, floating over the chasm under our feet and glittering like a gemstone in shadow. “My Guild does not need saving,” a mighty voice declared. 

Several of the Guild members sank to their knees around the room. I felt the compunction to kneel, too, though Brynjolf, Karliah, Maven and I remained on our feet. 

“And certainly not by you.” Nocturnal appeared in the center of the room, in front of Maven’s box. She was tall and stately and draped in layers of black, her hood thrown back to reveal a cascade of tumbling dark hair. She wore intricate silver bands around her wrists and ankles and Munin perched on her shoulder, his feathers dipped in silver at the ends. 

She turned back to the daises and gave Brynjolf, Karliah, and I a sweeping bow. “Permission to add a new witness to the case, Nightingales?” she asked in a smooth purr. 

“Permission granted, lass,” Brynjolf said. 

Nocturnal gave an amused smile at his casual address. 

Maven, surprisingly, stood pale and silent. 

Nocturnal turned back to Maven and walked up to the box, slowly walking a circle around it like a predatory cat. She returned to the front to face Maven again. 

“Lady Black-Briar, self-styled ruler of Riften.” The words sounded like poison coming off Nocturnal’s tongue. 

Maven seemed to rally herself, drawing herself up and staring down her nose at Nocturnal, despite Nocturnal being taller. 

“What do you want? Speak plain, Daedra.” 

Nocturnal grinned, as if she’d just been waiting on Maven’s invitation. “Then you do know who I am.” She laughed.

“Get on with it,” Maven snarled. 

Nocturnal seemed unaffected, unruffled, continuing in the same smooth pace. “I am the shadows, Maven. I am the night. I’ve seen what you’ve done in Riften, across Skyrim. Everything you thought you hid from prying eyes, I know. My Nightingales need look no further for proof of your crimes for I am their first and last witness. I saw how you stole the Quill of Gemination, how you forged documents from Jarls, shopkeeps, and officials, how you bribed the Riften guard to look the other way while you faried blackmarket goods through their docks.” 

“Why should you care about any of that?” Maven interrupted. “You’re the patron of the Thieves’ Guild! Shouldn’t you be praising my expertise?” 

“No!” Nocturnal’s voice rang like a knife and the room went absolutely silent. No one moved. We hardly dared breathe. “Because none of what you did was done in my name, Black-Briar. Everything you did was for your own selfish gain. You murdered my theives and stole my wealth and bent my purposes to your will. I will not tolerate this any longer. I will not let your reign of terror continue. I will let my Nightingales pass judgment.” 

Maven opened her mouth as if she were going to argue, but no words came out. 

“You have no defense?” Nocturnal asked, the words dripping from her lips like honeyed nightshade.

Maven shook her head.

Nocturnal spun on her heel to face me, Karliah and Brynjolf again. 

“Then, Nightingales, I leave this in your capable hands. Pass your judgment.” 

I looked over at Karliah and Bryn. They nodded. I stepped forward. 

“Maven Black-Briar, let it be known that you are hereby accused and found guilty of all crimes brought against you this day.” 

Maven started to interrupt, but Nocturnal turned on her with a scathing stare. Maven shut her mouth. 

“For your crimes, Maven, you are to be banished from the city of Riften and exiled from Skyrim. You will be an outcast. No one will offer you shelter. Your name will be tarnished and you will not do business in this country anymore. If you or your agents return to our city, we will hunt you down and there will be no shadow deep enough to hide you. Do you understand?” 

Maven spat. “By whose authority?”

“The Jarl of Riften,” I said. 

“The Jarl has said no such thing!” 

“She will. When she finds the present we’ll leave on her doorstep tonight.” 

Maven looked very pale indeed, but she still glared at me. I turned as if to walk back up on the dais, then I paused and turned back. 

“Oh, and Maven?” 

She growled. 

“You will bear your punishment with a grin.” 

“I will do no such thing!” Maven shouted. “You have no right --” 

Nocturnal waved a hand and though Maven’s mouth continued to move, no sound came out. Maven looked horrified. Vex started laughing. Nocturnal smiled maliciously. There were other murmurs and snickers from around the room. 

“Vex!” I called. 

She snapped to attention, her knife in salute across her forehead. 

