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Mercer stands in the Cistern, waiting on Brynjolf and his new recruit. Brynjolf has a bad habit of picking up strays. The majority of them end up getting arrested in their first month, or killed by guards when they get noticed picking a pocket. He doesn’t have high hopes for this one.Brynjolf comes in, practically glowing with how pleased he is. The new recruit follows at his shoulder, her steps long and easy.Mercer narrows his eyes and crosses his arms, staring her down. She stares back, golden eyes unblinking. As she approaches, Mercer takes her measure. She’s slightly taller than him, with a golden sheen to her skin and pointy ears which denotes high elf blood. Still, her cheeks are less hollow and angular than a normal high elf, her nose less pointed, her ears less long.A half breed.She catches him staring, and there’s a flicker of something in her eyes. Mercer doesn’t care enough to read it.“Mercer,” Brynjolf says, catching his attention, “this is the one I was talking about…our new recruit.”Mercer tears his gaze away from hers to scowl at his second. “This better not be another waste of the Guild’s resources, Brynjolf.” He turns back to the recruit. “Before we continue, I want to make one thing perfectly clear.” He glares for good measure. “If you play by the rules, you walk away rich. You break the rules and you lose your share. No debates, no discussion…you do what we say, when we say.” He raises an eyebrow. “Do I make myself clear?”She blinks placidly. “Yes. I understand,” she answers. Her voice is smooth, her diction impeccable. She must be high born.Great. Another one like Niruin. “Good. Then I think it’s time we put your expertise to the test.” He smirks.Brynjolf’s eyes widen. “Wait a moment, you’re not talking about Goldenglow, are you? Even our little Vex couldn’t get in.” His voice is shaky. He must really like this one.Mercer almost rolls his eyes. Brynjolf gets way too attached way too quickly. “You claim this recruit possesses an aptitude for our line of work. If so, let her prove it.”He turns back to the recruit. If she’s uneasy, her enigmatic smile doesn’t give it away.He explains about Goldenglow estate. Why it’s important and what needs to be done about it. “Brynjolf will provide you with the details,” he finishes. He half turns away, but Brynjolf catches him.“Mercer, aren’t you forgetting something?”He sighs as he spins back around. “Since Brynjolf assures me you’ll be nothing but a benefit to us, then you’re in. Welcome to the Thieves Guild.”Her lips tick up into a smile as she watches him with her golden eyes. “Thank you.”Mercer nods sharply and stalks off to his table. He feels unsettled for some reason. She’s only a new recruit. And she’ll likely be killed or arrested when she tries to rob Goldenglow. He won’t have to worry about her at all.
She swings by his table before she goes.He barely glances up at her before looking back to his papers. “If you have questions, go bother Brynjolf.”“What, no good luck for the newbie?” she teases. He can see her hand resting on the pommel of her sword. It looks easy, comfortable, like she’s used to wearing it.“If you have the skill, you don’t need luck.”She chuckles as if he told a joke. “Thanks, Mercer. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She leaves, and he watches after her. The Guild armor fits her nicely.
True to her word, she walks back in the next morning, having done the job during the night. Mercer watches her cross the Cistern and head toward Brynjolf, who greets her with a wide smile and outflung arms.Mercer narrows his eyes.She senses him watching and meets his gaze. Then she smiles the most shit-eating grin he’s ever seen, and he grew up with Gallus.Damn her. She’s going down.
Maven has requested the new member’s presence. She doesn’t seem remotely worried, just vaguely annoyed. Mercer strains his ears, trying to listen in on the conversation she’s having with Rune, who befriended her immediately, especially when she dug some old book out of her pocket and handed it to him.“Oh great, another politician on a power trip,” she gripes, rolling her eyes. “How bad is she, really?”“Eh,” Rune shrugs, “Not so bad. A little terse and a lot demanding, but if you just nod along, she’ll be…well, not happy. But not mad.”“Fine,” she says, standing and dusting her pants off. “I’ll see you later. Maybe.”Maybe? Mercer thinks, focusing a little more of his attention on the newest member. Why wouldn’t she come back? She’s just meeting Maven at the Bee and the Barb. It’s just across Riften. Mercer realizes he’s trying to imagine the inner workings of her mind, and he has to remind himself that he doesn’t care. At all. She’s just another recruit, and she’s only done one job so far. He doesn’t even remember her name.
She’s gone for three weeks. Mercer knows. He counted for some reason. She waltzes back in, easy as you please, and approaches his desk. He no longer tries to hide his staring. She always notices anyway.“Hey Mercer,” she greets, her smile just this side of teasing. “Did you miss me?”He ignores her question. “This isn’t a guest house. You can’t just leave for three weeks. If you’re going to be part of the guild, you need to show up every once in a while.”She doesn’t look at all admonished by his chastisement, instead, her smile gets deeper. “Then I guess you don’t want this.” She drops a solid gold statue in front of his nose with a thunk. The thing is hideous, encrusted in gemstones, and was probably commissioned for some rich lord who wanted to show his wealth to his guests.“What is this?” he growls, poking at it. It’s so heavy it hardly budges.“Consider a gift. And maybe an apology for being gone so long.”“Hmph.” He goes back to his papers, and she just stands there patiently. “Fine, I accept. You’re dismissed.” He waves a hand at her, and she salutes mockingly before wandering off.Mercer watches from the corner of his eye as Brynjolf comes into the room and zeroes in on her like a hunting hound. The smile she gives the redhead is all genuine warmth, and he shakes his head. Brynjolf is acting like a lovesick fool, and this new recruit is going to break his heart when she doesn’t come back one day.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mercer sneaks out of the Cistern in the early evening before everyone wakes up. The Guild members are basically nocturnal, thieving during the night and sleeping during the day. It gives him the perfect opportunity to go meet up with Maven during the evening. What had started as a business arrangement had quickly morphed into a physical arrangement as well.Maven isn’t really his type, but it keeps her happy, which means the Guild stays afloat. They’ve been having issues for the past two decades, and he’s not sure they’d be a Guild much longer without the Black-Briar coffers backing them up.Maven kicks him out right after, like normal, and he sneaks off under the cover of new darkness to the river to bathe. He’s splashing in the warm water when he feels something pinch his ankle. Hard.He yelps and stumbles out of the water, pursued by a large mud crab. He casts around for his weapons, but all he manages to find is some sand and loose gravel. He curses, flinging it at the mud crab and scrabbling away back into the water as it pursues him.“Mercer?” A familiar and deeply detested voice sounds from the shore. “Is that you?”He freezes, then yelps as the crab pinches his big toe. “Go away!” he shouts, kicking ineffectually at the crab. He overbalances and falls back into the water with a splash. When he resurfaces, the newest member of their guild is wading toward him, fully clothed, sword drawn.“What are you doing?” Mercer snarls, trying to back away. The crab slices into his achilles tendon, and he curses loudly.With perfect precision, she stabs down through the water and impales the crab through its puny brain, and the pincer on his ankle falls away. She fishes the carcass out of the water, hefting it over a shoulder, heedless of the water that streams into her clothes.“You okay?” she asks, pale golden hair turning silver in the moonlight.His tendon hurts like a bitch and he’s standing naked next to his subordinate. “Peachy.”“Then I’ll let you get back to…whatever you’re doing.” She carefully keeps her gaze above the waterline and walks back towards shore, her powerful legs cutting through the water with ease.Mercer growls and dives back into the water to finish his bath.
He expects jeers and teasing. The Guildmaster being bested by a mud crab! But hardly anyone pays him any mind. The new member (the elf. Human. Mix. Whatever.) spots him and nods discreetly, golden eyes flicking over him quickly before turning her attention back to whatever bullshit Brynjolf is spouting.“Hey, Mercer!” Brynjolf practically shouts. The Nord’s face is almost as red as his hair, and he sways drunkenly.Mercer snorts and indulges him. Brynjolf rarely drinks to excess, so to see him like this is a rare privilege. He must be feeling extremely comfortable.“What?” he says, crossing his arms and trying to subtly shift his weight off his injured foot. He has a healing salve in his room that will make things right, but he needs to get there first.“Join us! Hel caught a crab. We’re going to eat it.”There’s a giant pot rattling over the fire, and Vekel is laying out a veritable mountain of butter.Mercer looks at the assembles thieves. They’re all ones he tolerates, except for the newbie. Hel, Brynjolf said. He sighs. “Fine.” He sits down between Brynjolf and Vex. The two least likely to piss him off, and glares at Hel.“What?” she asks, her tone considerably lighter than Mercer’s.“How many jobs have you gone on since you joined?” Mercer asks.She shrugs. “As many as I can. Shouldn’t you know? You’re the Guildmaster.”“I have more important things to worry about than a newcomer’s job count.”“At least six for me,” Delvin says.“Five for me. I’m still waiting on the one shill job,” Vex adds.“It’s done,” Hel defends. “I even tipped the guards off. They’re just taking their sweet time.”“So that’s a dozen,” Mercer confirms. “Then you’ll go on your next job with me.”Her eyes jump to his, fast enough that he’s expecting her to be surprised, but she only nods placidly. “Just let me know when.”Mercer actually has a good time. He spends the evening joking with his subordinates (his friends, although he’ll never admit that) and eating crab. Hel hands him a claw with a knowing twinkle in her eye, and Mercer schools his face so he doesn’t sneer at her. She kept his secret, which was unexpected. He’s not about to give it away now.Brynjolf ends up drinking so much he passes out on Hel’s shoulder, and Mercer gets the pleasure of seeing her perpetually sly expression melt into something fondly exasperated. Hel catches him looking, and her expression changes to shared amusement. She doesn’t seem at all put out by Mercer’s perpetual glare.“I better get this guy to bed,” she says, patting Brynjolf’s solid shoulder.“You’ll never get out from under him,” Delvin says with a knowing grin. “He’s like a barnacle when he’s sleepy. Hangs on so tight you need a knife to pry him off.”She chuckles quietly, and Mercer almost grinds his teeth at how nice her laugh is. Isn’t there anything for him to legitimately hate about her?“Oh, I don’t mind,” she says, throwing another amused glance at Mercer.She quietly wakes Brynjolf up to just this side of consciousness, and stands, supporting almost his entire weight without even a wobble.“Goodnight,” she throws over her shoulder as they stumble off to Brynjolf’s bed.
Mercer comes upon them later and almost guffaws at how ridiculous they look. Brynjolf’s got both arms and a leg around Hel, clinging to her like an octopus. She doesn’t seem to mind, half-lidded golden eyes glowing out at him from the darkness.Mercer grins evilly. “I wish I had a portrait of this,” he whispers.The golden glow narrows to slits. “Wake him, and I’ll tell everyone the story of how I caught the crab.”Mercer’s smile falls away. “You wouldn’t.”She smirks at him, even trapped as she is. Then she closes her eyes. “Night Mercer.”Mercer growls lowly, then tiptoes away so as not to wake Brynjolf.
He takes her up to Solitude for her trial run. She strolls in like she owns the place, hardly even glancing around at the people bedecked in fine clothes or the sweeping architecture.“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Mercer accuses. He was expecting some wide-eyed country bumpkin or street rat. The new members usually are.“Delvin sent me on a job here last week.”Mercer blinks. “You can go to Solitude and back in a week, but it takes you ages to travel to Windhelm?”She shrugs, unapologetic. “I took a detour.”“What kind of detour?” he grits out between clenched teeth. Her lackadaisical attitude is really starting to get on his nerves.“I had to help a friend with something. You know how it is.”No, he doesn’t know how it is. “Explain.”She casts a sly look at him. “You do know what a friend is, right Mercer?”He has to look away so he doesn’t strangle her. “Never mind.” They’ve made it to the market. “Go pickpocket ten people as fast as you can then come find me.”She gives him a sarcastic salute and melts into the crowd. Mercer wanders off toward the docks, stewing.
She’s so annoying, but he can’t deny the fact that she’s good at what she does. She’s a valuable member of the Thieves Guild, and hasn’t been made once. And everyone likes her. Even Dirge, who never likes anyone, almost smiled at her the other day.For whatever reason, she rubs Mercer the wrong way. It might be because she never takes him seriously, or it takes her twice as long as it should to go on simple jobs, but she always shows back up, late, with a pile of gold. He almost can’t fault her for it. She makes twice as much as the next person, and it seems the string of bad luck that’s been following the Guild for years is avoiding her.As if to prove a point, she appears as if from nowhere, a smirk on her face.“Hold out your hands,” she commands, tilting her nose imperiously into the air.Mercer would be offended, if not for the obvious twinkle of amusement in her golden eyes or the curve of her lips.He rolls his eyes but does as she says, and she deposits her spoils. There is almost too much for him to hold. Necklaces, rings, gold, keys, anything small and metal seems to have found its way into her pockets.Incongruously, there’s a letter in the pile, and Mercer has to carefully put away all the other things, some of them gleaming with enchantments. She smiles knowingly as he opens the letter and reads a ridiculous love poem, scoffing at the overplayed comparisons between the stars and the recipient’s eyes. The end part is an interesting tip about an important shipment coming in, with a heavy implication that they’ll both be…occupied right afterwards.The shipment comes in tonight.Mercer doesn’t want to compliment her, but it sits on the edge of his tongue. He swallows it back.“What do you think they’re shipping?” he asks instead.She shrugs. “It doesn’t say where the ship’s from, or what it’s hauling. Hopefully it’s something small, light, and expensive.” She grins at him, but Mercer crumples the paper and tosses it into the water. She watches it sink, and her smile fades quickly.“We have no idea what they’re bringing in. It could be great, or it could be useless. We’d be better off spending our time on something we know will give us a profit, like breaking into one of the giant mansions.”She holds his gaze. “Let’s do both. You go for yours, I go for mine, we find out whose job is more lucrative in the end.”Mercer holds eye contact before he finally looks away with a scoff. “Fine. But if you get caught, I’m not rescuing you.”“Fine, but if you get caught, I’ll come break you out of jail.”Mercer narrows his eyes at her challenge. “I won’t get caught.”“I know you won’t,” she says lightly. “I have nothing but faith in you, Mercer. But I don’t leave Guild members behind.”“And you think I do?”“You just said– never mind.” She cuts herself off with a huff.It’s the first time he’s gotten a reaction out of her that wasn’t teasing or positive, and it gives him a little thrill of pleasure to finally break through her jovial façade. Another look at her, at the tense set of her shoulders, at her face, so expressionless it might be carved from stone, and he feels a little curl of guilt start in his belly. What is wrong with him? Why does he feel the need to break people down like this? Sure, she’s annoying, but he doesn’t hate her. She’s one of his thieves now. A terrifyingly effective one who hasn’t been beaten down by the hard life that Skyrim provides.All of a sudden, he misses her smile. “I…We’ll meet back up near the stables.” He chickens out of his apology. “If you’re not there by dawn—”“You’ll leave me behind. I get it.” She cuts him off. “See you later, Mercer.”“Hel,” he tries calling after her, but she’s already walking away. Fleeing from him, more like. He sighs. Great, he thinks. Why does he always have to put his foot in his mouth?
He pulls off a successful sweep, grabbing a bunch of jewelry, as much gold as he can carry, and some fancy red gem he finds in a velvet-lined box. He gets out with no problem, making sure to wipe away all traces that he was there, and goes to wait by the stables.It’s the middle of the night and the stable owners are asleep, so it’s only Mercer and the soft whickering of the horses. He almost starts to worry, but Hel arrives not too long after. Her golden hair is covered by her hood so she blends into the surrounding darkness.“How’d you make out?” he whispers as she arrives.Even in the low light, he can see the tension she’s holding in her shoulders, in her thighs as she crouches next to him.“I’ll show you later. Let’s just go.”He bristles at her dismissal then forces himself to relax. She’s right. They should go. When they’re safely on the road, they can exchange spoils.“Fine. Come on.”
He brings them to a halt a few hours later. Dawn had arrived, and the sun is now peeking over the horizon.Hel has lowered her hood and the early sunlight fractures off her hair and turns her to liquid gold.Her expression hasn’t left its mask of neutrality, and Mercer internally winces at the conversation they’re about to have. He usually leaves morale and hurt feelings to Brynjolf, who’s much more personable than him, but it’s only Mercer out here.He tries to sidestep it.“So, what did you manage to lift?” he gets ready to say ‘I told you so’ when she comes up with nothing.She sighs, and her stony expression smooths out into something more animated. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s close, and Mercer relaxes a little.“Most of it was Skooma.”His nose wrinkles in distaste. “I hope you didn’t take any of it. We don’t sell that poison.”She snorts. “Course not. I dumped it all in the harbor. That’s what took me so long.”“Did you find anything else?”She grins, the first real smile he’s seen from her in hours. “The rest of the shipment was intended for a jeweler. I got garnets, amethysts, rubies, emeralds, sapphires…and a whole bunch of diamonds.”She pulls a handful from her pocket, and they all lay there, glittering in the brightening sunlight.Mercer’s eyes widen at the amount, the clarity of each of them, then he quickly schools his expression. “So your hunch paid off.”Her grin deepens to something warmer, more teasing, as she returns the diamonds to a safe pocket. “You’re just disappointed you didn’t get to say ‘I told you so’.”Mercer scowls because she’s exactly right, although he’s glad she’s shaken off her bad mood.“So, what’d you get?” she asks, peering at his pockets as if she can see through them. She takes a step forward, and Mercer feels her body heat soak through his layers as she stands mere inches from him.He does his best to ignore it and not bask in it like a reptile. “Normal stuff. Jewelry, gold, this thing.” He pulls the gem out. It glitters scarlet in the sunlight.“Cool,” she breathes. “May I?” she holds a hand out, and Mercer deposits the gem in it without hesitation. Their fingers brush, and it sends a spark of heat up his arm that settles somewhere in his lower belly.He hastily takes a step backwards. She doesn’t seem to notice as she examines the gem.“Hm. Not enchanted,” she says, handing it back to Mercer. He’s careful to keep his fingers away from hers this time.“How do you know?” he asks, raising a curious eyebrow. Maybe he’ll get to find something out about her.There’s the briefest hesitation, then she’s shrugging. “I spend a lot of time with mages.”“Why?”“Because we’re friends?” she phrases it in such a way that makes Mercer sound like he’s an idiot for asking. “You do know what a friend is, right?”Mercer shoves at her shoulder, and she lets out a laugh as she takes a step back. It’s a bright sound, light and rich and full all at the same time. Like music. Mercer has to force himself not to stand there listening like a dunce.“Fuck off,” he snarls for good measure, stalking off down the road again.She laughs again and follows, bounding up until they’re walking even with each other. Mercer has to suppress a smile. She might be starting to grow on him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
That thought that Mercer had, about not hating Hel? He takes it back.She’s currently across the Cistern, and she convinced Brynjolf that it would be a good idea if they all had a ‘team bonding’ night, and Brynjolf went along with it. Mercer supposes he can’t blame him. He’s not blind to Brynjolf’s puppy eyes where she’s concerned. His second has a bad habit of caring about his pet projects, but this time, it seems especially intense.So everyone is sitting around in a circle, playing a ridiculous game that he hasn’t bothered to watch, and being loud. That, and if all of his thieves are here, which means they aren’t out making money.They’re not out getting arrested or killed either, he thinks, then banishes that thought from his mind. No. There is no good that can come from this.As he watches, it’s Hel’s turn in the game (something about telling the truth or needing to perform a stupid action). She chooses ‘dare’, like all the other times. Not that he’s been paying attention.She performs a little dance, pulling Vipir from his seat to join her and whirling around the Cistern in the spaces between the beds. She moves with a sense of balance and ease that shows she’s no stranger to dancing, and it makes him wonder where she learned it. They come back around to the chairs, and she releases Vipir back to his seat and takes a little bow before sitting back down to jovial laughter and a smattering of applause.Brynjolf leans close to whisper in her ear, and she turns to him with a smile, mouth moving as she replies. Then her eyes flick over Brynjolf’s shoulder and find Mercer with unerring accuracy.Mercer holds her gaze, then she grins and motions for him to join them. So follows a furious round of charades where Mercer refuses to go over and Hel is insistent.He finally caves, rolling his eyes with his whole body and trudging over slowly, just to let her know he’s doing it under duress.Her teasing grin deepens to a satisfied smirk, and she moves aside so the only available seat is next to her. Mercer hesitates, but she pulls him down anyway to sit beside her, swinging an arm around his shoulders to keep him there.The assembled thieves cheer as their Guildmaster joins them, but he hardly notices. Hel is so warm.She’s like a brand against his side, radiating heat through the thin layers of cloth and leather that separate them. It soaks into his bones, and he tenses, unused to casual touches ever since Gallus…well, died.She strokes a thumb over his shoulder, and he shudders as it leaves a trail of fire in its wake. She drops her arm, and he almost whimpers at the sudden loss of such warmth, but she presses her knee against his so their thighs are aligned, and her heat soaks into his leg. It’s better than sitting next to a fire, and he has to focus to make his brain work again.Her simple touch has reduced him to a shaking mess, casting his mind adrift. He would force himself to move away if he had the power. It’s all he can do to stop himself from leaning into her.“...Mercer?” Brynjolf asks.Hel nudges his side, and Mercer jumps.“Uh, what?” is his eloquent reply.Brynjolf smiles politely. “Truth or dare?”Mercer can’t imagine leaving the warmth he’s found unexpectedly at Hel’s side. “Truth.”“What was the worst job you ever went on?”Mercer contemplates it. “Markarth, my first year thieving. I almost got caught by the guards and had to throw myself into a barrel of fish and ride down the river to get way. Then the barrel broke after a waterfall and I lost my take.”Everyone laughs at his tale, and Hel’s voice vibrates through his side where they’re still pressed together. It gives him an idea.“My turn, right?” he confirms. At everyone’s nods, he turns to Hel. “Truth or dare?”She grins at him In a challenge. “Dare.”The way she says it makes him want to give her something impossible and make her eat her tone. But he wants to know something about her more.“Then I dare you to tell me the truth.”Everyone oooooohhhs together, and Hel’s smile gains teeth.“Fine. What’s your question?”“Where do you go on your detours?” Mercer demands, glaring her down. They’re still pressed against each other, their faces mere inches away.She breaks eye contact. “Pass.”Mercer bristles. “You can’t pass!” he snarls. He needs to know.“Not without consequences,” Thrynn laughs. “Drink up!” He hands her a full flagon, and Mercer gets a whiff of honey as it passes to her.She chugs the whole tankard of mead amid chants, swiping any foam away with the back of her arm. She hands the flagon back and slumps a little more into Mercer’s side.Mercer turns his head until his lips are right next to her pointed ear. “I’m going to find out one day,” he whispers.She turns back to face him, and their noses almost brush. “You’re welcome to try,” she replies her golden eyes holding his green in another challenge.He holds it, and the tension grows between them until Brynjolf says her name, making her tear their gazes apart as she turns to the redheaded Nord.The tension snaps like a bowstring, and Mercer whirls back to face the group, desperately trying to stop his rising blush. He doesn’t know why he’s so flustered. He feels Hel’s thigh against his own like sunlight, and all at once it’s too much.He jerks to his feet and everyone goes silent.“Mercer?” Delvin asks. “Everything alright?”He recovers, even as he’s reeling from the abrupt loss of heat. “I’m fine. I just have work to do.” He stalks, stiff legged, back to his desk. He can feel Hel’s eyes burning between his shoulder blades, but his side feels cold.