“You’ll make sure the Lady Black-Briar greets our fair jarl with a smile, won’t you?” 

Vex’s mouth spread in a slow, nasty smile. “Yes, sirrah.” She tipped her knife lazily toward me. 

“Give her twice what you gave Relan,” I said.

Vex’s eyes were afire. She licked her lips. “With pleasure!”

Chapter Text

I stepped outside Nightingale Hall and stretched, stumbling only a little as I made my way down the hill toward a nice, flat rock to sit on. The Hall behind me was alive and warm with the celebrating Guild, but I needed a breath of air. The night breeze greeted me like a cool lover’s kiss, the stars overhead twinkling with promise. I sipped at the Argonian Bloodwine I’d brought with me, knowing I was already well on my way to an impressive hangover tomorrow morning. 

But for now, I felt good. Better, in fact, than I had in weeks. And yet…

“There you are, lad.” Brynjolf called jovially as he walked out of the Hall and came down the hill to join me. He had a sweet roll in each hand. Vekel had spared no expense tonight and the wine and food flowed as freely as the rivers that fed Honich Lake. How he’d managed to cart it all from the Ratway to the Hall was a mystery to me, but it was one I was content with.

Brynjolf sat down beside me and handed me a sweet roll. 

I took it. 

He took a bite of his own roll and watched the stars for a moment, glittering over Riften’s quiet streets. They wouldn’t be so quiet in the morning when the Jarl discovered our special package trussed up on her front doorstep. After Vex finished with Maven, Tonilia bandaged her up enough to keep her from bleeding out on the Jarl’s stoop and Brynjolf, Relan and I delivered a trussed and gagged Maven to the front steps of Mistveil Keep. We’d pinned a list of her crimes to her clothes, along with a confession, written and signed in Maven’s hand (with the Quill, of course). She’d done nothing but glare at us over the bandages swathing her lower face. I’d only gotten a quick look at Vex’s work before Tonilia took over, but what I’d seen had made me look away fast.

“You look…” Brynjolf interrupted my thoughts. 

“Yes?” I prompted. 

He shook his head. “How are you feeling?” 

“Drunk. You?” 

“Oh, right behind you, lad. But I meant about this whole business with Maven.” 

I stopped with my bottle half-way to my lips. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, with the way things turned out. Are you ok with it? You sure you don’t want Vex to kill Maven and be done with her?” 

“No.” 

“No, you’re not sure or no, you don’t want Vex to kill her?” 

“I don’t want Vex to kill her.” 

Brynjolf was quiet for a while. “Seems kinda soft-handed to me.” 

I felt suddenly, strangely sober. I shook my head. “Death is quick. Might scare Maven for a little while, but it’s done as soon as her head rolls. This way, she’s got to think about us for the rest of her life. Always there, in the back of her mind, as the fools brave enough to ruin her.” I took a healthy swig of my Bloodwine and reveled in the pleasant muzziness that came with it. I smiled. “She’ll hate it.” 

“Aren’t you worried she might come back for revenge, though?” 

I shrugged. “Not really. Riften guard’ll keep her away for a while. After that…I’ll be more than ready.” 

Brynjolf was quiet for a long time. 

“Hey, um…” I began, the words swimming just out of reach. 

He looked at me expectantly. 

I blinked. “Thanks, Brynjolf.”  

“For what?” 

“For pulling me out of that canal. For taking a chance on me. I…I don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t found the Guild.” 

“Be stabbed less, that’s for sure.” Brynjolf’s words were light, but there was a solemn glint in his eye. 

“It wasn’t so bad.” I waved a hand, but found it straying to my side when I dropped it, to the sword wound scars.

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“Really? Normally people say I’m pretty good at it.” 

“That’s only ‘cause they don’t know you well.” 

I paused, feeling sudden emotion well up in my chest and for a long time, I wasn’t sure how to answer. I opened my mouth a few times, but nothing came out, so I took a drink instead. Brynjolf munched his sweetroll. 

Finally, I found words. “It’s nice to have a family again,” I said, so quiet, I wasn’t sure Brynjolf heard me.

But he must’ve, because he smiled and slung an arm around my shoulders. “And we’re glad you’re one of us, Brand. You’re exactly what the Guild needs. With you in our future, I know Nocturnal will favor us.” 

I laughed. “Favor us or me?” 

“Well, mostly you. But if we anger her, all we’ll have to do is send you in with an olive branch.” 

“Is that how Nocturnal works?” 

“Dunno, but it’s worth a shot. She seems enamored with you at the very least.” 

I felt something funny slide up my spine, as if someone had just run a finger up my back. Something brushed the tip of one ear, something feather-like. I shivered. 

“You ok, lad?” 

“Yeah.” I glanced at the shadows around us, but none of them resolved themselves into a raven or a woman. 

Brynjolf licked the last of his sweetroll off his fingers. “You gonna eat that?” he pointed at my uneaten roll. 

I handed it to him. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

I nodded. 

He took the sweetroll and took a big bite out of it. 

I drank some more Bloodwine. 

“You know there is one more thing we need to talk about,” Brynjolf began again.

The stars blurred comfortably overhead. I leaned back on my elbows. “Well you better do it quick, ‘cause I’m losing my ability to have a conversation.” 

He laughed, but then he looked strangely serious. “We still have to decide who leads the Guild.”  

I tilted my chin. “You, right? Or Karliah?” 

Brynjolf looked thoughtful, his new sweetroll momentarily forgotten. “Why not you, lad? Oblivion knows you fought hard enough for it.” 

I stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown two heads. For a moment, he had, but then I blinked and my vision resolved and there was only one of him again. “Shor’s bones, Bryn, I don’t want to lead the Guild.” 

“Why not? You’d make one hell of a Harbinger.” 

“I thought that was only a title when there aren’t Nightingales.” 

Brynjolf shrugged. “Don’t know. Have to ask Karliah.” 

I took another sip of my Bloodwine and stared up at the stars. “You know, I never asked for all this…” I gestured with the bottle, looking for the word. “...fame when I came to Riften.” 

“Few do.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“Spoken like a true leader.” 

“Bryn.” I narrowed my eyes. “For real. Lay off.” 

He held up his hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you die in obscurity.” 

I snorted. “Thanks, though I doubt it’ll happen. Somebody’s bound to write me into some dusty Nightingale record, right?” 

“I don’t know. Do we keep records? That doesn’t seem very secretive.” 

I laughed.

Brynjolf chuckled. “You want another ale?” He gestured to my nearly empty bottle. 

“I really shouldn’t.” 

“Psh. Since when has shouldn’t ever stopped you?” 

“You got me.” 

Brynjolf led me back inside where I found myself with a seemingly endless bottle in my hand that I sipped from until the stars faded and I found myself sagging to the ground in the warm embrace of a deep and dreamless sleep. 

I was much too hungover to see the Jarl’s reaction to finding Maven on her doorstep the next morning, but Relan told me it was a sight to see. 

Jarl Leila Law-Giver woke to curious and outraged shouts outside Mistveil Keep. She sent a few guards ahead of her before coming outside herself to see what was going on. They found Maven, exactly where we’d left her, glaring daggers at the world. According to Relan, the Jarl immediately gasped and ran to her former most prominent citizen and pulled the bandages off, thinking they were a gag.

Maven’s only response was a ragged, crimson grin. 

I’m told the Jarl fainted. 

I was sober enough to attend Maven’s trial later in the week. She looked ghastly. Her face was ruined and I’d heard it took the Court wizard and all the house of Mara working day and night to keep her wounds from festering. Vex had cut a huge grin into Maven’s face, arcing from either corner of her mouth nearly to her ears, splitting the skin of her cheeks open. It was still grotesque to look at and she kept her lower face covered for much of the trial. It was a mass of red lines and stitching, holding her jaw halfway shut. She couldn’t talk much, mostly just nods or hand gestures. She seemed defeated. 

The trial didn’t take long. After all, how could it? Maven’s own confession was the foremost piece of evidence. Emboldened by Maven’s downfall, the citizens of Riften came out in droves to testify against her. We didn’t even have to introduce any of our evidence, which we planned to have Brynjolf bring to court if the trial started to turn in Maven’s favor. Riften never gave her a chance. They were scathing in their reports and Maven’s years of blackmail and extortion came to light without us having to lift a finger. 