He watches Hel leave on another job.“Cynric!” he shouts across the flagon.The jailbreaker jogs up. “Sir?”“Follow her until she returns. I want you to report on her activities.”Cynric salutes smartly and runs off, and Mercer turns back to his table. He’ll find out where she goes on her detours, just like he threatened.
Cynric comes back a few hours later. “She lost me in the woods. I didn’t know she was so fast.”“Where was she headed?” Mercer asks.“On the road towards Falkreath. Then she just jumped into the woods, south towards the border, and vanished.“Vanished how?”Cynric throws his hands up. “I don’t know. Just vanished. Went behind a tree and didn’t show back up. I searched for a while, but I didn’t even see any tracks.”Mercer sighs angrily. “Thanks Cynric.” He waves him away. “Niruin!” he calls. “You’re a tracker, right? I want you to go after Hel. Watch her without her finding out, then report back to me on her activities.”Niruin sighs. “Do I have to?”Mercer just glares him down until he leaves.
Niruin reports back a week later. Hel still hasn’t returned.“I lost her down a cave,” Niruin says, shrugging.Mercer’s head snaps up. “You what?”Niruin rolls his eyes. “She went down a cave for the hundredth time, but she never came back up.”Mercer feels his chest go cold. “Did you…find a body?” He’s not sure why he feels so off. Hel infuriates him. She challenges him. She was so warm the last time they saw each other. Oh no. Brynjolf. What is Mercer supposed to tell his second?Niruin looks at him like he’s stupid. “There was a back exit that I assume she took. When she didn’t come back out, I went down after her. There were dead bandits everywhere but no sign of her. I couldn’t pick her trail back up.”“So, she’s alive?” Mercer feels relief flood him, turning his knees to jelly. He braces himself on his desk.Niruin shrugs. “I would assume so, seeing as I have no evidence to the contrary.”“Fine. Dismissed.” He hardly hears Niruin leave, his mind is too occupied with other matters.Why was he so worried about Hel? She’s just the newbie. She infuriates him. Would it be such a great loss?On the other hand, he knows Brynjolf likes her. Brynjolf likes all his new recruits, but this one seems special. He’d probably be sad forever if she died, and that’s not something Mercer wants to deal with.Plus, she’s singlehandedly turning around the luck of the Guild. She’s brought in more gold in her short tenure than any other member had for months. Her loss would be a big blow, and potentially the final nail in the coffin of their ‘dry spell’, as Vex calls it. It’s not a curse, like Delvin keeps saying. Mercer won’t believe that. Still, she’s pulling them out of an unproductive slump, and he needs her, no matter how annoying she is.Mercer grumbles quietly to himself and decides to distract himself with work. Hel will either show back up or she won’t, and Mercer needs to stop worrying about it.
She returns, and Mercer, once again, feels relief sweep through him. She looks unharmed. She’s upright and smiling, and her steps are even and fluid. She’s fine.Mercer watches from under his eyelashes as Hel swings by Tonilia to sell some stolen items, gets waylaid by an excited Rune, and turns to find Brynjolf as he bursts into the Cistern.The tall redhead enfolds her into a hug that lasts just a touch too long to be casual, and Mercer looks away when Hel rests her head on Brynjolf’s shoulder and closes her eyes in apparent bliss.He’s very happy for them. Really.“Hey Mercer,” Hel’s cheery voice breaks through his tumultuous thoughts. “How’s the Guild doing?”He carefully doesn’t jump and looks up at her with a raised eyebrow. “Fine. How’d you make out on your last job?”“Good.” She hesitates. It’s uncharacteristic, and Mercer feels his guard come up. Hel takes a deep breath and continues. “I was wondering if you’d train me in dual wielding.”That was not what Mercer was expecting. “Why?” Why me? He thinks. Why dual wielding? Don’t you already know how? Hel is good at everything else. He hasn’t really seen her struggle with anything, even if they’ve only been out in the field once together.She guesses all of his questions and explains in a rush. “I used to fight with a shield, but it’s too bulky for Guild work, and I think I need to give my left hand something to do during combat. You’re the best swordsman here, and I’ve seen you dual wield in the training room. If anyone can teach me, it’s you.”She looks at him with wide, golden eyes, and Mercer is helpless to refuse.“Fine. But I won’t go easy on you.”She smiles, that infuriating combination of challenge and smugness. “It wouldn’t be much of a challenge otherwise.”Mercer mock growls. “Just for that, we’re
having our first session right now.”And damn her, she doesn’t look worried at all.
He has Hel pick up a training dagger and sword and hack at the dummy in the training room until her arms are dragging under their own weight.Then he has her face off against him.She’s fast, even with all that work he made her do beforehand. Her sword arm is deft, but she doesn’t really know how to use the dagger in her offhand to her advantage.Mercer presses his advantage to her weak side, but she knows how to angle her body so all he gets are glancing blows.She finally starts to slow, but his point both of them are drenched in sweat and starting to flag, so Mercer digs deep and drives into her, swinging his sword down in a powerful arc at her left arm.He expects her to dodge out of the way like she has been all session, but she brings her arm up as if to block with a shield. She doesn’t have one.His blunted training sword hits her arm with a resounding crack, and she staggers back with a cry of pain, dropping the dagger and clutching her arm to her chest. Mercer curses, lowering his own weapons and stepping toward her.“I’m fine,” she lies. Her eyes are watering from the pain.“Let me see,” Mercer demands, sheathing his practice swords and reaching for her arm.She bares her teeth at him. “I’m fine,” she says again, stepping back.“Don’t be stupid,” he huffs, rolling his eyes and reaching for her again.She reaches her arm tentatively in front of her, and Mercer takes it as gently as possible. He prods at the rising swelling and the swiftly darkening bruise.She hisses in pain, but she stands still, and Mercer lets her arm go.“Can’t you heal yourself?” he asks, indicating her elf-ness.She glares at him.“Seriously?” he asks. “You’re a high elf, and you can’t do any magic?”“…half,” she mutters.“What?”“I’m half Altmer,” she says, staring him down as if she’s daring him to say something mean.“What’s the other half?” he asks, more out of curiosity than anything. He knew she was a half-breed from the first day he saw her.“Imperial.”“Okay,” he says, shrugging. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of this, even though he’s really pleased she told him. “Let’s go get you a healing potion.”
Brynjolf finds them as Mercer is wrapping her arm up. There’s only so much a healing potion can do, especially with their dreary supplies, so she’s still left with a very sore, bruised, and swollen limb, even if the bone break has been knit.“I can’t believe you forgot you didn’t have a shield,” Mercer scoffs, his harsh tone at odds with the care he takes winding the bandage over her wrist.She laughs, making a few beads of water shake free from her hair and drip onto the floor between them. After the potion, they’d both taken baths to wipe away the sweat, and she’s sparkling in the firelight, her damp hair hanging thick and fragrant down her cheeks and around her shoulders.“What can I say? Old habits die hard.”Mercer is about to say something else when Brynjolf walk up.“What happened?” he blurts, taking a few stuttering steps towards Hel.“Training accident,” Hel answers before Mercer can confess that he’s the one that broke her arm.Brynjolf seems to sense it anyway, cutting a look at Mercer under his furrowed brow.“Are you alright, lass?” Brynjolf asks, resting a large hand on her shoulder. She tilts her head back to look up at him with a smile.“I’m fine. Mercer’s taking care of me.” She aims her smile at him instead, and Mercer pretends to focus on the final knot so he doesn’t have to watch the warm expression directed at him.“Done,” Mercer says, stroking a thumb next to the edge of her bandage at her wrist. Her skin is warm, just like it always is, and he presses his fingertips into his palm to preserve the feeling.“Thank you,” Hel says, catching his gaze.Mercer shrugs it off. “Just rest it for a few days. No going out on jobs until I say so.” He stalks off at her nod of assent, looking back to see Brynjolf sliding into his vacated seat.
“I found it!” Hel shouts, jogging up to Mercer and brandishing a book.Mercer looks up from his paper work with a deep scowl. Maven’s been hounding him recently to bring in more money. It doesn’t help that Mercer broke his main money-maker’s arm.It’s only been one day, and she already seems to be going out of her mind. She’s been reading every book that Delvin can throw at her, and now she comes bounding up with one.“Here,” she says, pointing at the book. “That unusual gem you found on our trip to Solitude? It’s a stone of Barenziah.”The illustration in the book is spot on, and Mercer hums in interest, pushing aside Maven’s letters to read the passage next to the illustration.“It says there are twenty-four in total,” he reads aloud.“I talked to Vex too. She says a single one is basically worthless. She can only move them if we have the whole set, and according to this book, the crown they’re placed in.”“So what are we going to do?” Mercer asks, looking up at her.“I’ll get my hands on a few more books, see if we can pin down the locations of the other twenty-three gems. Then we can make a plan on how to collect them all.”Mercer nods. “That’s a…surprisingly good idea.”She laughs. “Don’t sound so shocked. I have them from time to time.” Mercer chuckles, and she takes a step back.
“Right, I’ll be right back.” She leaves the book for Mercer to peruse and takes off, almost running over to Delvin for some more books.
They spend a quiet evening poring over dusty tomes, looking for clues as to where the stones of Barenziah are. They pin down a few possible locations and mark them down on a map, which Hel pockets.“I’ll keep an eye out on jobs,” she says, smiling softly at him. “Tonight was fun. Thanks Mercer.”He feels himself blush at her honest tone, and he tries to cover it by being gruff like usual. “Whatever. Get some sleep.”Her smile deepens to something knowing, and Mercer holds his breath, hoping she doesn’t poke at the thin veneer he just put up. She doesn’t, as if she knows how vulnerable he is underneath, and she goes to bed without further comment.Mercer finally turns back to his letters. Maven’s going to be so mad, but he doesn’t really have it in him to care right now.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mercer doesn’t see Hel leave because she did it without his say-so, still with a busted arm. Delvin reports that she left in a hurry with a hasty goodbye thrown over her shoulder, and Mercer tries to shove down his worry and decide how he’s going to punish her when she comes back. He didn’t even have time to assign a tail before she left. At least she picked up a few jobs, and hopefully she’ll come back laden with coin like usual. Maybe Maven will stop hounding him.Speaking of...Mercer’s overdue for a visit with the Black-Briar matriarch.
Maven does not go easy on him. Mercer grits his teeth and doesn’t give her the satisfaction of wringing a sound of pain out of him, although she comes close.“You’ve disappointed me,” she says, stalking around him like a slaughterfish circling an injured salmon.Mercer doesn’t answer because he knows she doesn’t like it when he talks back. She never requires an answer anyway.“I’m going to tell you how you can make it up to me.” She strokes a soft hand over his bare shoulder. It’s cold. “I want double this month. Twenty percent of the total profits.”“No way in Oblivion,” he snarls. That money goes to his Guild. Their supplies. Their defenses.She hits him behind a knee and it buckles, staggering him. He regains his balance as quickly as he can.“I’ll pull my support,” Maven threatens.Mercer bares his teeth. He doesn’t have the choice. They’re getting there, but the Thieves Guild is not strong enough to stand on its own yet. “Fifteen,” Mercer counters.“Twenty.” She hits him behind the same knee, and his knee hits her hardwood floor with a crack. He staggers back to his feet.“Twenty,” he says, making sure to keep all inflection from his voice.“Good boy.” She strokes her cold hands down his back, and Mercer tries not to shudder.
He scrubs his skin raw in the lake after. He feels especially dirty tonight. He sold out his Guild because despite his best efforts, he'll never be as good as Gallus. He needed an outsider to support him, and without him noticing, Maven had taken over.Luckily, no mudcrabs show up to add injury to insult, and Mercer makes it back to Riftweald manor. He can’t stomach the thought of facing his Guild tonight. Not after what he did.It’s hard to fall asleep without the background noise of the Cistern and his Thieves, but he’s exhausted, and he manages.
When Mercer comes back to the Guild, Brynjolf corners him in the training room.“What’s wrong?” he demands, backing Mercer into a corner.Mercer bares his teeth like a trapped animal. “Nothing’s wrong.”Brynjolf gives him a look. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe him, but instead of being suspicious, he’s just concerned. It reminds Mercer how much better Brynjolf would have been as the Guildmaster. It’s stupid that he didn’t want the responsibility when Gallus tried to name him his successor, so Gallus had settled for Mercer, and he essentially sold them to the Black-Briars."Mercer, just talk to me. We're friends, right?”“It’s nothing,” he tries to brush him off. “I’ve got it handled.”Brynjolf raises an eyebrow, but he backs down. “Alright. I trust you, and so does the rest of the Guild. If you ever need anything, I’m here.”Damn Brynjolf and his selfless, trusting demeanor.“Actually, there is something you can do for me.” Mercer won’t feel bad. He won’t. So what if he has to take advantage of his best and only friend.“What is it?” Brynjolf looks at him with his wide, puppy eyes, hoping to be able to help. Mercer thinks he’s too softhearted for this life sometimes, even if he’s dead reliable.“Has Hel talked to you at all, about where she goes between jobs, or where she just ran off to?”A shadow of frustration passes over his face, and Mercer narrows his eyes. It’s not like Brynjolf to get frustrated over anything.“No, she hasn’t.” He sighs. “She’s entitled to her secrets. Divines know we’ve all got them.”Mercer frowns. That doesn’t really track. Sure, the Thieves Guild has secrets, but not really from each other. It’s how they’re able to trust each other, watch each other’s backs. “I thought you two were close.”Brynjolf smiles, but it’s a wistful kind of thing. “Not as close as I’d like to be.” He looks to Mercer, his brow furrowing again. “That’s okay, right? That I’m trying to woo her?”Mercer snorts. “Did you just use the word ‘woo’ in a sentence?”Brynjolf rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing. “Yeah, yeah. It’s fine though, right?”Now it’s Mercer’s turn to roll his eyes. “Of course it’s fine. I know a lot of the Guild members are dating each other.”Brynjolf’s attention snaps to him. “Really? I thought you didn't notice that kind of stuff.”“Oh, I notice. I just don’t care. As long as it doesn’t interfere with the job, I couldn’t give two shits.”Brynjolf grins. “As eloquent as ever. Thanks Mercer. Oh, and let me know if you ever need to talk about anything.”Mercer waves him off, but he feels lighter knowing that Brynjolf has his back.
Mercer knows the moment Hel returns because Rune shouts her name like a besotted fanboy. She’d gotten him some book soon after she’d joined, and he’d hung on her every word since then.Brynjolf, the actual besotted fanboy, is much smoother, and sidles up to her, pulling her into one of his comforting hugs. She melts into him like always before pulling away with a bright smile. Mercer watches as they exchange a few quiet words, then she’s doing her usual routine of finding Vex and Delvin to turn in her spoils and selling all her contraband to Tonilia for some extra pocket money. Then she’s turning back to Brynjolf with one of her warm smiles, ignoring Mercer completely.Mercer makes himself look away. He’s happy for his second. Hel is a great addition to the Thieves Guild, and they’ll make a handsome couple. Brynjolf deserves to have someone nice in his life.Besides, this will give Mercer more time to come up with a good punishment for her.
She finds him later, her golden eyes practically glowing in the dim light of the Cistern. Mercer can’t help but stare as she walks up to him, and he struggles to recall what his punishment was going to be since she left before Mercer approved her for field work again.“Hey Mercer,” she greets, smile as bright as the dawning sun. “Guess what I found.” She holds a hand behind her back playfully and Mercer does his best to paste on his usual scowl.“I don’t play guessing games. Just tell me.” He’s supposed to be mad at her.She doesn’t fall for it, pulling a familiar box out from behind her back with a flourish. “Ta-da!” she says, grinning.“You found one?” he exclaims, all mustered anger forgotten.“Yup! I found it on the Northern coast on some shipwreck called the Dainty Sload. Delvin had me frame the ship captain, so I was already there.”He takes the box gently, opening it to reveal the gem inside. It gleams red under the torchlight, like a drop of blood.“I’ll put it with the other one.” He stows it carefully in one of his many pockets. “Twenty two to go.”“Twenty two to go,” she echoes, holding his gaze.The moment stretches between them, and Mercer tastes the anticipation on the air.Hel breaks it, looking away. “I was also hoping you’d train me in dual wielding again.”Oh, this is too good to pass up. “Are you sure?” Mercer asks. “Our last training session didn’t go great for you.”“I’m sure,” she says, looking back at him with a teasing smile. “I trust you not to make the same mistake twice.”Mercer scoffs. “It was your mistake that got your arm broken.”She laughs, taking her defeat easily. “Fine, fine. You’re right. Still, will you train with me?”“Fine,” Mercer agrees. “But it won’t be easy for you.”“I’m okay with that,” she answers, resting her left hand on her dagger and staring him down in a challenge.Mercer bares his teeth in a sharp grin. She’s going to regret this so much.
They don’t fight at all this time. He has her work on forms for hours until she does each of them flawlessly, even while tired. To her credit, she doesn’t complain once, just follows his barked instructions until he finally calls a halt.She leans back into a wall and slides down until she’s sitting on the ground. She’s panting from exertion, and her golden hair is sticking to her forehead and cheeks due to her sweat. She pushes it back from her face with a careless hand, and Mercer catches the flushed tips of her pointed ears. She’s still smiling though, and she pats the spot next to her with a look at Mercer.He rolls his eyes but ultimately caves, sliding down to sit next to her. He can feel the heat radiating from her, and sweat or not, he wants to lean in and allow it to soak into him. As if sensing his desire, Hel allows her knee to fall against his and scoots over until their upper arms are touching.Mercer does his best to hide his uncontrollable shivering as her natural heat sinks into his muscles and bones. He’s probably not successful, but Hel doesn’t seem to mind, and she drops her head to rest on his shoulder, sighing as if content.“Thank you,” she says, her voice humming into his shoulder.“For what?” Mercer asks, holding perfectly still to avoid jostling her off.“For training me. For taking care of me last time.” She hesitates. “For putting up with my extended absences.”Mercer can feel her tense against him, and he continues staring resolutely at the opposing wall. He doesn’t want to scare her off, not when this is his new definition of bliss, but he needs to know. She brought it up after all.“Why are you gone for so long each time?”She shrugs with her opposite shoulder so she doesn’t move him. “I have other responsibilities, other friends out there who need my help. Just because I’ve joined the Thieves Guild doesn’t mean I can put those aside.”Mercer hums in acknowledgement. “And this last time? Why did you ignore my direct order to rest until you were fully healed before running off?”She shifts uneasily, and Mercer holds absolutely still. He doesn’t want to scare her off when they’re making real progress.Her answer is halting, but it’s there. “There was an emergency. It turned out okay in the end, but it was close.”“What kind of emergency?” He holds his breath, but it looks like his luck has run out.She shakes her head and shifts away, and Mercer suppresses his disappointed sigh at the loss of heat, watching as she stands with a groan then reaches back down for him.Mercer takes her hand, being very careful to not hang on longer than appropriate once he’s pulled to his feet.“Thanks again,” she says, giving him a lazy salute before turning away.“Wait,” Mercer calls, and she turns around, one eyebrow raised in a question. “You’ll tell me one day, right?”“Sure,” she says, but it doesn’t sound like a promise.Mercer doesn’t know what he expected. Two training sessions and the start of a treasure hunt? It’s not enough for someone to trust him with their secrets, especially someone flighty enough to join the Thieves Guild. He’ll keep working at her. Maybe she’ll sit next to him again.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Hel leaps off halfway down the ladder into the Cistern, sprinting across the stone floor and up to Mercer’s desk. She dodges Brynjolf on her way with a hasty apology thrown over her shoulder.“Mercer!” she calls, not slowing down at all. She careens into the front of his desk, catching herself on the edge. “I got another lead!”“On what?” he asks dumbly, glancing at Brynjolf’s confused expression.“On a stone of Barenziah. There’s one up in Hob’s fall cave on the north coast, about halfway between Winterhold and Dawnstar.”Mercer’s attention moves back to her. “And?”“And,” she draws out, apparently exasperated at his slow uptake, “I want you to come with me to retrieve it.”Mercer blinks. Assesses her request. Taps his fingers on his desk to stall for more time. “Why can’t you do it yourself?” Truth is, Mercer’s been itching to get out of Riften for a while. Maven’s a constant thorn in his side he’s not allowed to remove quite yet, and Garthar, their newest recruit, won’t stop flinching whenever he walks by. Apparently the other members have been telling him horror stories. Mercer would love nothing more than to go on an adventure with Hel, but he’s hesitant.He doesn’t want to step on Brynjolf’s toes. He knows the red-headed Nord is sweet on her, just as he knows that Hel hasn’t been bending to his charms quite yet. Although he did find them both sleeping in her bed the one day after a busy night of thieving.He looks to his best friend, but Brynjolf, the soft-hearted man that he is, just nods his permission with a smile that looks like he’s holding back laughter. Since Hel has gotten more comfortable here, they’re all familiar with the way that no one can seem to say no to her.“If it were just draugr I could handle it, but it’s packed with Necromancers. I can’t do it alone.”Mercer caves. “Fine. I’ll tag along. But only to make sure you don’t mess anything up.”She pulls back with a wide smile. “Great! I’ll go pack. Bring some cold weather clothes and a pair of waterproof boots. It gets snowy up there.”
They head out the gates and Hel immediately turns west.“Hey, where are you going?” Mercer asks, reaching a hand out and grabbing her by the wrist.“I usually go the Falkreath, Whiterun, Dawnstar route,” Hel answers, tilting her head.Mercer frowns. “That’ll take twice as long. We should go north to Windhelm then Winterhold.”She extracts her wrist from his hold and looks away, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh…I don’t really like Windhelm.”“Why not?”She meets his eyes and holds. “Because Windhelm doesn’t like me.”Mercer doesn’t get it, then he notices her golden skin, her pointed ears, her sharp cheekbones. “Oh.”“Yeah.”They stand around for a minute as Mercer weighs their options. “I’m not hiking twice as far because of some racist cunts. We’re going to Windhelm.”She hesitates. “…okay.”It’s a silent few minutes on the road to Windhelm, and Mercer feels the guilt start to curl in his belly.“Hel—”“It’s fine,” she says, cutting him off.He swings around to face her, making her stop in the middle of the path.“No, listen,” he says, reaching out to encircle her wrist again. He strokes a thumb over it, marveling at her warmth, like always. “I know Windhelm…isn’t great.”She snorts. “That’s putting it lightly.”“But,” Mercer continues, pinning her with his gaze, “you won’t be alone there. I won’t leave your side, and we can rob those assholes blind. Okay?”A smile teases the corner of her mouth and she pulls her wrist from his grip, only to turn her hand over and catch his fingers in a grateful squeeze. “Okay.”
They make it to Windhelm with nothing worse than a few spiders on their path. There was a distant trumpeting, which Mercer thought was just a mammoth from one of the giant camps scattered around the hot spring area.Hel had taken one look at the sky and grabbed his hand, sprinting as fast as she could for the safety of a rock overhang.“It’s only a mammoth,” Mercer said, shoving his laughter down.She was tense as a bowstring and scanning the sky. “Not a mammoth. Dragon.”Mercer snorted. “Yeah, right.”She didn’t answer, but she also didn’t relax until it had been quiet for almost an hour.Now they’re walking through the front gates, and the guards are giving them dirty looks already.Hel holds her head high and continues on as if she can’t see them, and Mercer glares them down for good measure.“Right,” Mercer says, turning to face her, “go canvass the nearby houses for any likely targets. I’ll get us two rooms at the inn.”Her face spasms into something that looks like panic. “You promised we wouldn’t be separated.”“It’ll only be for a minute.”She takes a quick step forward and weaves her fingers under his bandolier, clutching at the leather with white knuckles. “You promised.”She’s paler than he’s ever seen her and she’s starting to shake. She looks more freaked out here than she did with the alleged dragon.“Okay,” he soothes, resting his hands over hers. “We’ll stay together.” She slowly relaxes under his touch, letting go of his armor and taking a step backwards. She lets out a shuddering breath and schools her expression back to neutrality.Mercer leads them into Candlehearth Hall, and they’re assaulted by the smell of warm, hearty stew, cheap mead, and sweat. He marches straight up to the counter and leans on it, pitching his voice over the murmur of voices and the sound of the bard’s lute.“Two rooms for tonight,” he says, dropping some gold on the counter and scanning the crowd for any targets.“Only got one,” the innkeeper says, handing him back half his money. “I hope that’s okay.”Mercer checks over his shoulder, and Hel nods.“That’s fine,” he answers for them both. They receive the key to the room and trudge upstairs where they are luckily faced with a double bed. “I’ll take the floor,” he volunteers.“I don’t mind sleeping together,” Hel counters, her voice uncharacteristically subdued. “The floor will be too cold anyway.” She drops her pack next to one side of the bed and immediately wedges a chair under the door handle."What's your deal with Windhelm anyway?” Mercer asks, setting his pack down and sitting on the bed to take his shoes off. He carefully watches her in his peripheral vision. “I know you can handle yourself. A few racist comments and mean looks shouldn’t…” he searches for the right word, “terrify you.”She turns to him, and her usual smiles are nowhere to be seen.“I look like a high elf, in a city that despises high elves,” she explains slowly and clearly. “The residents can come harass me at any time, and the guards just stand by and laugh. If it turns violent and I defend myself, they’ll arrest me. If the guards get bored of watching and decide to get in on the action, and I kill one, I’ll have a bounty on my head and never be able to return to this region again. And that’s if I get away.”He's almost afraid to ask. “What happens if you don’t get away?”She shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “If I get put in the Windhelm jail, I’ll be tortured to death as a spy.”He has no idea what to say. He didn’t know that things were this bad. We should have gone to Falkreath, he thinks, firmly resolving to never send her on any jobs to Windhelm. “What about Ulfric? How does he allow this?”“He’s too busy fighting a war to notice the things that go on in his own city. Even the Argonians are barred from entering the city, and they work on the docks.”Mercer decides to change the subject, because there’s really nothing he can say that will make this better. “That sucks.”She laughs, and it has tinges of its usual brightness. “Understatement.”His lips twitch up into an answering smile. “We should really get to sleep. I’ll wake us up in a few hours and we can break into one, or all of the houses.”She smiles, stretching out onto her side of the bed with a sigh. Mercer douses the lights and mirrors her. He can feel her warmth emanating from her side of the bed, creeping across the space between them and heating the space under the covers. Mercer falls asleep to the sound of her even breaths.
He wakes up with a warm weight on his chest. During the night, he and Hel had migrated into the center of the bed, and now her head is on his chest, one of her arms flung across his stomach. Her strand of her gossamer hair tickles his neck, and he carefully hooks a finger around it and smooths it back down to join the rest.Her hair is soft, like silk, and Mercer wants nothing more than to bury his sensitive fingers in it, but they have a job to do, and Brynjolf probably wouldn’t approve of Mercer cuddling with his almost girlfriend. Besides, Mercer is Hel’s Guildmaster. It’s unethical to pursue a relationship with such a power imbalance (not that it stopped Karliah and Gallus).He needs to wake her, but he doesn’t want her to see how close he is to falling apart under her unconscious touch. As Guildmaster, the only close relationship he’s had since Gallus died is Maven Black-Briar, and she hardly counts. Especially since he didn’t enter into it enthusiastically.The way Hel brings herself into his space without fear and without ill intent, it’s been so long since he had that, and he doesn’t want to lose it. But they need to get up and go robbing, so he eases himself out from under her, utilizing all his skills as a sneakthief, before calling her name in a whisper.“Hel,” he says, making sure to jostle the bed a little as he sits back down to pull his boots on again.She blinks awake, her golden eyes near luminous in the dark room. “Time to go?” she asks, finding him through the darkness.“Yes. Get ready.”She stretches languidly, like a cat, and Mercer looks away. How many times has he seen her wake up across the Cistern? Still, in these close quarters, with only them, it feels more intimate. He listens to the quiet rustling of her preparation behind him until it stops.“Ready?” he asks, grinning sharply when she nods. “Then let’s go thieving.”
They creep through the stone streets of Windhelm. Hel’s footsteps are quiet. Not as quiet as Mercer’s of course, but quiet nonetheless.They make their way to the residential quarter for all the rich Nords, keeping their eyes out for any likely targets.Mercer silently indicates a house with intricate scrollwork around the doors, and Hel nods, creeping after him. He motions that she should be the one to pick the lock on the door and he scans for guards while she takes a few moments to open the door with a quiet click. They ease their way inside, then set to looting, splitting up to cover more ground.Mercer creeps upstairs, avoiding any worn or creaky spots on the stairs, and into the first bedroom. A familiar gleam catches his attention, and he tiptoes past the bed and removes the Stone of Barenziah from the bookshelf. He grins internally. He can’t wait to show Hel that they stumbled upon another stone on their quest to actually get one. He finishes looting the upstairs, careful not to wake anyone, and reconvenes with Hel in the entryway.She gives him a nod and tilts her head to the door, and they sneak out the way they came. Hel lets out a deep breath once they’re outside, and Mercer snorts.“You don’t have to hold your breath,” he teases.“Don’t knock my process,” she jokes, sticking her nose in the air imperiously. Mercer has to stifle his chuckle, then he softly jabs her in the ribs with his elbow.“Hey, look what I found.” He pulls the Stone of Barenziah from his pocket, letting it gleam in the faint moonlight.“Wow,” she says, eyes wide. “You just found it in there?”He nods, and she smiles.“We must be a lucky combination,” she says, taking a step closer to brush their shoulders together. Mercer takes a step away, trying to clear his throat as quietly as possible.She’s joking, he reminds himself. There’s no way she actually likes you. Think of Brynjolf.“Let’s try over here,” Mercer says, sidestepping her and heading to another house.She doesn’t look at all put out, just follows along on quiet feet.
The next house they break into is…strange. It’s essentially empty, with a bloody chest pushed into one corner and almost no furniture. Mercer’s unsure if anyone actually lives here, but the footprints through the dust would suggest otherwise.Mercer draws his dagger and sneaks through the house, searching for anything worth taking. Hel has automatically dropped back to give him fighting room, drawing her own dagger in her offhand. Her form is perfect, and Mercer smirks internally. He’ll gladly take all the credit for that.Mercer signals that she should head into another room to search, and she nods, creeping away into another room. Mercer heads upstairs, and finds nothing but dust and empty rooms. There’s a bed with some chairs stacked on top. It’s a bit strange, but it’s not dangerous, so it doesn’t explain why the fine hairs on the back of his neck are standing up.Then there’s a thunk and some shouting from downstairs, and Mercer whirls, sprinting for the stairs. He doesn’t even bother descending them, just leaps from the top and rolls when he hits the bottom, popping up and running for the source of the noise.There’s an open room that wasn’t there before behind a wardrobe that’s on some sort of hinge mechanism. Mercer hesitates in the secret doorway, quickly taking in the bones scattered on the workbench and across the floor, skittering under the feet of the two combatants.Hel is fighting some Nord. She’s got both blades out and a snarl on her face as she parries his dagger and spins under his guard, stabbing up with both blades and impaling him through the sternum.The Nord chokes on his own blood and falls from her blades with a meaty thump to die on the floor. Hel takes two quick steps backwards, panting.Mercer takes a step forward and she flinches, raising her sword again before recognizing him.“Well,” she says, catching her breath. “I found out why this house is so weird. There was a murderer living inside of it.” She indicates the body and the bloody bones, but Mercer only has eyes for her, subtly looking her over for wounds.“Apparently,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice when he decides she’s unharmed.“You think the Jarl will give us a reward for catching this guy?” she asks, cleaning her blades before sheathing them.“You want to ask Ulfric Stormcloak to pay us money for killing one of his citizens?”She winces. “You’re right. We should probably leave before they find us here with the body.”Mercer agrees and they hastily leave the way they came, closing the door tightly behind them. They make their way out of the city just as the sun is rising.Hel stretches and releases all of her tension, rolling out her neck.“You okay?” Mercer asks, just to make sure.“Yeah. Your training really paid off,” she says, smiling over at him. She looks lighter out here, and the sunlight shines off her hair and skin and eyes and turns her to molten gold.Mercer has to look away from her bright figure. “Let’s get going,” he says as gruffly as possible, trying to put some metaphorical distance between them.She doesn’t seem at all put out, walking after him with a little bounce to her steps as they head north towards Winterhold.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It’s bitterly, bitterly cold, and Mercer shivers and tries to inch surreptitiously closer to Hel. She notices, because of course she does, cutting him a smile through the flurries of snow.“We can stop for the day. Find some shelter and light a fire?”Mercer shakes his head and pretends he wasn’t trying to leech some of her natural warmth. “No. We keep going.”She shrugs, seemingly unbothered by the whistling wind. “Suit yourself.”Mercer pulls his hood tighter around his face and frowns at the snow.
They make it into Winterhold just after sunset. Hel had wanted to stop on the road and camp, but Mercer had refused, pushing them on. So now, instead of hunkering down in a bedroll on freezing stone, they are checking into a practically empty inn.There are a number of sour locals drinking at the benches around the room. They watch them mistrustfully before turning back to their ale.Mercer leads them up to the front desk. “Two rooms, and two hot dinners,” he demands, throwing some coin on the counter.The innkeeper sweeps the coin up and indicates a bench. “Take a seat. I’ll have your rooms made up and your food to you shortly.”Mercer nods and leads them over to the bench when Hel gets waylaid by someone calling her name.“Helarys, is that you?”Mercer turns to size up the other person. He’s an Altmer. A pure bred by the looks of him. He’s tall and handsome and wearing mages robes.“Nelacar!” she responds enthusiastically. A friend, then. “How are you?”“I am well,” he answers, tilting his head curiously. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”Hel opens her mouth to answer but Mercer steps in before she can give anything away.“We’re just passing through,” he says, glaring up at the taller male.“We’ll catch up another time,” Hel adds. “Nice seeing you, Nelacar.” She backs away towards an empty table and Mercer follows, throwing a distrustful glance over his shoulder at the Altmer mage.They slide into the benches and Mercer boxes Hel in closer the wall so she’s out of the elf’s sightline.“How do you know him?” Mercer demands, glaring her down.Hel doesn’t seem at all bothered. “I helped him with his research a while back. That’s all.”“I thought you said you couldn’t do magic.” He feels cheated and lied to, and she picks up on it, hastily correcting him.“I didn’t do any magic. He just needed someone to do magic on.”Mercer’s eyes widen. That’s almost worse.“It was fine!” she adds hurriedly. “I wasn’t harmed at all.”“Obviously.” He relaxes, but his good mood is shot. Why didn’t he know this about her? He knows next to nothing about her, definitely not her free time activities or her past because despite how open she is, she’s strangely tight-lipped about personal information. He wishes his tails got something. He wishes that he could be sure of an honest and full answer if he asked her a question.The innkeeper’s wife comes over with the food, and Hel murmurs a quiet ‘thanks’.After the freezing road, the warm stew is delicious, and Mercer wolfs it down as fast as possible.“I’m going to bed,” he grunts out, climbing out of the bench. Hel can fend for herself. If she wants to get magic done on her by some Altmer mage, she’s welcome to it. “Be ready to go extra early. I want to swing by the College in the morning.”“Night Mercer,” she answers.When Mercer checks back over his shoulder, Nelacar is climbing into his vacated seat. He scoffs and goes off to bed. If Hel thinks some mage is better company than her Guildmaster and fellow thief, then she’s welcome to him.
Mercer sleeps poorly. He spends half the night shivering and wishing for Hel’s warmth in the bed beside him and the other half fuming about her secrecy. What did Nelacar call her? Helarys? He tries to push it aside. He’ll ask her about it in the morning if it’s still bothering him. Until then, he’ll try to get some more sleep.
Mercer emerges from his room cold and miserable. He spots Hel and Nelacar, already awake and talking. Hel looks well rested, and Mercer’s mood darkens further.“Hel!” he barks, stalking for the door. He overhears her quick goodbye, her promise to see him again, and she joins him.“Ready?” she asks, bouncing up next to him.“I’ve been ready,” he sneers, staring her down.“What’s got you in such a bad mood?” she asks, taking a step closer. He feels her heat on his face. He wants to lean into it.“Nothing,” he snaps. What is he supposed to say? That he’s jealous of a stranger because he seems to know things about her that Mercer doesn’t? That he slept terribly because she wasn’t there to warm his bed? He can’t share any of that.“Okay,” she accepts easily, even though he knows she doesn’t believe him.Mercer stomps up to the College passage, only to pull up short at an Altmer’s stare.“Move aside,” he says, dropping a hand on his sword pommel and baring his teeth at the College mage.Hel cuts smoothly in front of him. “Faralda,” she says, “will you let us in?”“Of course,” the Altmer, Faralda, answers, stepping aside.Mercer stalks up the bridge, Hel following at his heels.“Do you know all of the mages?” he asks. He knows his frustration at her secrecy is bleeding through into his tone, but she doesn’t seem to take offense. It’s comforting, knowing his prickly personality isn’t going to drive her off anytime soon.“Yes. I told you before, remember?”“You said you spent time around mages. I didn’t think you meant the College of Winterhold mages."She raises an eyebrow at him. “Which mages did you think I meant?”He shrugs and turns back to face front. He doesn’t have to answer her, but he will anyway. Maybe she’ll be more forthcoming with her secrets if he shares his thoughts. “You know…the ones you grew up around.”She’s so quiet, he has to turn back around to see if she’s still there. She is, and she’s frowning in concentration. Or she’s upset. It’s a little hard to tell because she’s so rarely anything but positive.“Remind me to tell you about my childhood,” she finally answers.Mercer wants to know right now, but they’re at the College, and Hel’s attention is caught by the other mages as they give her distracted greetings as they pass on their way to conduct more research, or whatever it is that mages do.Mercer leads them through one of the halls and up to Enthir’s room. The Bosmer is in there, reading.“Enthir,” Mercer says, catching his attention.The Bosmer looks up, raising an eyebrow with that infuriating little smirk he gets, as if being an experienced mage means he’s somehow better than everyone.“Mercer!” he greets, tossing his book aside carelessly and standing with open arms. “What a pleasant surprise. Oh, and you’ve brought a friend. How nice for you.”“Enthir,” Hel snaps at his side. “Play nice.”Enthir’s smirk twists into a frown, “Oh, you’re no fun. Fine, what can I do for you?”Mercer shoulders his pack off and extracts the majority of the loot he picked up in Windhelm. “Make sure this gets back to the Guild. Keep a hundred gold for yourself. If even one coin is missing, I’ll come looking for recompense.”“Ooh, a big word from the little man,” Enthir teases, quickly accepting the loot before Mercer can snatch it back. “I’ll make sure this gets where it needs to go, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”Mercer ignores the jabs and motions for Hel to do the same, and she holds her take out in her hands. Right before Enthir can grab it, she opens her cupped hands like a trapdoor and the gems and coins scatter over the floor with soft, tinkling noises.“Oops,” she says flatly, not sounding sorry at all. “I also know how much I had, and I expect every piece of it to make it to the Thieves Guild.” She holds Enthir’s wide-eyed gaze until he looks down in submission.“Of course,” he says, voice uncharacteristically subdued.Mercer barks a laugh. He’s about to turn and leave Enthir to his treasure hunt, but another thought occurs to him. “Is the Arch Mage around?” he asks.Enthir hesitates, almost too short to notice. “…No. The Arch Mage left a few days ago on some business.”Mercer frowns. He was hoping to network with a powerful ally today. Never mind, he’ll have to come back another day. “Hmph. Fine.” Mercer leaves without saying goodbye, and Hel follows at his heels.