At the end of the trial, there wasn’t anything Jarl Law-Giver could do but sentence Maven with exile. Exile from Riften. Exile from Skyrim itself. The Guild celebrated again that night and we were all three sheets to the wind for the next few days. Maven would be shipped out of Riften at the beginning of next week and the Guild’s influence was growing like a weed. We’d begun rebuilding the Ratway, cleaning up the corners and corridors and adding a few more entrances (some secret, some not). Tonilia and Vex had their hands full writing new orders to Maven’s old contacts in Skyrim (without the Quill this time) and sending Guild members all across the country to put names to faces and solidify connections. 

We were busier than we’d ever been. 

But it was good. 

Karliah and Brynjolf were smiling, the Guild was celebrating. Ale and wine flowed freely and Vekel had his hands full keeping us all fed and satiated. 

Relan joined the Guild for keeps and, despite his treatment at Vex’s hands earlier, he seemed to fit in just fine, though he maintained a frosty demeanor with Vex. He and Etienne got pretty close and were usually up to hijinks together. 

They pulled me into their circle readily enough, when I wasn’t talking leadership with Karliah and Bryn. I still refused to be named Harbinger or head Nightingale or whatever we were going to call our new leader. 

Brynjolf seemed frustrated by my decision, but Karliah just gave me a mysterious smile when I told her. In the end, we didn’t name anyone leader, but moved forward as a triumvirate. The Nightingales and their family. Nocturnal was often in the Ratway now, though not always seen. But her presence was unmistakable. 

We were free. We were alive. We were kings.

My eyes drifted closed as I sat on a branch about a mile outside of the Riften gates. The early fall leaves shivered and swayed around me, a spray of red and gold. If Maven didn’t come by soon, I was going to fall asleep and probably fall out of my tree. 

I shook myself awake and peered down the road, back toward Riften. No wagon yet. I glanced up at the sun. I still had time. 

I’d bribed a few guards to assure me that Maven’s caravan would come this way. Today was the day she would be officially escorted out of Skyrim. Jarl Law-Giver had allowed her enough time to stay until her face healed up. Mostly, anyway. She’d been Mistveil Keep dungeon’s most esteemed resident for the last month, right alongside her son, Sibbi. From what I’d heard, she tried to cajole her way out of exile with no success. Maven’s influence was a far-distant dream now. 

The clatter of wagon wheels on the cobbled road interrupted my thoughts. I looked through the branches and could just make out a lone wagon, complete with an escort of Riften guard making its way down the road. Only one occupant rode in the back. 

Maven. I grinned. 

Karliah and Brynjolf would probably chastise me for this later, but I wanted one last chat with Maven. And I wanted it alone. Besides, she was broken. I was armed. And there were five guards ringing the wagon. I was pretty sure she had no tricks left up her sleeve. Just in case, I’d informed Relan and Etienne of where I was going and gave them instructions to come find me if I didn’t return to the Ragged Flagon by dinnertime.  

But I needn’t have worried. 

The wagon trundled toward me and the five Riften guards pulled back a little. Just as I’d asked. It had taken a hefty sum to ensure my conversation with the disgraced Lady Black-Briar, but that was no obstacle in light of the Guild’s recent successes. 

I waited until the wagon was right underneath me, then I jumped. I landed lightly on the wooden floorboards with a thump. 

Maven jumped, eyes widening. She looked quickly to the guard around the wagon, but they all were conspicuously occupied with their horses or something off the trail or staring up at the sky. Though her hands were cuffed, she held them up defensively, as if she expected me to strike her.

I held my hands up and gave her a mocking bow. “Permission to come aboard, my lady?” 

She glowered at me. Although she had no bandages on her face now, she wore a scarf around her neck that covered the lower part of her jaw. I could see the edges of her ragged scars running up toward her ears. 

And, something I’d not noticed before, the sign of the Thieves’ Guild scratched into the skin under her left eye. That must’ve been a delicate piece of bladework to leave a scar so light. And yet, it was there and permanent. Something Maven would notice every time she looked in a mirror. I almost felt impressed with Vex. 

When Maven said nothing else, I took a seat in the wagon opposite her. “Good day for a trip, isn’t it?” 

Maven grunted. 

“Oh, come now, Maven, that’s no way to greet your guest.” 