They’re on the road to Dawnstar in search of the cave. Hel is checking a map occasionally to make sure they’re still on the right path, and Mercer decides to take the opportunity and lack of other company to ask her a few questions.“So that Altmer called you Helarys,” he says, asking without asking.Hel knows what he wants anyway, and she folds the map and sticks it back in her pocket. “Helarys is my full name,” she answers, her smile deepening as if sharing a secret, “but I prefer it when you call me Hel.”Mercer looks out over the white landscape so she won’t see him blushing. “And Enthir? Do you think it’s wise to make fun of a mage?”Hel snorts. “He knows I’d kick his ass, mage or not. Besides, he’s been a friend to the Guild forever. He’s not going to do anything to jeopardize that relationship.”Mercer hums. He agrees, he just wanted to know what she was thinking.Hel jerks to a stop. “We’re here.” She points to the cave entrance and Mercer pulls up beside her. The ice cliff they’d been walking beside yawns open into a dark tunnel, and Mercer finds it interesting that there’s no guard at the entrance like there usually are with bandit dens. Then again, the hostile environment would already keep most people from venturing this far.“What’s the plan?” Mercer asks, wanting to hear Hel’s thoughts. She’s the one that conducted the research on this cave.“We go in, we kill the necromancers, and we find the Stone.” She says it with confidence, like it’s going to be easy, and Mercer almost laughs.“Just like that, huh?”“You have a better idea?” she asks, looking to him with bright eyes. Not challenging, just curious.“If you want to alert everyone inside, then we’ll do it that way,” he says nonchalantly.She rolls her eyes. “Fine, we’ll sneak the whole way and take down one necromancer at a time. Happy?”He shrugs. That’s good enough for him.She grins in anticipation. “Oh, one more thing,” she adds right before they descend. “Necromancers are mages, so they prefer ranged attacks. We’ll have to run up on them if they spot us.”“Understood.” He’s more than ready, and he sneaks down into the darkness, Hel close at his heels.
They emerge into a cavern. It stretches above them, with an inaccessible platform to their right and another tunnel to their left. Mercer can make out the distant murmur of voices echoing around the corners and the drip of ice melting beneath the torches.He heads left, down the tunnel, careful not to slip on the slick surface of the packed snow beneath his feet. They turn the corner to find a skeleton, and Mercer indicates that Hel should take it on.She creeps past him, surefooted on the ice, and neatly inserts her blade tip into the skeleton’s spine. It clatters apart instantly, each bone ringing off the icy floor, and Mercer sighs silently. So much for the stealthy approach.There’s a shout from further in, and Mercer straightens from his crouch. Hel whirls her blades with a grin.“You coming?” she asks, watching him.Mercer glares. “You knew this would happen,” he accuses indicating the skeleton, even as the sound of running footsteps approaches.“I knew no such thing,” she denies, neatly sidestepping the necromancer’s ice spike, even when she’s facing the wrong direction.The necromancer, made obvious by the green skull splashed onto the front of their robes, throws another ice spike with a taunt.Hel turns with another dodge then rushes forward, slashing right for the enemy’s neck. They’re too slow, and the necromancer falls without a sound, their blood splashing out of their body to paint the snow.It’s the first time he’s seen her kill someone, and she doesn’t look at all repentant about it. Mercer wonders if has ties with the Dark Brotherhood, or if she does this in her free time. Never mind, he’ll have that conversation with her later.His eyebrows raise as Hel crouches down to rifle through the dead necromancer’s pockets. He would do the same in her position, but he somehow expected her to be more squeamish about it. He’s not sure how to feel since that’s not the case. Grudgingly impressed, he decides.She clucks her tongue when she finds nothing of value and moves further into the cave system, padding on silent, sure feet.Mercer struggles to maintain his balance, but he grits his teeth and watches his feet to make sure he doesn’t slip, cursing silently when it proves futile.Hel notices, because she always seems to notice everything about him, and comes back, pressing lightly on his back and making him bend forward. Mercer can’t feel her hand through all his layers, but he imagines its still warm, like her.“If you walk leaning over your center of gravity, your feet won’t slip as much when you take a step forward.”“I don’t need something taught to me by my own subordinate,” Mercer hisses, more out of pride than anything else.Hel politely ignores his angry posturing and nods in satisfaction when he follows her instruction anyway. “Better. Follow me.”She takes point this time and Mercer follows, moving more smoothly over the icy floor. They come upon a workstation with a desk and a shelf up on a few planks of wood, and Hel immediately pulls a few potions off the shelf, inspects them, and stows them in her pack. Mercer follows suit, opening the chest on the ground and scooping out the gold. They work silently side-by-side, picking it clean, and on an unspoken agreement, move on together.
They work their way through the cave, killing two skeletons and a necromancer in the next room, then a third necromancer that descends an icy ramp from all the commotion. Hel loots their pockets each time, letting out little noises of discovery when she unearths alchemical ingredients. Mercer smiles to himself and vows to tease her about it later.The next tunnel leads them to a bridge, and Hel hesitates at the edge, scanning the surroundings for any necromancers, then stepping out onto the bridge when she doesn’t find any. It sways with their movement, creaking softly, but they make it across without incident and continue on.There’s another necromancer up ahead, and Mercer takes point this time, sneaking up as quietly as possible and slitting their throat from behind so as not to alert anyone else. Hel leaves this one, eyes focused on the room in front of them, just a slice of it visible through the mouth of the narrow tunnel.“Remember,” she whispers, “if there are too many, run up on them. Most mages aren’t good at close combat.”“I got it,” Mercer growls impatiently. “Let’s go.”They sneak up to the cave entrance and are instantly spotted by two necromancers. Mercer charges in immediately and his opponent hastily backpedals, hurling ice spikes. He lets a few of them shatter off his armor, his natural immunity to magic coming into play as he tries to close the gap.A goat runs up and headbutts him in the knee, and Mercer snarls, turning and beheading it with a powerful swing. It turns to dust, and he scoffs in disgust at the necromagic. He pays for his distraction when an ices spike nicks his ear and he turns his attention back to the necromancer, spinning into them and stabbing his sword upwards through their ribcage and into their heart.He finds Hel, and her opponent falls as he watches, a sword slashing their throat open. She turns to him after, checking him over with an obvious scan. Her eyes hold on his ear and she takes a few quick steps forward, but Mercer is already waving her off. His ear has already stopped bleeding, even if it stings from the ice.“How much longer?” Mercer complains.Hel grins. “Sick of me already?”Mercer holds back his derisive scoff since he’s not sure she’d take it well. He’s starting to realize that he enjoys her company, and he can’t imagine being sick of her yet. “Let’s keep going,” he says instead of answering.
They encounter some more skeletons and a handful of necromancers. They’re outnumbered, and whenever they kill one another resurrects them so they never get rid of them. Hel takes a bolt of lightning to her chest, and when they finally put all the necromancers down, her breathing sounds raspy and labored.“Hel,” Mercer says. It’s his turn to take a few quick steps toward her, but she just holds a hand up, forcing a few deep breaths with a heavy wince.
“I’m fine,” she tries to reassure him. It’s not comforting at all, and Mercer would suggest they turn around if he didn’t take giving up as a personal insult. They scour the area, searching for the Stone of Barenziah, and end up unearthing a side passage that leads to a separate room.There’s another necromancer, but it’s two against one, and Mercer and Hel defeat them easily. They spot the Stone at the same time, sharing a bright look, and Hel plucks it from the shelf and presents it to Mercer with a little flourish. He accepts it with a quiet laugh, tucking it away into a pocket.“Ready to go?” Mercer asks. He’s cold, and he’s ready to leave and find a soft bed in an inn somewhere.Hel’s brow furrows. “We can’t just leave some Necromancers out here.”“Why not? Nobody ever comes this way.” It’s not his problem. He doesn’t really care if there are necromancers near Winterhold. The Thieves Guild never really operates in this area anyway.Hel blinks. “…They’re necromancers. They kill people so they can resurrect their corpses. They need to be destroyed.”He’s not an idiot. He knows that necromancers are bad. He just doesn’t think he should be the one to deal with it.“What are you, a Vigilant of Stendarr? We came to find the Stone. We found the Stone. Now we can leave.”Hel frowns and takes a step back, and Mercer grounds himself so he won’t follow. “You can go. I’m staying.”“Fine,” Mercer sighs in defeat. He doesn’t want to stay, but he won’t leave her. Not when she’s his guide out of here and over to Dawnstar (even if he knows he can find his way just fine alone). “We’ll stay and kill all the necromancers.”She smiles, one of her warm ones, and they continue on through the cave system, through a tunnel whose entrance was protected by metal bars, through two necromancers in said tunnel, and finally to the last chamber.The Master Necromancer gives them a hard fight, but Mercer finally delivers the killing blow after Hel distracted them. She took another hit of lightning magic and is slow to get up, and Mercer tries to disguise his worry as impatience, marching over to her and pulling her to her feet.“I’m fine,” she gasps, straightening with a wince.“Obviously,” Mercer says, eyes narrowed in displeasure. “Be more careful next time.”She grins over at him, unrepentant. “It worked, didn’t it?”He rolls his eyes and stomps off to the ornate chest, picking the lock and rifling through the contents for anything good. Hel joins him a moment later, pulling a few enchanted items and stuffing them into her pack. She makes a soft noise as she pulls an old flute out, and she carefully places it in a pocket.“What’s that?” he asks, nodding at the flute.“Something the Bard’s College in Solitude has been searching for. They’ll pay to have it back.”He stares. “Are…are you a bard?”She bursts out laughing at his dumbfounded expression, and Mercer would feel insulted if he wasn’t so relieved. “No, I have absolutely no musical talent to speak of. I just know a few bards.”He wrinkles his nose. In his opinion, bards are noisy, weak beings with inflated egos. He has no idea why someone would want to get to know one.“Let’s get going,” he declares, standing, his pack noticeably heavier. Hel follows.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
They emerge out the back entrance into evening light. Mercer’s ear stings and Hel’s breaths are shallower than normal, but they’re both standing.“Dawnstar or Winterhold?” she asks. It’s a narrow passage pointing toward the sea with the sky open above them, but they can turn either way once the cliffs give way to flat ground.Mercer recalls their time in Windhelm, how Hel clung to him with white-knuckled hands when she thought they were going to split up. The fear in her eyes was unexpected and left a pit in his stomach.“Dawnstar,” he decides. It’s no contest. He won’t make them go back there.She nods and leads the way down the path, her steps sure and even.
They’re pacing across the frozen wastes. Ice extends to their right, snowy cliffs to their left. It’s impossible to see where the water of the ocean starts, and Mercer follows in Hel’s footsteps. She did say she spends a lot of time up here, so he trusts her to keep them out of the water.The sun is sinking behind the horizon and Mercer tightens his grip on his sword. A passage appears in the cliff wall. It’s shrouded in darkness, the sun too low to cast any light into it, and Mercer peers distrustfully down it.Two Saber snow cats rush out of the shadows with a roar, aiming for them. Mercer gets his sword out in time to parry a heavy swipe, and Hel dodges, surefooted over the ice. The saber cats move them in opposite directions, and Mercer finds himself pushed backwards onto the ice.“Mercer!” Hel calls, trying to dodge around her saber cat. It blocks her, growling and swiping at her with its long claws. She mimics it, growling in frustration and swinging her sword, striking it ineffectually in the nose.Mercer slips on the ice and the cat scores a strike to his chest, cutting a few slashes into his skin just next to his sternum.He staggers, gets his sword up to catch the cat’s teeth, and plunges his dagger into its eye. It falls, shaking the ice with its impact. Mercer presses a hand to his bleeding wound and looks over at Hel. She’s still locked in combat, focused entirely on the saber cat, and Mercer takes a step forward to go help when the ice cracks beneath him.He freezes, just as Hel sinks her sword up to its hilt through the top of the saber cat’s skull then pulls it out with a wet squelch. She looks up, eyes wide and frantic, and locks eyes with Mercer. The ice gives way.He plunges into freezing water, and it shocks the breath from his lungs. The salt stings his wounds, and he churns at the water with his arms, trying to get back to the surface. He can feel himself sinking, his tired and freezing muscles refusing to cooperate. He reaches for the light in one last, futile attempt at life. Then the light gets blotted out by something else plunging into the water after him.He's yanked out of the water and dragged onto solid ground, and the cold air shocks him all over again. He gasps and coughs up seawater, already shivering as the air cuts through his wet layers to needle at his skin.Hel’s hair is plastered to her skull and her cheeks are extra flushed, but she’s clutching Mercer as if her life depends on it, not his. He can feel her natural heat soaking through the wet layers between them, and he burrows toward it, shoving his face into her neck.“Mercer, get up,” Hel urges, shoving at his shoulders. He can’t feel his fingers, but he tries to cling to her anyway. “Mercer!” she snaps, shoving at him again. “We need to get dry and warm or we’ll die. Get up!”He can’t think straight, but he tries to follow her instructions, pushing himself to his feet. He stumbles but Hel catches him and hooks a hand through his bandolier, tugging him along behind her. Mercer is shivering so hard that he can hardly walk, and he can’t really pay close attention to where they’re going. He only looks up when he sees light in the distance.“Where…?” he asks, coughing roughly.“Dawnstar,” she answers. She doesn’t seem at all cold, and Mercer crowds closer to her back to try and leech some of her warmth.They burst into the Windpeak inn. It’s just after dark so it’s filled with miners, but Hel cuts through the crowd like an arrow and goes straight up to the innkeeper.“One bed please,” she demands, tossing a few coins on the counter.The innkeeper scoops up the money and peers at Mercer. “He’s a little blue. Did he fall through the ice?”He tries to bare his teeth, but his shivering prevents it. Inside, next to a roaring hearth, he should be warm, but his shaking has doubled since he’s finally warming back up.“Yes,” Hel grits out. “The room?”“Right, this way,” he says, quickly leading them to a room with a double bed. The room’s hearth is cold, but there’s wood stacked and some flint if they want to light a fire. “Let me know if you need anyth—”“Thank you,” Hel says, closing the door in his face. She ignores the fire for now and works at Mercer’s frozen buckles. She strips him of his pack, his armor, and starts on his sodden clothes. She freezes when she exposes his chest, staring at the slowly oozing claw marks below one of his pectoral muscles.“We’ll get you warm first,” she decides. “Then I’ll take care of that.” She continues pulling his clothes off, and Mercer bats her hands away with still-numb fingers when she gets to his pants. She normally laughs or smiles when he rebuffs her friendliness, but she’s silent, her face still, as if carved from stone.“Finish and get in the bed,” she orders, turning her back on him and going to light the fire.Mercer pauses with his hands on his waistband, his brow furrowed. He’s still shaking, and the sooner he gets in the bed the sooner he’ll warm up fully, but he can’t stop watching Hel. Is she mad at him for falling through the ice? That would be stupid, right? Whatever. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, stripping off the last of his layers and wrapping himself in one of the furs on the bed. It’s from a saber snow cat, and he feels a perverse sense of satisfaction.When he looks back at Hel, the fire is roaring and she’s pulling her own armor off, laying it and Mercer’s next to the flames so they dry out. His eyes track down her muscular back, her smooth golden skin unbroken by scars, and another mystery fractures to life inside of his head.Why doesn't she have any scars? All of his thieves have them, even Mercer. The only way wounds close without leaving scars is with a master in alchemical medicine or magic. Speaking of…he glances down at the claw marks in his chest. They’re starting to bleed steadily now that his blood is warming back up. They’re too deep to close on their own, and they’ll need a potion or magic or, barring both, sutures.A floorboard creaks across the room, and Mercer’s head snaps up to find Hel approaching, clad in only her smallclothes, unbroken golden skin on display.He can’t look away, even though he knows he should, tracing up her shapely legs, her taut stomach, her muscular arms, the lightning burns on her chest. His eyes catch on her face, devoid of any emotion, her lips downturned, her eyes shadowed.He averts his gaze then and hunches his shoulders, grimacing as it pulls at his chest. He’s rewarded by a fresh wave of blood, and he sways as his head starts to float.“Mercer!” Hel’s voice cuts through the fog and he shakes his head, trying to regain his senses. His shivering has slowed to a tremble, but he can’t seem to warm up by himself.Hel climbs onto the bed and sits across from him, brandishing healing supplies. She wipes up the blood that’s spilled down his stomach, but he watches her face, her brows furrowed in concentration.“Drink this,” she demands thrusting a healing potion into his hand. He takes it, swallowing it quickly while she smears some salve on his wound before wrapping a bandage around his torso. The healing potion spreads warmth from his stomach, coalescing in his wound and refreshing his blood supply. Her arms encircle him, her face coming next to his as she wraps the bandage around his back.Mercer watches her, the concentration in her golden eyes, the harsh lines of her face. She’s never looked more like an Altmer, and he doesn’t know how to bring her usual smile back.“Are you mad at me?” he asks. She seems mad. He’s not sure why he cares. He kind of makes it his job to piss off his subordinates. He’s not supposed to be their friend.She doesn’t look at him, tying off the end of the bandage and resting a careful hand over his wound.“I’m not mad at you, Mercer,” she sighs, smoothing her warm hand down his stomach briefly before letting it drop off. “I was worried about you.”He blinks. It doesn’t make any sense. No one is ever worried about him. He’s the Guildmaster. The leader of the Thieves Guild. The best swordsman in their organization. A recalcitrant bastard that pushes everyone away by pretending he doesn’t need anyone. “You were worried?”She looks at the ceiling, exposing a length of her golden neck. Mercer gets the sudden urge to lick it, and he tries not to react to the startling thought.“It’s all because I dragged you on this silly quest that I could have taken care of myself. You almost drowned, then froze to death, then bled out because of my frivolous need to spend time with you.”He freezes. There’s a lot to unpack there, but the most emotionally charged part is at the end. How she wants to spend time with him. Him. The prickly, intimidating Guildmaster. He decides not to touch that part.“I didn’t die. I’m fine.”She gives a pointed look to his bandaged torso, and he looks away with a scowl.“What about you?” he counters, pointing to the lightning burn on her chest.She looks down as if noticing it for the first time, then hastily swipes over it with the healing ointment. “There. Good as new.” Her golden eyes flick back up to meet his green, and he’s helpless to avoid it.He feels as if he’s caught in a sinkhole, falling into the depths of her eyes, and his breath catches in his throat. They gravitate towards each other, and their faces are just a breath apart when Hel breaks eye contact.She looks as frustrated as Mercer feels before he remembers Brynjolf patiently waiting for her return after giving his jovial permission for her and Mercer to go on such a long journey together. He can’t do anything to mess this up. Besides, he doesn’t like her like that. They’ve just been through an ordeal together. It’s only natural that he’d be feeling something.Then Mercer shivers, and she releases her frustration with a sigh.“Come on. Body heat is the best thing for almost freezing to death.” She holds her arms out, and Mercer takes one look at her welcoming posture, all that golden skin, and balks.“I’m fine,” he says, pulling the fur back over his shoulders.She smirks and hauls him in anyway, and he immediately trembles at the warmth coming off her skin as they lay down together.“How are you so warm all the time?” he growls, shoving his cold toes between her calves and pressing his nose into her neck. His hands wrap around her sides, his calluses scraping over her smooth skin, and he quietly apologizes when she sucks in a quick breath.She presses their fronts together and Mercer shivers again at the sheer heat now radiating into him and the feeling of her bare skin against his own.“My father said it had to do with my fiery temper, but I always run hot. Besides, I’m used to this environment,” she answers, shrugging. It creates a delicious drag of skin on skin, and Mercer has to grit his teeth so he won’t let out an undignified sound.He searches for a distraction. She mentioned her father. “You promised this morning you’d tell me about your childhood.”She hums, and he feels the vibrations through his rib cage. “I did, didn’t I?” She’s silent for a long time, and Mercer is on the verge of letting her out of it to keep the peace when she finally speaks.“I was born on the Summerset Isle. My mother was an innkeeper’s daughter, and my father was a rich merchant.” He can feel her twisted smile against his hair. “They spent a night together. It was enough.” She pauses, and Mercer strokes a hand down her side in a clumsy attempt to soothe her. It comes naturally, and he decides not to wonder at it. She melts against him and continues.“My mother did her best, but as I aged, it became apparent that I wasn’t a full-blooded Altmer.”“You don’t really look like a half-breed though,” Mercer murmurs, hesitant to disrupt her story. Hel chuckles quietly, and Mercer breathes a silent sigh of relief.“It’s hard for humans to see, but to Altmer, I was never one of them. I was too short, my ears weren’t pointed enough, my eyes weren’t quite slanted the way they were supposed to be.” She presses her face more deeply into his hair. “My mother was convinced to give me up when I was nine years old.”He wraps an arm more tightly around her. He knows what it’s like to be disliked by a parent, and it’s not something that ever goes away.“I was sent to live with my father in Cyrodil, but he didn’t want anything to do with his mixed-race, bastard child, especially since he had his own pure-blooded Imperial family. So he sent me off to boarding school until I was old enough to live on my own. Then I came to Skyrim, and I’ve been here ever since.”“…My father was a piece of mammoth dung too,” he confesses into the soft skin of her throat. “He only had time to berate me for any mistakes I made. I left as soon as I could and joined up with Gallus.”“What was Gallus like?” she asks. “I’ve heard his name before, and I know that he was the Guildmaster before you.”He hesitates. How to describe Gallus? “Gallus was…big. In everything he did. He was clever, and intelligent, and a good planner. But he was also spontaneous and generous. He built the Thieves Guild across Skyrim and turned it into a real family, one that looked after each other. He was my best friend. Then he died.”“I’m sorry,” she whispers.Mercer shrugs. “It was a long time ago.”“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt.”He’s done talking about himself. “What about you?” he asks. “Have you ever lost anyone close to you?”“No. I’ve been lucky.” Her hand strokes up his back to rest against his hair. “For the record, I think the current Guild is also a family. We’ve just fallen on hard times recently, and we don’t have the resources to help each other the way we want to.”“We’re getting there,” Mercer murmurs. “You’re helping.” He can feel himself slipping off into sleep, and he tightens his grip so she won’t slip away during the night. Just before he falls asleep, he can feel Hel clinging back.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The trip back to Riften is mostly uneventful. They stop in Whiterun and Falkreath, doing a bit of thieving in each city. They sleep in the same bed each night, and they never talk about it. Mercer tries to explain it away in his own head. He’s been telling himself that it’s cheaper, or that it’s harder for enemies to sneak up and attack them. Really, it’s because he enjoys the warmth and the companionship.It's been so long since he’s gotten to sleep next to another person he trusts, and he feels more rested than he has in an age. He doesn’t know how this new dynamic will translate once they’re back in Guild headquarters, but he’s sure it’ll break Brynojlf’s heart if they continue.Hel stops him just before they descend into the Cistern. “Thank you for coming with me Mercer,” she says, wrapping her warm fingers around his arm like a claim. “I had a lot of fun.”He looks away, blushing. “Me too.”She gives him one last, bright smile before descending the steps.
Mercer watches her cross the Cistern as she rushes into Brynjolf’s open arms, and it feels like he’s been thrown back into the north sea. The reality hits him then, that there will be no more nights spent in the same bed, no more light conversations on the road, no more warm touches or looks or fighting side by side.He’s alone again, and he trudges over to his desk, his good mood dissipating. It sours further when he sees a letter sitting on it, stamped with a familiar seal. A briar.
Maven is especially cruel that night. She makes him get on his knees and beg for forgiveness for being gone so long. It’s not that she needed anything from him during that time, it’s just that she likes to lord her power over him.Soon, he thinks to himself. The Thieves Guild is digging themselves out of their hole, and soon they won’t need her. They will need a few more powerful allies first, and Mercer regrets that the Arch Mage wasn’t at the College when he visited. Having the most powerful mage in all of Skyrim as an ally would allow them to get out from under Maven’s thumb.She lashes him for his distraction, and he grits his teeth and refocuses. It wouldn’t do to give his plot away just yet.
Mercer scrubs the evening away in the lake. The claw marks from the snowy saber cat have closed without scarring, and it’s a marked contrast to the new lash marks that now decorate his back. He stalks back to the Flagon, hoping for a stiff drink and a bit of warm company, but Hel is already a lump under her covers.Instead Brynjolf joins him. His good mood is usually infectious, and Mercer can already feel himself relaxing in the presence of his only friend.“How was your journey with our best and brightest?” Brynjolf asks, smiling good-naturedly.Mercer looks down into his ale and shrugs. “Uneventful,” he says.“That’s not what I heard,” Brynjolf teases, eyes twinkling. He can’t know that Mercer and Hel spent almost every night together in the same bed, or he wouldn’t be so jovial.“What did you hear?” There’s no way Mercer will give away almost drowning if she hadn’t already told him.“Hel said that you found two Stones and a murderer. And that she had a good time.”“Oh.”“How did it go for you?” Brynjolf asks, leaning back in his chair and swigging his own drink.“It was…good.” It was. He enjoyed himself. He misses the road already. The fresh air, the easy companionship, only worrying about surviving. He’s only been back a day and the paperwork that piled up is already doing his head in.“Would you do it again if she asked?”In a heartbeat. “I guess,” he answers out loud.Brynjolf nods. He’s got a thoughtful look on his face, and Mercer narrows his eyes.“What?” he growls.Brynjolf shakes his head with a smile. “Nothing. It’s just good to see you happy.”Mercer clenches his hand around his flagon. “I am happy.” It feels like admitting a secret he just realized. He is happy.
Hel is gone the next morning without saying goodbye to him.Mercer finds out because Brynjolf is moping, and he checks with Delvin and Vex to make sure she picked up a few jobs before she left. They only just got back from a long journey, and he doesn’t want her to run away again before she’s fully rested.“She took off like her tail was on fire,” Vex says.“It could have something to do with the magical disturbances popping up all over the place,” Delvin adds as he wanders up to their conversation. He’s got ears everywhere, and if Mercer wants to know what’s happening in Skyrim, all he has to do is ask and Delvin will give him more information than he really needs.Mercer tilts his head. “Why should that matter?” he asks. “She’s not a mage.”Delvin answers. “Yeah, but she’s friends with all the college mages. Maybe one of them got injured.”Mercer frowns. Fine. He’ll wait for her to return.
She blows in one day, just as Mercer was about to tear his hair out and send someone out to find her. She tries to blow past him, but Mercer catches her arm and she skids to a stop, almost stumbling into him.“Where were you?” he demands, his fingers slipping down her sleeve to land on her wrist. Her skin is warm and smooth, and her pulse is slow and steady.“I had stuff to take care of,” she answers, evading a real answer just like she always does.Mercer stares her down, but she is no more forthcoming, and he releases her with reluctance. “One day, I’ll find out what you’re up to.”“One day, I’ll tell you.” She holds his gaze, and the air suddenly feels thick, the tension coalescing until Mercer could cut it with his dagger. Then she’s running off, and he’s left alone again.
Mercer keeps an eye on her the whole time she’s in the Guild headquarters, which isn’t very long. She grabs a bite from Vekel, has a short conversation with Brynjolf, talks to Delvin and Vex, then preps to leave. She doesn’t sleep at all, and she looks tired.She swings by the Guildmaster’s desk before she goes, her golden skin looking a little sallow. “I’m heading out again,” she says.Mercer scans her. She’s got dark bags under her eyes and she’s holding a few stress lines around her mouth.“You look terrible.” It’s true. He’s never seen her so tired.Luckily, the insulting observation summons a laugh from her. She smiles, making her look more like her usual self.“I’ve been busy.”“How long will you be gone this time?” Mercer asks. He should just resign himself to having her part-time, like a lot of his thieves. They only duck in when they need money. This certainly isn’t their life or career like it is for some of them.She stares him down, her smile vanishing. “A while,” she admits.“And how long is a while?”She just looks at him and Mercer braces himself for her answer. “I don’t know, but I promise I’ll come back as soon as I can.” She looks plaintive, like she’s asking him for something important, but she hasn’t actually asked a question.“What do you want from me?” he snaps. He’s not a mind reader. “If you’re leaving, then just go.”She sighs, turning away, and it feels like he’s failed a test he didn’t know was happening.“Stay safe while I’m gone,” she says in parting. Mercer watches her go, and his last words leave a bitter taste in his mouth.
Hel is gone for weeks. He tries to keep himself busy. It’s easy, as there’s always a lot for the Guildmaster to do. He meets with Maven, sends his thieves out on jobs, polishes his sword skills in the training room, but mostly he plans. He needs to get the Guild out from under Maven’s thumb, and to do that, he needs to gain allies that will support him against her limitless wealth and resources.The Dark Brotherhood would be a good start since Delvin already has ties with them. The Companions are out for obvious reasons. Too honorable, for one. They’ve also got a weird secret going on that Mercer wants to know, but doesn’t really want to get in the middle of.The mages at the College of Winterhold are the biggest prize. He already know they’re alright with illegal proceedings. If not explicitly, then implicitly in the way that Enthir hasn’t gotten cut off yet. He’s not very subtle, and the Arch Mage either has to be blind or in on it to allow him to still operate.Otherwise, they need to increase their own coffers and recruit more talent. He has Brynjolf on the latter task, and everyone else is taking care of the former, Hel included. When she’s here.Mercer frowns and tries to put her out of his mind. She’s loyal, but she’s shown that she has other priorities, and Mercer knows he shouldn’t trust her. Still…he does. He misses her. He wants her to come back so he can thrash her in dual wielding again, or go on a second journey to get another of Barenziah’s stones. They still have those possible spots to check across Skyrim that they marked down and twenty more stones to go.He sweeps the papers off his desk in a fit of pique and storms from the Cistern.“Where are you going?” Brynjolf asks, reaching to place a restraining hand on his chest.Mercer shoves it away. “Out.” He’s going to the College of Winterhold to talk to the Arch Mage. Maybe he’ll even find Hel there, since she spends so much time among mages.
Mercer arrives at the college and cranes his neck, hoping to spot Hel amongst the wandering mages. They’re always walking with a purpose and muttering to themselves, and it seems so busy and studious compared to the mostly relaxed atmosphere of the Thieves Guild.He spots a gaggle of students laughing on a nearby bench and he grits his teeth and faces front. The College of Winterhold looks like it’s prospering, and he steels himself. He wants that for his Guild, which is why he’s here, looking for the Arch Mage.He stalks through the college until he finds Enthir reading in the library.“Enthir,” he says, catching the Bosmer’s attention.He looks up with sharp eyes and a smirk crawls across his face. He’s been working with the Thieves Guild for years, but he never liked Mercer, although he has a soft spot for Vex.“Guildmaster,” he says, voice oozing fake politesse, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”“I’m here to see the Arch Mage.” Maybe if he gets straight to the point, it will move this conversation along.“The Arch Mage is very busy,” Enthir says, his smirk deepening as he gets to deny Mercer something he wants.“I’m sure. Where are they?” He came all the way here, and he needs to get this done.Enthir opens his mouth, no doubt to say something else infuriating, when the doors to the library clang shut.“Urag!” a voice shouts. “Do you have any books on—” The Arch Mage sways to a stop as they spot Mercer. “Never mind.”They cut an intimidating figure. They’re tall. Taller than Mercer, anyway. Not that it’s hard, seeing as he’s a Breton. Their robe makes them still bigger, broadening their shoulders and draping over their torso in such a way that makes it difficult to determine if they’re male or female.Their mask doesn’t help either. It’s solid, dark metal with the faint glow of an enchantment around the edges. The only openings are a few slits for eyes and a mouth, which hides their eyes behind shadows and turns their voice to a metallic drone devoid of tone or inflection.They stare down at Mercer now, their mask unreadable, their posture giving nothing away.“Arch Mage,” Mercer greets, inclining his head respectfully.They stay silent, and Mercer shifts uncomfortably under their gaze. He’s heard tales that the current Arch Mage has a talent for fireballs and a whimsy for the unexpected. He has no idea how they’ll react to his proposal of an alliance.“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” he asks, casting a look at Enthir, who smiles politely.“Yes—” the Arch Mage says, only to be interrupted by a faint rumbling.Enthir has shot to his feet, and he exchanges a panicked look with the Arch Mage before they’re both sprinting for the stairs.The Arch Mage is fast, and Mercer tears after them, trying not to trip down the stairs as they burst out into the courtyard. It’s chaos.The giggling students from earlier are screaming, hiding behind a more experienced mage who’s wielding a ward against dragon fire.The Arch Mage doesn’t hesitate, blasting their own fire at the dragon and catching it full in the side of the head in a powerful explosion.“Everyone inside!” The Arch Mage orders, striding into the middle of the courtyard as the dragon wheels around with an angry roar. The students are quick to comply, fleeing into the relative safety of the main hall, followed by most of the staff.Mercer ducks behind a pillar on the walkway outside, peeking around and watching as the dragon comes to a hovering stop above the center of the courtyard to aim their fire down on the Arch Mage.They hold up a casual hand, summoning a ward until the stream of fire has ended. Their other hand comes up, faster than he expected, and lets loose their own stream of fire, ten times as powerful as the dragon’s. It falls from the air, trumpeting in distress. Its tail lashes out, whipping into the pillar where Mercer is hiding and forcing him to dive from cover.It finds an easier target than the powerful mage, zeroing in on Mercer with its green, reptilian eyes and opening its needle-toothed maw.Mercer only has time to hold up a hand.The expected bite never comes, and Mercer opens his eyes to find the Arch Mage standing in front of him, a wall of fire between them and the dragon.“Are you alright?” they ask over their shoulder, firing a casual stream of lightning through the wall of flames. The dragon roars, and Mercer climbs to his feet.“I’m fine,” he says, crouching behind the Arch Mage.They nod and turn back to face the dragon, their hands creating a large fireball. They release it just as the wall of fire dies down, and it explodes so powerfully, Mercer falls over from the shock of it. The ground shakes as the dragon dies with a final roar, and Mercer tries to stand once the shockwaves vanish.The adrenaline starts to wear off, and his legs begin to shake as the full reality of his situation hits him. The Arch Mage just killed a dragon. Singlehandedly. He takes a deep breath and tries to recover himself as the Arch Mage calls the all clear and instructs the rest of their people to clean up the carcass.They set to harvesting ingredients with special, curved blades, and the Arch Mage nods in satisfaction before turning to him.“Are you hurt?” they ask, the mask panning as they visually scan him.“No,” he answers, hiding his fear and forcing himself to take a step forward. They just killed a dragon. A dragon! “Do you have time for that talk now?” He feels like he’s overstepping, but he’s going to fight for his Guild, even if it means the most powerful mage he’s ever seen is displeased.They chuckle, and it immediately puts him at ease, even with the metallic ring to it.“Yes,” they answer, turning and sweeping an arm back toward the main hall. “Shall we?”
They sit down across from each other in what he assumes is their office. The desk is old and solid, it’s dark wood surface polished from many years of use. It’s covered in interesting baubles, and Mercer’s fingers itch to pocket one, but he refrains. He’s here to make an ally, not profit.“So,” the Arch Mage starts, steepling their gloved fingers in front of them, “what did you want to discuss?”Mercer decides to cut straight to it. He had enough of schmoozing during his youth as a high born Breton, and he’s always been a blunt person.“I’d like you to be an ally to the Thieves Guild.”If they’re surprised, they don’t show it. “And why should my College ally with a bunch of thieves?”Mercer grits his teeth. He anticipated this question, but he doesn’t have much to give, and meeting the Arch Mage has given him the impression that they are not a person who wants for much.“We can provide you with goods—”“Stolen goods, you mean,” they interrupt. Their voice is hard, as unyielding as the metal of their impassive mask.“You can’t have that big of a problem with them if you continue to allow a fence to operate within your College.”“I am aware of Enthir’s activities, and while I allow them, I cannot condone them. It keeps my mages happily supplied, but I have no wish to expand upon illegal trade on my grounds.”“Then what do you want?” Mercer asks, exasperated. He’s usually much better at manipulating people, but the Arch Mage is shrewder than he was led to believe by their predecessor, who was much more of a distracted scholar than anything else.“Tell me what you want first, and I will propose a fair trade.”He stifles a frustrated sigh. He’s not going to come out on the winning end of this, is he?“We need a strong ally for protection.” He’ll need the mages to protect his Guild from Maven’s wrath when he eventually betrays her.“Do you not already have this in the Black-Briars?”He stays silent and allows them to draw their own conclusions.“I see. You are planning on betraying them.” They watch him for a silent minute. “And why would I wish to ally myself to a backstabber? Can you assure me that you would not betray me as well?”“If our alliance is mutually beneficial, then I would have no need to betray you.”It’s impossible to see, but by the set of the Arch Mage’s shoulders he thinks they’re smiling.“Fine then. You desire protection for yourself and your members. What else?”He shrugs. “Whatever you’re willing to give us.”The Arch Mage’s head tilts. “You’re desperate.”He can’t deny it, but he doesn’t appreciate being called out. He chooses to remain silent again, and the Arch Mage sighs and leans back in their chair.“You will not steal from us,” they say, starting on their list of demands.Mercer nods. That’s a given.“You’ll help us sell our goods.”“Explain,” he demands, leaning forward onto his elbows.“I’m sure you’ve noticed that the citizens of Skyrim aren’t particularly fond of magic or those who wield it.”He snorts. That’s an understatement.The Arch Mage tilts their head in another invisible smile. “They aren’t exactly keen to buy the enchanted items we make. The Thieves Guild will introduce us to potential buyers so we can make some revenue.”“You’re after profit?” Mercer clarifies. It’s not what he expected, but he can work with that.The Arch Mage laughs, and it rings through the mask like a dull bell. It puts Mercer more at ease, and he relaxes slightly.“Research funding, teacher pay, and accommodations. We are proud to offer free tuition and board, which means we need to make our money somewhere. Selling our research findings is how we make our gold, although there are precious few buyers for our goods.”That makes a lot more sense. “I’ll see what I can do,” he agrees. “Anything else?”“Soul gems.”“Soul gems?”“As many as you can find.”“So you’re against stolen goods, but you’re fine with stolen goods if they’re soul gems?” Mercer clarifies, sneering.The Arch Mage shrugs. “We all have our vices. In return, we’ll protect your Guild members and provide you with free healing services.”“We want free enchanting services as well.”“Discounted by ten percent.”“Fifty.”“Twenty, and basic potions are free if we have excess ingredients.”Mercer thinks about it. “Deal.”They shake hands and stand.“One moment,” the Arch Mage says, retreating behind a screen. They reemerge holding something small, which they proffer to him with both hands. “A token, of a deal well-struck.”He takes it slowly, opening the familiar golden box to reveal an even more familiar gem.“Where did you get this?” he asks, tilting it so it shines in the light.“My predecessor had it, and I have no need of it. Besides, Helarys has mentioned how you’ve been collecting stones that look like these.”His head snaps up. “Hel was here? How long ago? Is she alright?”The Arch Mage laughs again. “Peace, Guildmaster. She was unharmed the last time she stopped by here.”He lets out a relieved breath, internally cursing himself for giving away his slight obsession.“Thank you,” he says, lifting the Stone before tucking it away in a pocket. “I’ll let you know when your protection is needed.”The Arch Mage just nods and watches as he leaves the room, their mask still in place.Mercer faces forward. He’s secured the most important alliance for his future plans, and it seems to be mutually beneficial. He wonders if he would be friends with the Arch Mage in another life, or if the alliance continues to bring them into each other’s orbit. He just felt so comfortable with them, despite their intimidation factor, especially after killing a dragon like it was nothing. He’s glad they’re on his side.He heads for home, halfway hoping he’ll run into Hel on the way. He can’t wait to show her the Stone of Barenziah.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Hel isn’t there when he returns, but she gets back a few days later, barreling into the Cistern and rushing up to his desk, not even pausing to say hi to anyone. Mercer supposes she’d greet Brynjolf if he were here, but he’s currently out on a job, so he gets the full brunt of her seemingly boundless enthusiasm. Not that he’s complaining.“Mercer!” she greets, practically sprinting around the desk to tackle him in a hug. He freezes, not because he doesn’t enjoy it, but because it takes him completely by surprise. Since when do his thieves hug him? Luckily, it’s over in a moment, but Mercer is still left reeling from the sudden contact then subsequent loss of heat. Seriously, is she made of sunlight?“Guess what I found,” she grins, hand already inching to her pocket.“What?” he answers, trying to recover himself. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t gotten much sleep. That one excursion up to Hob’s Fall cave with Hel was the best sleep he’s had in years, and without her warmth beside him, he hasn’t been able to achieve the same level of rest. He wants to drag her to his bed right now and bury himself in her warmth, but he can’t. Not in the middle of the Cistern, and not when she’s dating Brynjolf.“Stones of Barenziah. Two of them!” Her enthusiasm is infectious, and Mercer finds himself smiling back as he takes and examines the stones. “One was in a bandit sanctuary near Falkreath. Pinewatch, I think it was called. The other I found in the catacombs in Whiterun,” she explains.He pauses. “What were you doing in those places?”“Well, bandits have loot, so I thought I’d rob them while I was in the area on business. As for Whiterun, the Priest of Arkay thought he heard some skeletons wandering around, so he hired me to dive in and take care of them.”Mercer blinks. “The Companions are literally right there. Why did he hire you?”“I gave him a discount, and I wanted to practice my sword skills.” She shrugs. “He said he usually waits for the Dragonborn to come back through Whiterun, but I hear he’s been spending a lot of time in the Reach recently.”All of Skyrim likes to keep track of the Dragonborn. It was surprising that the Nord hero of legend turned out to be an Argonian, but from what Mercer gathers, he looks almost like a dragon himself. Golden and covered in spines, he’s hard to miss, and he seems to be everywhere at once, solving all of Skyrim’s problems. Especially the dragon problem.He hums, then reaches for his own pocket, extracting the Stone he got from the Arch Mage. “Here,” he says, laying it on the table between them. “I got one too.”Her golden eyes widen as she stares down at it. “Wow. Where’d you get that one?”“The Arch Mage gave it to me personally,” he brags, accepting it back.“You met the Arch Mage? What did you think?” she asks.What did he think? He was intimidated. The Arch Mage could probably kill him with one flex of their little finger, but he can’t tell Hel that. “They killed a dragon singlehandedly, but they were nicer than I expected. Hard to read though. They wore a mask the whole time.”Hel nods. “The Arch Mage collects the masks from Dragon Priests. They’re laced with powerful enchantments.”Mercer hums, filing that information away, and Hel taps the desk gently.“I actually have a favor to ask,” she says.Mercer narrows his eyes. Figures she’d only want him for a favor. “What?”“I was hoping we could have another training session,” Hel says, looking up at him with her slanted golden eyes.Mercer forces himself to look away and put on an unaffected air. “I guess,” he sniffs, then looks at her from the corner of his eye. “But I’m not going easy on you.”She grins back at the challenge. “Oh, I know.”