“What do you want, elf?” she spat. She was stiff when she talked, her words a little slurred. A result of the reconstruction of her face, I guessed. “Have you come to kill me?” 

“Kill you? No! Come now, you ought to know me better than that by now.” 

“It’s well within your right.” 

I nodded. “Yes. But no. I’ll at least give you a chance at a more dignified death than a knife up the ribcage in the back of a prison wagon.” 

Maven narrowed her eyes. “Come to gloat then?” 

I sighed and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Hardly. You’ve had enough of that, haven’t you?” I knew Vex and other members of the Guild had visited Maven in jail and never let her forget that we won. 

Maven crossed her arms and scowled at me over her scarf. 

I suddenly felt at a loss of words. “I guess…I just wanted to see you for myself. One last time. Know that this was all real. Watch you leave Riften.” 

“You saw the trial. You heard my sentence.” 

I nodded. 

“Then you doubted Jarl Law-Giver?” 

“Your reach was long.” 

Maven almost looked proud for a moment. 

“I wanted to make sure I’d really broken your grip.” 

She scowled again. 

“The harder you hold, the more it hurts when you’re forced to let go. You must have known you’d fall, Maven. Surely you didn’t think your empire would last forever?” 

Maven looked strangely wistful and turned her head so that I couldn’t see her expression clearly. “One can hope,” she said softly. 

I felt an unexpected lurch in my stomach. The guild was an empire all its own. Were we destined to fall too? Surely not. We’d already had our fall. We wouldn’t experience another so soon. And we had Nocturnal. She wouldn’t take her hand away. We’d be fine. 

As if she could read my thoughts, Maven turned back toward me, her eyes dark. “You chose your allies well, elf. It almost makes me…jealous.” 

“You? Jealous of the Guild?” 

Though I couldn’t quite see her mouth, I could tell Maven’s lips quirked up in a smile. “I’d always intended it to be mine, you know. I never counted on any of you trying to keep it to yourselves.” 

I shook my head. “The Guild was never meant to be ruled by one person.” 

“What about your precious Daedra, then?” 

“Well, she’s not really a person, now is she? Besides, she has a light touch on the reins.” 

“I know. I believe that’s where I failed.” 

“A heavy fist never wins devotion.” 

“A philosopher as well as a thief, are we?” 

I smiled wryly. “No. Speaking from experience.” 

We were quiet for some time, eyeing each other warily across the wagon. Behind us, the guard clopped along. In front of us, the wagon driver hummed softly. If not for the handcuffs around Maven’s wrists, we might have all been out for a picnic or something equally innocuous. 

I stood up. “I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, Maven, but you know it wasn’t.”  

Maven watched me thoughtfully, nose scrunched as if she’d smelled something unpleasant. “You know, I almost have to admire you, Brand.” 

My eyebrows shot up. 

“I told you I knew your name.” She looked like she was almost wearing a smile. “You’re the first to refuse me and survive. I suppose I have to respect that.” 

“You’re complimenting me?” I asked, incredulous. 

“Take it as you will, elf,” she shot back. 

I grinned and tipped my head. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t press your luck.” 

I smiled. “That’s what I was waiting for, the parting threat.” 

She smirked and for a moment, I saw the wolf in her again. “We’ll see each other again one day, though you’ll have no inkling of when or where. I will come out of the dark when you least expect it.” 

I snorted. “Maven, I live in the dark. You can’t surprise me there. But you just come on back if you want to try.” I looked up at the upcoming trees. This was my stop. The road split here, heading to Whiterun and Windhelm and the edges of the world. “I’ll be ready, Lady Black-Briar.” 

She nodded once.

I bowed. 

Then I hopped up onto the seat of the wagon, and jumped up to catch a low-hanging branch as we rolled by. I pulled myself into the tree and watched as the guards resumed their positions around the wagon and wondered if that really was the last time I’d see Maven Black-Briar. 

As I walked back up the road toward Riften, I decided it didn’t matter if it was. 

I had a family now. I had Nocturnal on my side. I had shadow and darkness at my beck and call. A raven landed on my shoulder as I walked back through the Riften gates. I stroked its head. 

For the first time in my life, I felt powerful and whole. I could take on the world. There was nothing that could make me fall.