They clash training swords for hours, neither one giving any ground. Mercer can tell she’s been practicing since last time, and she’s lost none of her speed.He can feel himself flagging, those nights of restless sleep catching up to him, and she senses it, pressing her advantage until she’s got him backed into a corner.Mercer sneers. He’s the premier sword fighter in the Guild, and even tired, he can take on a less experienced fighter. He lashes out then ducks through the opening he created, tripping her as he goes so she staggers and almost falls, saving herself with some quick backpedaling. He presses forward and catches her ankle, and she tumbles to the floor, landing flat on her back with his blunted sword leveled at her neck.He bares his teeth in victory. “Yield,” he demands, glaring imperiously down at her.She grins sharply then twists, catching his legs with her own and pulling him to the ground. They grapple with each other, swords cast aside, until Mercer comes out on top again, straddling her hips and pinning her wrists to the floor.They’re both panting, their faces inches apart, and Mercer revels on the heat radiating off her skin, burning into his palms and between his thighs. He releases her wrists and sits back, resting his full weight on top of her.“What should I do now?” Mercer asks, tapping his chin in mock contemplation.Hel stifles a grin and rests her hands on his waist, not seeming at all bothered by his weight pressing down on her pelvis. All at once she plants her feet and lifts, unseating him with a powerful thrust of her hips. She supports him to the floor so he doesn’t fall on his head and rolls on top of him, aligning their entire bodies and pressing down with all of her warm weight.She starts to laugh, and he feels the vibrations through his ribs and stomach, and he can’t help but join her as she buries her face in his neck. When her laughter trails off she props herself up, smiling down at him, sweat glistening on her face. They’re still pressed together from shoulders to ankles, and Mercer brings his hands up to grab her sides and keep her there.“What now?” he asks, his fingers flexing on her sides.She sighs and rolls off of him, and Mercer lets her go, his hands slipping off her to thunk pathetically onto the ground.She stands over him, reaching down toward him. Mercer takes his hand and allows her to pull him to his feet.“Now?” she says. “I want a bath, then a drink, then a good night’s sleep, in that order.” She squeezes his hand before releasing him. “Join me?”His mind stutters. “In the bath?”“For a drink,” she laughs. “Meet you in the Flagon?”“Okay.”
They’re sitting across from one another at one of the small tables, both of their hair still damp from their respective baths. They’re laughing over one of Hel’s stories from boarding school, and Mercer reciprocates with a tale from his wayward youth before he met Gallus.Her eyes glow in the torchlight, and Mercer relaxes as the ale and the company warm his belly.Hel reaches across the table, curling a lock of his hair around her finger.“You’ve got beautiful hair,” she says, letting the lock run through her hand and land back with the rest of his hair.He snorts. “Yeah, right.” It’s not terrible, but it’s graying and has a tendency to frizz up on rainy days.“I’m serious,” she says, stroking her fingers down another lock. “It’s so thick and soft, and it always smells nice, even after a week on the road.”Mercer blushes and looks away, and her hand strokes down to his cheek, rasping against his stubble. He closes his eyes and leans into her warm palm, sighing. His head feels kind of floaty, and the scent of her skin is making him feel safe. He probably had too much to drink.“I think it’s time for bed,” she says, pulling her hand away and standing.Mercer sighs again and stands as well, swaying unsteadily. He definitely had more to drink than he realized, and Hel swings his arm over her shoulders and leads him off to his bed.He buries his face in her hair. She’s the one with beautiful hair. It’s all soft and golden and good smelling. Like silk, or gossamer.“Thank you,” she says, laughing softly. He realizes he may have said that out loud, but he doesn’t care.She drops him into his bed, and he catches her hand before she can leave.“Stay,” he orders. She hesitates, and he realizes what he’s doing, so he jerks his hand away. “Sorry. You can go.”Instead of leaving, she kicks her shoes off and climbs in beside him, pulling the covers over both of their heads so they’re nestled in a dark cocoon. The heat radiating off of her makes him shake with how nice it feels, and she pulls him in until they’re pressed against each other.Her halting voice breaks the silence. “I’ve been thinking about this since that trip we took to Winterhold.”“Me too,” he confesses. “I haven’t been able to sleep. My bed is too cold without you.”He can feel her wrap a leg around his in response, pulling him in even closer. He goes willingly, fisting his hands in the back of her shirt and burying his face in her shoulder. He can’t bear to look at her, or allow her to see the naked longing in his eyes. He wants to keep her here forever.“I miss you when I’m away,” she says, her lips pressed against his hair, near his ear.“I worry when you’re gone,” he returns. His minute trembling doubles. It’s a declaration that he cares about her. It’s the first one he’s made since Gallus died, and he braces himself for a rebuff, for her to laugh at his feelings.She does laugh, but it’s a warm, soft thing. “You don’t have to worry about me,” she says. “I’m never safer than when I’m alone.”It doesn’t make any sense, but his mind is foggy with ale and the promise of a good night’s rest, so he doesn’t think on it too long as he drifts off to sleep.
He wakes up alone in the morning. The side of the bed she was on is still slightly warm, so he knows she didn’t abandon him in the middle of the night. The previous night’s events are filtering back to him, and he buries his burning face in his pillow. It smells like Hel, like torch smoke and snow and leather, with a faint hit of mountain flowers.How embarrassing! He basically coerced her into his bed, then practically vomited his feelings onto her. He’s surprised she didn’t run away. She…she actually reciprocated. What does this mean? Isn’t she with Brynjolf? Rather than try to untangle his conflicting feelings of guilt and budding joy, he decides to get to work.
He’s poring over reports at his desk when Delvin wanders up to him.“Hey boss,” he says, leaning a casual elbow on the table.Mercer grunts in acknowledgement and turns a page.“How do you think Brynjolf will feel if I tell him where Hel was last night?”Mercer’s head snaps up with a panicked glare, excuses on the tip of his tongue.“Woah,” Delvin says, holding up both hands in a gesture of peace. “I won’t tell him. I just want you to be careful. Brynjolf’s the heart of the Guild. I’d hate for you to break him.”The guilt wins and he looks back to his papers. “You’re right,” he grits out. He hates to admit it. There will be no more late conversations, no more sparring together, no more warm nights spent in her arms.“I’ll let you tell Hel. Truth is, she scares me sometimes.” Delvin wanders off, and Mercer lets out a choked scream, shoving the papers off his desk. Then he crouches down and picks them back up, sighing.
He corners Hel out by the docks later. She turns to him with a smile, only to lose it when she spots his stormy expression.“What’s wrong?” she asks, reading him easily like always. She reaches out a hand for him to take, but he just folds his arms so he won’t be tempted.“What about Brynjolf?” he snaps. He’s finding it difficult to articulate his thoughts through the guilt and rage suffusing his being.“What about him?” She looks confused, as if she doesn’t know what he’s talking about.“How could you sleep in my bed last night, when you’re with someone else?”“What?” She reels back, blinking, then understanding dawns. “Oh, Mercer…Brynjolf and I aren’t together. Besides, even if we were, sleeping in the same bed as a friend doesn’t constitute cheating.”Mercer catches himself. “You’re…not with Brynjolf.”“No.”“And what we did last night wasn’t intimate enough for cheating?”She hesitates. “I…no. No, it wasn’t.”Mercer’s anger turns to hurt. It felt intimate to him. It was the closest he’d been with someone for decades besides Maven, although she hardly counts. He decides not to touch that. He won’t show her how much it hurts to hear she doesn’t think about their time together the same way.“Oh.” He turns away, gripping the railing of the dock.“Mercer—” she starts.“You should go,” he interrupts. He really doesn’t want her to read him the way she always does, to see the tense set of his shoulders, the grief in his eyes for something he never even had.“Mercer…” she says, laying a warm hand on his shoulder.Too late. She’s already seen, but he doesn’t want her pity. “Leave!” he shouts, flinching out from under her touch.“I…alright,” she says, backing away. “I’ll see you later.” Her steps away are slow and heavy, and they match the feeling in his chest.
He spots her in the Cistern later, talking to Brynjolf. They’re sitting knee to knee on her bed and as he watches, Brynjolf pulls her into a hug, fully engulfing her in his thick arms. She’s practically in his lap, her head laying on his shoulder, and Mercer has to look away. They make a handsome couple. Besides, he shouldn’t be jealous. He’s just covetous of her warmth and her company. He’ll get over it.“Hey boss,” Mallory says, wandering up for the second time today. Mercer glares at him. The last time he came over he went to confront Hel and it ruined a perfectly good morning. “You got a letter.”He drops it on Mercer’s desk, and the Guildmaster snatches it up immediately. It’s got the familiar briar stamp, and he opens it to find it’s a summons and not a job. He holds the letter over a candle until it catches on fire, then he drops it on the stone floor to burn to ash.“I’ll be out tonight. You’re in charge.”“Not Brynjolf?” Delvin asks, peering curiously at the floor where the remains of the letter smolder out.“He looks busy,” Mercer says, glancing to where Brynjolf and Hel are sneaking out, giggling audibly. Just before Hel moves to climb the ladder, she turns back to meet Mercer’s eyes from across the Cistern. He can’t see how golden they are from here, but his memory places the information in anyway. Then Brynjolf calls her name, and she turns away to climb the ladder.
Mercer refocuses as a stinging slap lands on his cheek. The sound echoes in his ears and he tries to subtly shake his head to get rid of the slight ringing.“You’re distracted tonight,” Maven says, trailing a cold finger over his bare shoulders as she stalks around behind his kneeling form. “You know how I feel about your poor focus.”“Sorry,” he mumbles.She digs her fingernails into the skin of his throat. “What was that?”“I’m sorry,” he enunciates more clearly. Blood trickles down his neck, and he swallows shallowly.“It wouldn’t have anything to do with that new Altmer thief of yours, would it?”Mercer feels a surge of panic, but he shoves it down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”Maven slaps him again, and Mercer takes it.“Don’t lie to me,” she hisses. “She’s your best earner. Are you giving her special attention?”“No.” Mercer says, the hurt from this morning coming back to bite at him. “She goes out on jobs, she comes back with loot. That’s all.” That’s not all. He doesn’t mention their sparring sessions or the easy camaraderie she’s found with the other members. Her extended trips where she vanishes off his radar, only to pop back up later with a bag of jewels and an apology.“If you’re lying to me, you know I’ll find out the truth eventually.”He nods.“Good,” Maven says. “Now get on the bed.”
He’s scrubbing himself off in the lake after, wincing as he brushes over the cuts on his throat, the scratch marks on his chest and back. He did everything Maven wanted, and he fully agreed to it. He knows Maven couldn’t take him in a fight, knows he could have stood up and walked out, but he also knows she’d hurt the Guild. He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, and he’s chosen the lesser of two evils. For now. He’ll call for the Arch Mage soon, and then he’ll be free of this…entanglement. Until then, he’ll keep with this current arrangement. He helps Maven, and Maven helps his Guild.“Mercer?” the voice of the person he least wants to hear floats out over the water.He freezes and sinks into the water more deeply, hoping she’ll go away. He hears splashing coming from behind him as she wades out into the water, and he’s reminded of that incident with the mudcrab. Hopefully he doesn’t embarrass himself that badly again.“Mercer,” Hel says, giving him a respectable berth and swinging around to face him. Her clothes are soaked, but she doesn’t seem to mind. “What are you doing out…here…” she trails off, her eyes flicking over him. “Why are you bleeding?” She takes a hurried step toward him, and Mercer flinches back.If she touches him, he’s not sure he’d be able to hold himself back from seeking comfort. He’s had it so rarely these past few decades, and he hates his own weak resolve where she’s concerned. He hasn’t even been mad at her for a whole day.“Where’s Brynjolf?” he tries as a stalling tactic. It comes out harsher than he meant, but Hel answers easily.“He went back to the Flagon but I wanted to stay outside a bit longer. May I?” she asks, reaching her hands out.Mercer caves and nods, and she gently takes his face between her warm palms, tilting his head up to inspect his throat.“Are these nail marks?” She looks down and spots the scratches on his chest, leans closer and looks over his shoulder and down his back. "Who did this to you?”Mercer pulls his face away from her gentle hold and doesn’t answer, and she narrows her eyes.“It was Maven Black-Briar, wasn’t it?”He remains silent.“I’ve seen her letters on your desk. What’s she got on you? Some secret? Mercer, the Guild will stand behind you, no matter what.”There won’t be a guild left. “It’s not about that,” Mercer says. “It’s complicated.”“Are you with Maven?” she asks, fishing a healing potion out of her pocket and applying it to his wounds with careful dabs of her fingers.He really doesn’t want to talk about this, but Hel is looking at him with worried golden eyes, and he’s helpless. “Sort of. It’s just…physical.”She nods evenly. “Would you like me to have a talk with her? And by that, I mean intimidate her into leaving you alone.”“No!” he snaps. That could ruin everything. “I have a plan.”“Alright,” she agrees easily, moving around to his back. “I trust you.” She spreads the healing potion along the scratches, and Mercer sighs in relief as the stinging fades. She brushes her palm over his shoulder afterwards, and her signature warmth is such a contrast to Maven’s chilly touch, and he can’t help but lean into it.
They wade out of the water and Hel allows Mercer to dry off and get dressed in privacy by covering her eyes. Afterwards, they sit on a rock on the lakeshore, their feet dangling in the water, and Mercer is swiftly forgetting that he’s supposed to be mad at her.“Are you still upset?” she asks, voice breaking the peaceful nighttime silence.Mercer sinks back into his shoulders. “A little.”“What did I do wrong?” she asks, turning to look at him.He stares out over the water and shrugs. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. It’s true. Mercer’s always the first to point out other people’s mistakes. It’s not her fault he took things too seriously.“Then why?”“You said what we did wasn’t intimate enough for cheating.” He still hasn’t looked at her. He can’t if he wants to get these words out.“Yeah?”His next words come out as a whisper. “It felt intimate to me.”She’s silent, and Mercer grips his knees, glaring down at the water. He braces himself for her rebuff, just like he had last night. Again, she surprises him.“I know,” she says. “I felt it too.” Her knee presses against his, and Mercer lets out a deep breath. He turns to her, but she’s not looking at him anymore. Instead, she stares out at the water, her thoughts turned inwards.“You know we can’t do anything,” she finally says, turning to look at him. “Both our lives are too complicated right now.”She’s right. Mercer’s her Guildmaster. He shouldn’t be sleeping with one of his thieves, no matter how nice it feels, but Hel has a way of making him forget that when she’s near. It’s simultaneously effortless and impossible. His need to be near her fights with his fear of getting close to anyone, and he’s tried to compromise. He’s failed every time, always getting closer than he meant to. He’s learned now that there’s no compromise here. It’s all or nothing. So it has to be nothing.“You’re right,” Mercer sighs. He moves his knee away and stands. “We can’t do this anymore.”She rises to her feet after him. “So what do you want to do?”He wants to invite her back to Proudspire Manor for some sleep, but he can’t if he wants to be able to distance himself from her.“I want you to stay away from me,” he growls, and she reels back a step. “No more training sessions, no more Stones of Barenziah. No more sleeping together.”It might be wishful thinking, but her brow furrows, as if in pain, and Mercer wants to reach for her, take it back, sooth the hurt he’s causing. It’s for the best that he doesn’t. She’s always been immune to his prickly demeanor, but he needs her to stay away.“You come and amuse yourself with my company when you should be out on jobs. Your detours are costing the Guild. Your distracting presence is making us weak. I don’t want to see you in the Flagon unless you’re bringing in money, is that clear?”She’s silent for a long time, then she sighs. “I understand. I’ll see you around, Mercer.”He watches her walk away, her steps heavy. He hopes he made the right choice.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mercer descends to the Cistern. He spent a lonely, cold night in Riftweald Manor, turning his decision over in his head. He settled on the same conclusion he had reached last night. It’ll suck, but it’s for the best.She’s gone. She picked up every job that Delvin and Vex had and took off last night, right after she left Mercer by the docks. Apparently she’s taking his warning to heart, and she’s off to make some money. Good. It’ll dig them out of the hole that much faster.She shows back up two days later, her bag filled with loot. She turns in her tasks to Delvin and Vex, gets some more, then hands the extra valuables to Brynjolf for the treasury. Only once business is done does she look at Mercer, then hurriedly look away, her shoulders slumping.He feels a pang go through his chest, and he looks back at his desk. It’s empty because he’s been throwing himself into work to distract himself from the cavernous hole that’s opened. He didn’t know it was possible to feel this lonely, and it’s only been two days.It was the right decision, he reminds himself. Maybe he can pick things up with her after he overthrows Maven.She walks by him. Stops. Turns to look at him, takes two stuttered steps forward, then backpedals and leaves, all without saying anything.Brynjolf sneaks up next to him as she climbs out of the Cistern. “Did something happen between you two?” Brynjolf asks.“Something like that,” Mercer mutters.Brynjolf hums skeptically, but Mercer ignores him. He’s not the mood to explain.
Mercer can feel his temper fraying. Every sound grates on him. The waterfalls in the Cistern, Niruin’s arrows thunking into the target, even the hushed laughter of Viper and Thrynn in the corner.He growls to himself and tries to refocus on his planning. Soon, he’s going to enact it and overthrow Maven. Or at least abandon her. To circumnavigate her retaliation, he’s trying to secure new fences and vendors for the Cistern because Maven has all the normal ones in her pocket. He needs to weigh the risks associated with each one, provided by all the information he had Delvin collect for him and the samples he had Hel grab without telling her why.She’d dropped them off at his desk, had opened her mouth like she was going to say something, then left without uttering a word. Her golden eyes had been full of everything she wanted to say, and had found the reflection of that same sentiment in his.I miss you. Please stay. She hadn’t, and he didn’t voice his desires. He looked down at his desk again, not even letting a thank you pass his lips. If he speaks, he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold back what he really wants to say.“Hey Mercer,” Brynjolf greets.Mercer snuffs out the instinctive flinch at being startled form his deep thoughts. “What?” he demands, already bristling.Brynjolf narrows his eyes. “The whole Guild has noticed you’re off, and I think I can guess why. What happened between you and Hel?”“Nothing,” he denies, looking away. “It’s none of your business.”“If it’s affecting the Guild, then it is my business. As your second—”“I’m the Guildmaster!” Mercer shouts, standing to his full height. He’s nowhere near as tall as Brynjolf, but the intensity in his bearing makes himself seem larger than he really is. “Anything I do is my business, and mine alone!”There’s no way he can explain the strange relationship that he and Hel have. He can’t tell Brynjolf that all he wants is to have her, to keep her near him forever. That not talking to her, or touching her, or sleeping with her has been horrible. He realizes that he has to go back to his lonely existence, and it’s harder than ever now that he knows what it’s like to not be alone.Brynjolf sighs. “Fine. But you should know, she’s miserable too.”“Why is that my problem?” Mercer deflects. “Aren’t you the one in love with her? Shouldn’t you be comforting her if she’s unhappy?” Something burns in his chest like bile, but he’s too angry to pay it any attention. “She said you’re not together by the way, and you told me you were going to woo her.” He knows he’s being mean, but he doesn’t care. He wants someone to feel as bad as he feels.Brynjolf bristles, his red brows drawing down in a frown. “There’s no call for that,” he says.“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mercer says sarcastically, his voice dripping with vitriol. “I didn’t realize that Lord Perfect couldn’t get the balls up to ask her out on a date.”Brynjolf looks away, and a muscle flexes in his jaw.“Of course she’d say yes,” Mercer complains. “You’re just sooo perfect for each other.” He can picture them now, Hel clasped safely in Brynjolf’s powerful arms, held gently against his broad chest. Brynjolf’s a much better choice for her. He’s kind and good, which matches her brightness better than Mercer’s sardonic sense of humor.“You know what,” Brynjolf says, “maybe I will ask her out.”“Good!” Mercer shouts. The sour feeling in his chest doubles. He should be happy. He’s closing in on real independence for his Guild, gaining riches with every passing day, and forging alliances with the other organizations in Skyrim. He’s more successful than ever, so why isn’t he content?“Fine!” Brynjolf yells back. He turns on his heel and stomps away, slamming his way out of the Cistern and into the Flagon proper.Mercer glares at the staring thieves. “What are you looking at?” he shouts, and they all hastily busy themselves. His skin feels too tight for his body, and he decides that he needs to get out of here immediately.
He finds himself hurling rocks into the lake, trying to satisfy himself with the pathetic splashes. Hel finds him because of course he does. She can’t leave well enough alone.“Mercer?” she says tentatively, her steps quiet. She drops her pack to the ground and it makes a heavy thumping noise. She must be returning from a few successful jobs. She hesitates, and Mercer abruptly hates it.She’s always been confident, unapologetic. Once she got comfortable with the Guild, she’d been bold and spirited. Now she was hesitating, all because Mercer told her to stay away.“You shouldn’t be here.” He chucks another rock in the water, and it plops in unsatisfyingly.“I know.”When he glances at her, she’s still standing there, staring at him. Her eyes practically glow in the waning sunlight, and he yearns. But nothing can come of this.“You should go.”“I don’t want to.” She looks placid, unyielding, and Mercer has to look away. How is she this calm right now?“Come with me,” she offers. “I have an idea.”He knows he shouldn’t, but he follows her because it’s not like he has anything better to do.
They’re lying in a clearing, surrounded by whispering trees and watching the stars wink to life as the twilight gives way to true night. There’s an inch of impassible space between them, and Mercer fights to keep from reaching across it and lacing their fingers together.She breaks the silence. “This sucks.”He laughs, but it has no humor in it. “We both agreed this was for the best. I have responsibilities, and you’re lying to me.”“I’m not lying to you—”“You haven’t told me everything you do in your spare time. A lie of omission is still a lie.”She’s silent for a few moments. “…I still can’t tell you. One day, I promise.”He glares up at the stars. Why can’t that day be this one? Is her secret that bad? Does she think he’ll hate her forever? He tries to imagine what kind of secret would make her hesitate to tell him. To tell anyone in the Guild.“You’re not a member of the Thalmor, are you?”“Divines no,” she protests vehemently. “There’s no way I could ever be one of them, mostly because of their principles, but also because of who I am.”“And what is it like, being you?” Mercer asks.“Like being anyone else, I guess?” she answers with a questioning lilt to her words.“No, I mean…” he growls. He doesn’t know how to express this without offending her. “I mean being a half-breed. What’s it like?”She’s silent for a while, and Mercer can practically hear her gathering her thoughts. When she finally answers, her voice is quiet. “It wasn’t so bad when I was very young. I looked like a full-blooded Altmer, and even if I was born to an unmarried woman, I still had a lot of friends. But as I grew, my Imperial blood came through. One day, when I was seven years old, I go out to play with my friends, and instead they called me names, pushed me down, and started kicking me.”Mercer winces, but she’s not done.“Their parents had told them the previous night that I was an abomination, the ugly result of watering down pure Altmer blood. I went to Cyrodil two years later, sent to a boarding school for the children of wealthy parents, and was mercilessly teased and looked down on for being an unwanted bastard. I couldn’t go home for holidays, my parents never came to visit; it was terrible.”“What did you do?”She laughs, and it’s the first sign of joy he’s seen from her tonight.“I got good. I got very good. At fighting, at my academics, at sneaking out. The other children grew to respect me, then rely on me for contraband when the previous supplier mysteriously went out of business. I was…not very kind, as a youth.”It’s hard to imagine her as anything but nice. Even when she’s teasing, she has a smile and a warm touch to tell them she doesn’t actually mean it.“Nowadays, things are…more subtle. People say things in such a way that it’s impossible to retaliate, because they’ll just claim they didn’t mean it as an insult.” She trails off, probably not having much more to say.Mercer’s grudgingly impressed. He too had a wayward youth, and it culminated in him joining Gallus on his crusade to upend society. He knows how she feels, somewhat. He was always small, and unruly, and more of a sarcastic bastard than most people liked to tolerate."I never got along with my contemporaries either,” he confesses. “My father liked to punish me for it, and my mother stood by and let him do it. I was their only child. They had high hopes for me.” He chuckles humorlessly. “You see how that turned out.”“I don’t know,” she says lightly. “The Guildmaster for the past two decades, one of the best swordsmen in all of Skyrim…And you’re a better man than you think you are.”He shifts uncomfortably. Either she’s blind, or he’s deceived her. He holds no illusions about his own grandeur. Yes, he’s confident in his skills, but he’s not an amazing leader or scarily powerful like the Arch Mage. He’s not even a good person. He’s a good thief and a conniving bastard, but he’s not more than that.He decides to ignore her comment. It doesn’t mean anything anyway. “You have to drop your take off at the Guild, and I have business to attend to.” He rolls to his feet. He doesn’t hold a hand out, because he’s not sure if he’ll be able to let go after, so she climbs to her feet alone.“How close are we to freedom?” she asks before he can leave.“Close,” he answers. “You keep this up, and we’ll be free sooner rather than later.”
She’s gone the next morning, and Mercer buries his face in his pillow. He can’t believe he was in touching distance with Hel last night and he didn’t go for it. To be fair, he just told Brynjolf to ask her out, albeit in a touch-starved, sleep-deprived rant. He wonders if Brynjolf asked her. He wonders if Hel said yes.He decides he doesn’t want to know, and that he’s been moping around for too long. He needs to get out and stretch his legs, so he checks in with Delvin.“Mallory,” he says, stalking up to him and interrupting his daily staring at Vex. Mercer almost rolls his eyes. They should just get together. They’ve been flirting for years. “How is the alliance with the Dark Brotherhood progressing?”Delvin hesitates.“What,” Mercer demands flatly.“They’re actually in a bit of a bind right now, and they don’t have the resources to help us. It’s a no from them.”Mercer sighs. Disappointing, but not unexpected. He knew they were facing some problems, much like the Thieves Guild. “Fine. I’m going to Winterhold. If the alliance with the Arch Mage holds, we won’t need the Brotherhood.”
The journey is cold and long, but that restlessness is starting to settle by the time he reaches the college.“Is the Arch Mage in?” he asks a passing mage.The mage ignores him, muttering to himself, and Mercer growls.“Guildmaster!” Enthir calls, too loud in the courtyard. “What a dubious pleasure to see you here.”Great. His least favorite mage. Of course, Enthir could light him on fire with a flick of his fingers, but he won’t, because the Arch Mage would be mad. Probably.“Enthir,” he greets back with a polite nod. “Is the Arch Mage available?”The Bosmer smirks. “Not currently. I’ll let the Arch Mage know you’re here, and I’m sure they’ll find you when they get a moment.”“Then…is Hel here?”Enthir’s gaze narrows, then he smiles. It’s not a nice smile, although he’s never nice to Mercer, this one is especially evil looking. “She’s not here. But if you’re willing to trade, I’d be happy to let you know what she talked about the last time I saw her.”He’s instantly curious. Oh, boy, does he want to know. “What do you want?” Mercer asks, wary of anything Enthir can ask of him.“I want Niruin to be the Guild ambassador to the College.”Mercer blinks. “Why?”“Because I want him to visit more often. He’s fun to torment.”He narrows his eyes. “Why should I send Niruin when Hel spends so much time up here anyway?”Enthir huffs. “Do you want to know what Hel said or not?”“Fine. I’ll send Niruin up here on occasion. But only if it doesn’t interfere with his other duties. Now tell me what Hel said.”Enthir nods in apparent satisfaction. “Sure, but we’ll do it somewhere more private.”
They relocate to Enthir’s room, and Mercer closes the door impatiently.“Okay, we’re alone. Now tell me.”The Bosmer smiles again, teeth sharp, as if he knows he’s going to ruin Mercer’s day.“She complained for two hours about some guy she likes.”Whatever Mercer was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. “…what?”“She likes someone, which is a first. I’ve never heard her talk about someone like this before.” He abandons his grin in favor for a more contemplative look. Mercer knows he’s only putting it on for show, but it still has him leaning closer. “She talked at length about his intense eyes, and his skillful hands, and his muscular thighs.” He taps his chin. “There was actually a lot of complaining about his thighs and how she wanted to—” he cuts himself off. “Well, that’s kind of private.”Mercer’s about to inquire further when someone slams the door open.“Enthir, I—” The Arch Mage goes silent at Mercer. “Oh. Guildmaster. Why are you here? Is it time?”“Not yet,” he answers, taking their appearance in. They’re wearing the same robes and a similar, if slightly different metal mask.They nod, then turn their attention back to Enthir. “What were you two discussing?”“Nothing,” the Bosmer answers hastily. Mercer gets the distinct impression he wasn’t supposed to be sharing Hel’s secrets like this, and the Arch Mage will be mad at him for it.They hum metallically, as if they don’t believe him, but they let it go and turn to Mercer. “Are you here to see me?” they ask, tilting their hooded head.Mercer nods, and the Arch Mage turns with a wave, indicating Mercer should follow. They end up walking around the College, the Arch Mage distractedly performing random magical tasks.Even as a Breton, Mercer never progressed far enough in his magical studies to know what they’re up to.“What are you doing?” he asks, peering curiously as their gloved hands glow blue and some symbols appear on the wall next to them.“Refreshing the wards. Normally Alteration is Tolfdir’s specialty, but we’re coming up on exam season for our students, and as our head professor, Tolfdir has his hands full.”“And what do the wards do?”They explain patiently. “They protect the structure and the people inside. It keeps disease away and stops the structure from deteriorating.”“Do you think you could lay some down at Guild headquarters?”“Only if you pay us for it.” Their mask turns to face him, and he gets the distinct impression they’re smiling underneath it. “So what did you want to talk about?” they ask, moving onto the next section of wall.Mercer frowns seriously. “Our other allies had to pull out. Can I still count on your protection, even though the College mages will be the only ones?”“Why did the others pull out?”“They had in-house problems to deal with first,” he answers. Hopefully it’s satisfactory. He doesn’t want the Arch Mage thinking it was something to do with the Thieves Guild.They spell a few more sections of wall. “I cannot speak for my people, but I promise that I will be available to you.”“You can’t even send one of your employees to help?”The Arch Mage turns to him, and their mask is impassible. “You will only need me. Against ten men. Against a hundred? It will not matter. I will not put my people at risk, not even for the good of our new allies. The best I can do is ask if they would be willing.”Mercer concedes the point. He watched the Arch Mage take down a dragon last time. They could probably take on Maven’s goons alone.A student runs up to them. “Arch Mage!” they call, skidding to a stop before them. “Jarl Korir is demanding your presence.”The Arch Mage sighs heavily. “Thank you,” they say, “I’ll take care of it.”The student bows hastily and takes off, and the Arch Mage turns to Mercer. “Do you feel up to running an inane errand for a self-important troll of a man?”Mercer chuckles at her description. He’s never had cause to meet Jarl Korir, but he hasn’t heard anything flattering about him. “Sure,” he agrees. He’d love to see the Arch Mage in action.
They walk down the bridge, and the Arch Mage keeps an arm hovering around his back in case he slips on the cold stones.“Haven’t you thought about getting this bridge repaired?” Mercer asks, eyeing the steep drop.“All the time,” they answer. “I’ve been trying to learn how to repair it myself, but I confess I am much better at destroying things than building them.”Mercer doesn’t really have any builders on payroll either. The closest thing is maybe asking Delvin’s brother to leave Solthseim, but it’s not feasible. Some of his thieves are multi-talented, but he doesn’t think construction is in their repertoire. “Unfortunately, I can’t help with that.”The Arch Mage grows quiet. Are they going to double back on their alliance because Mercer can’t send a mason to rebuild their bridge?“…I think I have an idea.” Their feet land on solid ground, and Mercer follows the Arch Mage’s purposeful march through the paltry town and into the largest building.“Jarl Korir!” The Arch Mage says, holding their arms out wide in a show of confidence. “If you wanted to speak to me, you could have come to the College.”Mercer takes the opportunity to melt into the shadows behind a pillar, watching the exchange from a hidden vantage point.The Jarl sneers. “I would never stoop so low as to visit that death trap.”“Jarl Korir,” the Arch Mage answers, shoulders angled in such a way that Mercer imagines they’re grinning beneath that mask. “I didn’t know you were scared of a place of learning, although I should have guessed.”Mercer has to hold in his snicker at the intentional barb towards the Jarl’s intelligence.The Jarl scowls darkly. “Never mind that. Do you know why I’ve called you here?”“As you’ve yet to tell me, no, I do not. I’m a mage, not a telepath.”The Jarl rolls his eyes but otherwise ignores the comment. “I want you to go to the Sightless Pit and clear out the Falmer there. They’ve been giving my guards some trouble.”“I will take care of that, if you give me something in return.”Korir bristles. “I continue to allow the College to operate on my land.”“You have no say in our operations. You could not stop us if you tried.” Their tone is even, sure. Mercer believes them, and it’s evident the Jarl does as well.“Fine. What do you want?”“I want you to send some people to help repair the College bridge, and if they teach my mages how to build something, then we can help rebuild Winterhold in the future.”“Your mages are the ones who destroyed Winterhold in the first place!”“For the last time,” the Arch Mage sighs, bringing a hand to their forehead as if to rub out a headache, “that was the ocean, and powerful as we are, we cannot control the ocean. Now, I will take care of the Falmer if you take care of the bridge when I return.”“Fine,” the Jarl agrees petulantly.“Good.” The Arch Mage doesn’t wait to be dismissed, just turns on their heel and marches out of the hall.Mercer falls into step with them. They’re silent, but it’s an uncomfortable, tense sort of silence as they bang out the door and into gently falling snow.The Arch Mage sighs, their breath misting out the mouth hole of their mask and into the still air. Mercer watches them warily, and they turn to regard him. He can’t tell what they’re thinking, but he doesn’t have to wonder long.“Would you like to accompany me on my quest?”Mercer doesn’t have to think about it. He nods almost automatically. The Arch Mage is…magnetic somehow. He has no idea who they are, no idea what race they might be, but he thinks they’re fair, and smart, and funny, and kinder than he can ever hope to be.
They set out, and the Arch Mage points out various landmarks along the way, giving him a bit of the history behind each one. Mercer is astounded at the amount of knowledge they have, and they pass a quick journey to the Sightless Pit.“Before we descend into the depths, I want to make something clear.”Mercer nods and listens attentively.“I will do all of the fighting.”He bristles at the implication. “I’m not useless!”“I know, but I am a ranged attacker, and you are not carrying a bow. Unless you are versed in destruction magic, which I doubt, you will only get in the way if you try to help.”All good points, but Mercer chafes at the implication that he can’t help. He’s had enough of feeling powerless in his other pursuits. With Maven, with his Guild, his relationship with Hel, this was something he was supposed to be able to help.As if they sense his frustration, their tone softens. “I only wish to keep you safe.”“Fine. I’ll allow it,” he concedes. Internally, he’s a bit touched at the implication that they care about his well-being, but mostly he’s pissed he’s being sidelined.They descend into the cave.
It’s icy and cold, and they come upon two empty bedrolls with a fire still going.“Probably bandits,” Mercer identifies.They descend an icy ramp, and Mercer keeps his balance like Hel taught him. They find two bodies at the bottom with stab wounds, and the Arch Mage pauses to inspect them.“There go the bandits.” They stand, igniting fire in their gloved hands. They continue on through the tunnel, which turns from a natural cave into a Dwemer ruin into a pit, and the Arch Mage pauses again to face him.“It’s not too late to turn back,” they say, tilting their head.Mercer scoffs. “I’ve seen worse than a few Dwemer constructs and some Falmer.”A short nod and they continue on, carefully jumping down the pit to land on a crumbling walkway.A Falmer shoots at them immediately, and the Arch Mage returns fire. Literally. A ball of flame explodes when it hits clammy, pale skin, and the Falmer dies with a shriek of pain.They march through the ruin, encountering Falmer, chaurus, and frostbite spiders. The Arch Mage destroys them all with ease and a liberal dose of fire. Mercer, as requested, stays tucked behind their back and watches. He’s impressed at their sheer power, at the ease with which they dispatch their enemies, at the unflappability of their demeanor.Occasionally, they bend down and slice the ears off a Falmer corpse, if they escaped the fire, and tucks them into a pouch at their belt.“Alchemy,” they explain without prompting. “I try to get the students rare ingredients when I can.”Mercer doesn’t do half as much for his new recruits, although the Thieves Guild is less of an institution and more of a solo venture. His thieves better sink or swim on their own. He hums and wanders over to a hidden chest to scoop out the valuables. When he looks back, the Arch Mage is watching him with an amused tilt to their mask, and Mercer grins unapologetically in response.They continue.
They fight their way through a few more Falmer and ascend a hallway, which opens up to a giant cavern crawling with Falmer. They duck against the side of the doorway and Mercer hears the Arch Mage curse.“Do you want my help now?” he whispers, grinning.“I’m not worried about the Falmer,” they answer. “I’m worried about you.”That gives him pause. “Why?”“It will be difficult to protect you when we are being attacked from all angles. I could take them out from here, but they’ll probably duck into cover.”Mercer snorts. “I don’t need protecting, I’m a master swordsman. I’ll take the right, you take the left.”“If you’re sure,” the Arch Mage checks.Mercer nods impatiently. He’s tired of being sidelined.“Then let’s go.”They sneak out of the tunnel, and Mercer heads to the right side, lunging at the first Falmer. He hears the fight on the other side of the cavern and gets flashes of light as the Arch Mage douses their enemies in fire.Mercer focuses on his own fight, taking out the two Falmer and a chaurus. He turns to watch the light show. The Arch Mage moves with deftness and grace, not letting any of the Falmer get close enough to land a blow. He’s mesmerized by the fight, and he pays for his inattention when a barbed arrow sinks into his shoulder.He throws himself back against the wall with a cry of pain and tries to spot the shooter. He sees an ugly, pale face peering over the edge of the battlement above him, and he curses his lack of ranged attacks.Luckily, the Arch Mage is already hurrying across the square, hurling fireballs at the Falmer until it tumbles from the battlement to land with a meaty crack on the floor.Mercer grits his teeth and tries to stop the bleeding, but the arrow’s poison is the worst part, burning like ice through his veins and making his legs go numb. He sinks to the floor, panting, just as the Arch Mage reaches him.They cradle his face between gentle and sure hands, tilting his head to the side to better inspect the wound.“Drink this,” they say, pressing a vial into Mercer’s free hand.“What is it?”“Cure poison.”He lifts the potion to his mouth and yanks the cork out with his teeth before he swallows it down, grimacing at the terrible taste.The Arch Mage moves his other hand away from the arrow wound and yanks the arrow out, casting it aside and pressing their own hand to it, golden healing light glowing from beneath their fingers. The wound stitches, leaving only a hole in the leather.The other hand clings to his neck, stroking a careful thumb over his cheekbone in a soothing, repetitive motion.“Alright?” the Arch Mage asks, voice quiet between them.Mercer nods, his eyes falling shut tiredly. He wants to lean into their hand, accept the easy comfort, the burning warmth that radiates off of it, presumably from their liberal use of fire. It reminds him of Hel, and the way she was never hesitant to touch him. Not until he made her stay away.But the Arch Mage isn’t Hel, and they have to keep moving. He pulls away from their hand, and they move back, giving him space enough to stand.“I’m sorry,” they say. “I should have made you stay behind. I put you in danger unnecessarily.”“Not the worst I’ve had,” Mercer says, climbing to his feet with the aid of the wall. He sheathes his swords and follows closely behind the Arch Mage as they lead the way again.
They travel through a few Dwemer hallways, and the Arch Mage is scarily silent and even more precise and deadly, clearing the corridors with wave after wave of fire. They reach another cavern, this one similarly large as the last.“Stay here,” they order.“I can fight,” Mercer protests.“No.” Their tone leaves no room for negotiation, and they move forward without him, clearing the room with a whirlpool of fire. After it fades, their hands glimmer again, and they shoot off one more fireball at a hidden Falmer before motioning for Mercer to join them.He stalks huffily to their side, kicking a twisted axe out of his way. Hopefully the treasure at the end will make up for the indignity of not being allowed to participate like he’s a misbehaving child.One last hallway and they’re taking a lift up and out. A few doors later and they’re standing on a cliff, breathing in the cold air of late evening.Mercer grudgingly has to admit that the amount of loot he got was satisfactory, but he’s still not happy about being sidelined.“That was…more complicated than anticipated,” the Arch Mage breathes. “Is your shoulder alright?” they turn toward Mercer, their mask tilting, hand half-raised as if to heal him more.“I’m fine.” He takes a step away from them, and they sigh deeply.“I’m sorry,” they say. “I failed to keep you safe.”“I’m fine,” he repeats.“You aren’t. You got hurt on my watch. I should never have let you assist me.”“I’m not helpless,” he snarls.“I know,” is the easy answer. “If I were not there, you could have snuck through them, or quietly assassinated everyone. If you were not there, I would have happily torched my way through the entire lot. If this alliance is to work, we will have to find a happy medium.”Mercer blinks. “Oh.”Their head tilts in what Mercer imagines is a smile. “Did you imagine that I would disparage you for not being a practiced mage? That I would look down on you because you lead a gaggle of petty criminals?” They turn to look out at the view. “I don’t. You and I…we are alike in many ways, Guildmaster.”He follows their gaze, looking out at the stars. “How so?”“We are both leaders of our respective people, both burdened with the responsibility of many lives. We must always strive to do right by them, even to our own detriment. It’s a lonely existence.”He snorts. “Understatement.” Mercer’s been alone for two decades. The only kind touch he’s received in that time was Hel’s, and he stopped any future occurrences of it.“At least we have each other, no?”He relaxes, his earlier anger melting. “Yeah. We do.”
They make it back to Winterhold a few hours later, and the Arch Mage leaves Mercer outside of the inn with a few parting words.“If you ever need someone to talk to, someone who knows what you go through as a leader, you’re welcome to visit at any time.”“I…thank you.” He hesitates, but the Arch mage waits patiently. “I had a nice time today.”Their mask tilts in a smile. “I did too.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mercer presses his burning face into his pillow, unsure why he’s blushing. Now that he’s not being dragged through a Dwemer ruin filled with Falmer, he’s free to think on all that happened today. The easy admission by the Arch Mage that the alliance still stands, their cutting intelligence and humor at the expense of Jarl Korir, the obvious care they show to everyone in their life. How they thought about their students when they gathered the alchemy ingredients, their stalwart protection of Mercer, how tenderly they healed him, the way they protected him with kid gloves after, and the open-ended offer to be his…friend? Ally? A listening ear, at any rate.It's been forever since he’s ever felt cherished like that. The care and attention they showed him, it’s enough to make a man blush. He realizes he might have a little crush on the Arch Mage, and it feels altogether different from the complicated mess of feelings he has for Hel. The sheer power of the Arch Mage does nothing to alleviate his feelings of admiration. He doesn’t even know if they’re a man or a woman, doesn’t know what race they might be, besides one that’s taller than him (although being the shortest race in Tamriel means there are many possibilities). The only ones he can rule out with confidence are the beast races like Khajit and Argonian due to the apparent lack of tail.Maybe their propensity for fire means they’re a Dunmer? He sighs into the empty air. There’s no use speculating. It doesn’t really matter anyway. An inappropriate crush is an inappropriate crush, and it’s not like he’ll ever act on it. It’s just nice to feel something besides stress for once.He has other responsibilities, too. He needs to drag his Guild out of the mud he’s put them in first. Happily, coordinating then executing everything will mean some more time spent with the Arch Mage, and more time he can take to learn their identity.As he’s leaving the next day, he spots the denizens of Winterhold marching up the bridge. The Arch Mage stands at the first junction, and they raise a hand in parting to Mercer.He waves back, that traitorous blush rising to his cheeks. It keeps him warm as he makes his way back home.
When he arrives, Hel still hasn’t returned, but the other Guild member’s earnings are trickling in, lining their coffers. Mercer grins, satisfied, and promptly lights the expensive envelope on his desk on fire. He’s probably tipping Maven off by being noncompliant, but he really can’t bring himself to go spend time with her when he’s actually found someone he likes. Two people, really, if he counts Hel. But Brynjolf likes her, and Brynjolf will probably get her. He’s yet to see someone that says no to that accent, even though Brynjolf rarely pursues people.He’s firmly put Hel outside of his mind.
Of course, he can say that, and the next morning she comes clattering down the ladder, a worried Garthar in pursuit. She lands heavily, stumbles into the wall, and lets out a choked scream of pain.Mercer’s running before he even registers it.“What happened?” he demands, slipping under her shoulder and supporting her towards her bed.She laughs, then winces. “I got backhanded by a troll into a mountain.”“It was my fault,” Garthar confesses, hovering unhelpfully at her side. “I was being attacked, and she jumped in and saved my life.”“Then why are you still here instead of getting healing supplies?” he snarls.“Right, sorry!” Garthar scampers away, and Mercer gently lowers Hel to sit on her bed. She winces the whole way and lets out a breath of relief when she’s settled.She reaches for the buckles on her armor but can’t quite twist enough to get them with her off hand.“Mercer?” she asks. “Can you help me undress?”He freezes at the implications, then realizes this is one of the least intimate positions he can think of. Surrounded by Guild members who are looking on with anxious gazes from their various positions around the Cistern while she’s in excruciating pain.He does his best to be gentle, apologizing at every little wince. When Garthar returns with the healing potions, Mercer takes them from him and shoos him away to go make trouble elsewhere.He doesn’t go, electing to hover around Hel with useless apologies.“Thank you,” Hel bites out between muffled grunts of pain. “Could you do me a favor?”“Anything,” Garthar agrees readily.“Go turn my pack in to Brynjolf and ask him to take care of the items.”“Right,” he agrees readily, nodding and running off, only to turn around to grab her bag.She sighs and drops her head on Mercer’s shoulder. “I thought he’d never leave.”Mercer frowns. “He’s useless, getting you hurt like that.”“S’not his fault he got attacked by a troll.” She turns so her nose brushes against Mercer’s neck, and he shivers. She seems to radiate heat, her skin is as soft as he remembers, and he has to focus to keep his hands steady.Funny, they only seem to shake in her presence and not in any high stakes situations. Does that make him weak?He finally gets the last buckle undone and slowly peels the leather from her body. Her linen undershirt is spattered with blood where her vessels broke from the force of smacking against the rocks.Mercer winces in sympathy and carefully extracts himself from her loose hold so he can reach for one of the healing potions on the table.She takes it with a grateful word and downs it, then lets out a muffled groan of pain as it starts to work. Mercer can only stroke a worried hand down her back and make shushing noises. He’s not great at comforting people, okay? He’s never had to do it before. His idea of proper behavior when someone is in need of comfort is telling them to suck it up. But with her he’ll try to be gentler because she always is with him, despite her teasing.When her shivering subsides, she presses her face into his neck again, her uninjured side plastered to his. The sheer heat that radiates off her threatens to melt his bones."Thank you for taking care of me, Mercer,” she says, warm breath whispering out against his skin.“This was a one-time thing,” he lies, “so try not to get hurt again.”“I’ll do my best,” she chuckles, and Mercer relaxes. She can’t be feeling too badly if she’s making jokes. Soon enough her breathing evens out as she falls into an exhausted sleep, and Mercer gently lowers her onto the straw mattress.He pulls away with a parting stroke to her silky hair, and he’s suddenly reminded of Enthir’s words.She likes someone. Someone with intense eyes and skillful hands and, what was it? Muscular thighs? Mercer grumbles. He’s got muscular thighs. He’s spent his whole life crouching as he sneaks around, stealing things, and there’s no one who’s better at picking locks than him, so he also has skilled hands. What does this mystery person have that he doesn’t?It doesn’t matter, he tries to remind himself. He chose to push Hel away, and despite that, she still approaches him, ignoring or impervious to his prickly personality. He wants that stalwart conviction directed at him exclusively. It’s selfish, he knows, but he doesn’t know how to be generous. Not after spending his entire life as a thief. His generosity died when Gallus did. Luckily, it seems Hel has enough generosity for the both of them.“What’s going on here?” Brynjolf’s voice shatters his concentration, and Mercer hides a flinch at the sudden sound. He’s still sat on Hel’s bed, and without him noticing, she’s curled a long-fingered hand into the hem of his shirt as if to keep him there.“Nothing,” Mercer answers, making sure to pitch his voice low so he won’t wake up Hel. He carefully pries her fingers open, and she grumbles in her sleep and reaches for him, but he skillfully evades her grasp. Her bruised hand falls lax against the bedcovers, and Mercer takes a moment to pull a fur over her shoulders to keep her warm before looking at Brynjolf.The Nord is watching him with a raised eyebrow and a frown, and Mercer bristles at the implication that he was doing something wrong.“She was injured. She needed help.”Brynjolf does a double take, reaches a hand out to touch her, then pulls away again. “How?”“Troll,” he answers. “Hit her into a mountain.”“Shit,” Brynjolf whispers, looking down at her with a worried frown. “I knew something was up when Garthar delivered the lass’s pack instead.”Mercer hums, and they both take a moment to watch her face. There’s still tension around her almond-shaped eyes, as if even asleep, she’s still in pain.“Come on,” Brynjolf says, slinging an arm over his shoulders in a show of peace. “How did your trip to Winterhold go?”
Mercer finds some much-needed time to himself later by sneaking away from the Cistern. He has quite a lot to think about. Namely Hel, but he’ll save that for the end, so he spends a good chunk of time thinking about The Plan, as he’s come to call it in the privacy of his own mind.It’s shaping up nicely, but he doesn’t know how to tell Maven that it’s over for good. He’ll probably just walk up to her and say it to her face, but that will leave him open to her phalanx of guards. Perhaps in public? But he definitely doesn’t want to air his dirty dealings to all of Riften.The Arch Mage has to be there anyway. Perhaps bringing them along and having that intimidating, masked figure standing at his side will make Maven agree without a fight. Plus, the Arch Mage will protect him if it goes sideways, of that he is sure.Good. That’s decided. Now he just has to focus on his conundrum with Hel.Whenever he thinks about her, he gets this snarl of feelings in his chest, and he hasn’t yet tried to untangle them. He’s never been good at feelings, so he hasn’t bothered, but now he needs to try.Hel certainly has his respect. It’s well-earned after all she’s done for the Guild. Getting them money, befriending his other thieves, handling herself well in a fight, she’s nothing short of competent, which is different than the regular fumbling from his other members. For all that, she has earned his tentative admiration, so much so that he knows he can rely on her to get jobs done. Lately, she’s also taken fewer detours, and her turnaround time on jobs is almost instant.Her competence as a thief aside, the way she makes him feel…he doesn’t know where to start, so he starts at the beginning. To say he found her infuriating would be only half a lie. He did, but he also found her intriguing. She was unique, is unique for the way she approaches him, seemingly immune to his abrasiveness. The warmth and closeness they shared on their trip to the northern coast together was enough to give him something he didn’t know he wanted…and then he had declared that they could no longer see each other, and he craved her company, couldn’t sleep without her next to him, and he couldn’t blame anyone but himself.Was her company all he wanted? There are times when he admires…other things. But those wants are secondary to the companionship he’s found with her. Her gentle teasing, the easy camaraderie, the heavy talks she somehow manages to keep comfortable, the way she always seems to be able to read him. It’s safe to say they’re friends, although the intensity of their relationship surpasses simple friendship.He just doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s never liked anyone before, if that really is what he’s feeling. It’s a moot point anyway, he thinks, sighing gustily. Brynjolf likes her, even if he hasn’t confessed yet. He’s sure that as soon as the Nord does confess his feelings, she’ll fall into his strong, manly arms just like all the other people he’s charmed.It’s fine. Hel is his thief, and his friend, and he hopes he can return the myriad of kindnesses she’s shown him. Helping her when she was injured was a start. In the meantime, he’ll try to keep a bit of professional distance between them, for Brynjolf’s sake.Matter settled, he heads back to the Cistern, the tangle of feelings smoothed out, at least in part.
Hel limps up to Mercer’s desk. The broken bones and torn skin healed with the potion, leaving behind sore muscles and a painting of bruises, which turned her normally golden skin into a patchwork of blue and purple.“Hey,” she greets, leaning on his desk more heavily than normal. “Brynjolf told me you went to Winterhold. How was it?”“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Mercer says, looking down his nose at her.She grins unrepentantly. “Probably. I’d rather be talking to you.”He almost blushes at the attention. It seems the distance that he had imposed between them has been closed again, predictably by Hel.“It was…interesting.”“How so?”“The Arch Mage has a protective streak. Towards everyone, it seems.”“Really? I’ve heard that they’re quite reserved and callous at times.”He shakes his head. “Not that I saw. They’re forceful, but they’re not cruel. At least, they weren’t towards me.”She chuckles. “That’s probably because you’re easy to like.”Mercer blinks. That is the exact opposite of everything he’s heard. “You don’t have to lie to me.”“I’m not.” She reaches for him, pressing a hand on top of his. The warmth makes him relax almost automatically. “I like you. Brynjolf likes you. Even Garthar likes you, despite being terrified of you. My point is, you have a lot of friends Mercer. I’m not surprised the Arch Mage is one of them.”He looks down at their hands and turns his over to press their palms together. He’s at the wrong angle to interlace their fingers, but he wants to get closer. “…Thanks.”She smiles at him, then slowly drags her hand away, lighting up every nerve in its wake.“If you have the time, would you mind keeping me company? I could use a warm body to ease the stiffness.”Yes! Mercer wants to. After so long without her touch, he wants nothing more than to bury himself in her heat. “We shouldn’t.”“I don’t think denying ourselves this will make us any happier.” Her eyes are clear but serious, and Mercer tries to hang onto his vanishing protests out of principle.“What about Brynjolf?”“Brynjolf isn’t here. And even if he were, I asked you.” Her golden eyes stare him down unblinkingly. He can find neither lie nor deception in them, and he finally caves to what he’s been yearning towards for weeks.“Fine. But only for a bit.”Her answering smile is blinding.
A bit turns into a while turns into the rest of the day. They start off in her bed, her bad side gingerly pressed against him. By increments, she relaxes, until she’s practically sprawled against him.Mercer could stay there forever, but he doesn’t want a repeat of when Delvin saw them sleeping together and berated him, so they he eases her up and they go for a walk. She’s limping less than she was, but Mercer holds an arm out for her anyway, which she gratefully accepts.They talk the whole time about Skyrim, the parts they like (the forests of Falkreath), the parts they don’t (The Reach. All those Forsworn, ugh), what they’re going to do with their newfound freedom (Mercer’s going to sleep in for once in his life. Hel hasn’t decided, but she might be able to spend a bit more time around headquarters).She doesn’t say when she starts to tire, but Mercer notices anyway, and leads them to the Bee and the Barb for a drink and a meal. They’re sitting at a table, meal finished, drinks in hand, and Hel is staring at him softly with her golden eyes. Mercer can’t imagine anywhere else he’d rather be. She even laughed at all his sarcastic jokes.Of course, just when things are perfect, is when they have to fall apart.
“Where have you been?” Maven hisses, digging her fingers into his shoulder from behind. She’s gripping up near his neck, so his nerve pinches and he has to hold back a whimper of pain.Hel’s eyes have turned from molten gold to blazing fire, and she half-stands before Mercer waves her back into her seat. It won’t do to cause a public scene.“You’re here with your whore, is that it?” she sneers, looking down her nose at Hel.Mercer internally bristles on her behalf, but he knows that to react is to expose a weakness, so he bites his tongue and flashes Hel an apologetic glance. Her eyes flicker to him, but mostly she’s glaring at Maven, her shoulders tense, her hands clenched into fists.“Never mind,” Maven says, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Come see me later, and I’ll see to it that you’re properly punished.”Mercer ducks his head, a blush of humiliation and rage coloring his face.Maven straightens again, her voice back to a normal volume. “Lovely to see you again. We’ll catch up soon.”She walks off, her head high, her meaty guards trotting at her heels like trained dogs.“Mercer,” Hel starts.“Stop.” He doesn’t want to hear it. There’s nothing she can say that would make this better. He slams the rest of his drink back and drops a few septims on the table, stalking out of the inn.Hel hastens to follow, half her steps heavier than normal.Mercer lurches to a stop so she can catch up, and she laces their fingers together gently.“Whatever she said, don’t listen to her.”Mercer can’t look her in the eye, but he clings to her grip like a lifeline, trying to suppress the boiling rage and shame that threatens to consume him. In the beginning, Maven could be cold and exacting, but she always spared time to make sure that Mercer was taken care of. However, as the years progressed, she took more power until they had something uneven. And now that he was trying to work his way out of it, she was tightening the screws.Luckily, Hel seems to know that he’s beyond words at the moment. “I’ll kill her,” she threatens darkly, her voice dropping into a dangerous register.It startles Mercer out of his brooding spiral, and his gaze snaps up to look at her.She’s glaring off in the direction that Maven took, her teeth bared in a blatant snarl. In a stark contrast, her thumb strokes tenderly over his skin, and his fingers spasm in her hold.He tries to shake it off, trying to inject some humor into his chuckle. “You and what army?”That gets her to pause, but only briefly. “I’ll let the Arch Mage do it.”Mercer thinks back to the ease with which she skewered the necromancers in Hob’s fall cave, then rifled through her pockets.“You seem awfully comfortable with killing,” he accuses, eyes narrowing. “You’re not a member of the Dark Brotherhood, are you?”She snorts a laugh. “Of course not. I just…” she waves her free hand out to indicate their surroundings. “I live in Skyrim. Surrounded by death and violence as we are, how can you not grow used to it?”“If you’re good enough at sneaking, you don’t need to kill anyone.”“Says the best swordsman in the whole of the Rift.” She cuts him a teasing smile, and he can’t help return it as a challenging grin.“You don’t kill people when you’re on jobs to make it easier on yourself, do you?”She takes mock offense. “And snuff out our sources of income? Never! I only ever kill poor people, not rich fools.”Her joke is morbid, and horrible, but he cackles, their shared laughter ringing out into the night air. When they both calm down, he brings her hand to his mouth, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. It happens automatically, without thinking about it, and he’s almost shocked at himself, but the feeling of warm satisfaction coiling in his chest smooths out the potential panic. Her look of pleased surprise doesn’t hurt.“Come on,” he says, tugging her with him. Screw Maven and her ultimatums. “Let’s go home.”
A scream shatters the peaceful quiet of the Cistern. Mercer’s attention snaps up, his hand flying to his sword pommel. A thrashing figure falls from a bed, tangled in a blanket, to thump onto the flagons. The screaming cuts off abruptly.There’s deathly silence in its wake, and Mercer’s heart drops as he realizes whose bed it is. Hel.He hesitates, normally nightmares are ignored, and the embarrassed party is allowed to collect themselves quietly and go back to sleep, or more often head out for a bracing walk. If Brynjolf is around, he usually gives them some kind words, an engulfing hug. But he’s not here, and it’s only Mercer watching, stricken, and Hel pushes herself up to sit, her ragged breaths carrying across the Cistern, even over the sound of the waterfalls.He finally steels himself and heads for her, his sure steps hiding his internal turmoil. He crouches down next to her, unsure if she’s aware that he’s there. Her eyes are distant, focused on something that he can’t see, and he reaches out a careful hand to touch her shoulder.As soon as his fingers brush her arm, she throws herself backwards into the bed with such force that it screeches a few inches across the stone floor.Mercer freezes, but she shakes her head and refocuses, her golden eyes finally spotting him next to her. She sighs and reaches for him, catching his outstretched hand and bringing it to her face, first pressing her lips to his palm before sliding it until it cups her cheek.“…sorry,” she whispers, voice a bit rough from her earlier screaming. “Nightmares.”Mercer settles at her gentle tugging, tucking next to her against the bed frame. The floor is freezing, but Hel is warm so he scoots in until their bodies are aligned, just as she likes. He doesn’t know how to proceed from here. He’s never been great at comfort, and he foolishly hopes his company is doing enough that he won’t have to speak. What would he say anyway? Suck it up?“Do you…do you want to talk about it?” he finally asks, already cringing for the inevitable dismissal.She surprises him as she often does. “Yeah. I…” she clears her throat, and her voice emerges as a hushed whisper. “I was there, when the Arch Mage rose to power,” she says, lacing their fingers. She hasn’t looked him in the eye once, and Mercer knows it’s because of the situation, but he can’t help feeling a pang of rejection. He hangs onto her hand and listens.“There was this…eye. A giant sphere of magic, and a Thalmor agent was using it to destroy the College. Or trying to harness its power, or something. He killed the previous Arch Mage and the head scholar, and there was no one left to lead them. Then the current Arch Mage, just a student at the time, had to fight the Thalmor agent. They killed him, and they were thrown into the Arch Mage position.”“Were you near the fight?”“I was in it.”Mercer’s fingers spasm against her skin. To think, he could have lost her to a stray lightning bolt. She has no business going toe to toe with college trained mages.“I…that sucks.”She laughs without humor. “Yeah. It did.”They sit quietly, and Mercer hopes he’s providing her with some comfort.Brynjolf waltzes into the Cistern, whistling. When he spots them, the joyful sound abruptly stops, and Mercer cringes.“What’s going on here?” he asks suspiciously, walking up to them.Hel sighs and pulls away, standing. Mercer scrambles to his feet after her, heart lurching in his chest. He knows that sigh. She’s going to leave again. She’s still injured, and she’s not smiling, and she’s going to leave. Brynjolf’s look of disapproval is just the icing on the cake.“I had a nightmare,” she explains quietly, lifting her blankets back onto her bed and smoothing out the surface. “Mercer was kind enough to check on me.”She grabs her pack from the foot of her bed. Brynjolf doesn’t yet realize the implications.“Oh. Are you okay?”“I’m fine,” she answers, shouldering her bag. “I need to get going.”“Go where?”“To make us some money.” She strides for the door, her steps silent and even. Maybe she is recovered enough to go? Mercer’s always been great at reading people. It’s one of the reasons he’s been Guildmaster this long. Despite that, he’s never been able to accurately read Hel, and he has no idea what would make her stay or why she feels she has to leave at this exact moment.“Hel--!” he tries, calling after her. It comes out more angry than intended, and Brynjolf smacks his shoulder. Mercer bares his teeth at the Nord.Luckily, she knows what he needs. His inability to read her does not go both ways. “I’m fine Mercer,” she answers, not looking back and already climbing the ladder. “I’ll see you later.”Her reassurance allows him to settle instead of following her out. He just got her back, going from a pointless, self-imposed separation to warmth and closeness. And now she’s gone with no clear explanation. She didn’t seem like she was going to leave until Brynjolf walked up.“This is your fault,” he seethes at the Nord. His very being chafes at being interrupted, at watching Hel leave again. He just got her back.“My fault?!” Brynjolf shouts. “You’re the one who’s always sneaking around with her. Whenever I can’t find her, she’s with you. If you like her, just say so!”Mercer splutters. “I don’t—what does that have to do with—you should have just asked her out when you said you were going to!”Brynjolf glares. He’s never seen his easygoing friend so angry. “Oh, so because I didn’t officially start courting her means you can?”“I—” Mercer starts, but Brynjolf’s not done.“You need to decide, Mercer. If you want her, just say so. I want nothing more than to see you happy, but I’m not going to wait around until for you to get your head out of your ass.” He stalks off, brushing past Delvin with a growl.“What’s got his knickers in a twist?” Delvin asks, looking to Mercer.He’s unsure what his face is currently doing, but it can’t be good because Delvin’s forehead crinkles with worry.“Woah there boss, you okay?”“I…” he’s still reeling, swimming in denial. He shakes his head, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. He is unsuccessful. “I need some air.” He tears off after Hel, surging up the ladder and out into the Riften night.It’s a full moon, no good for thieving, but Mercer doesn’t care about that. He casts his gaze about, trying to spot Hel walking down the road toward the gates. She’s already gone, and he slumps against a wall into a shadow and muffling his heavy breathing with a hand cupped over his mouth.Brynjolf is right. He likes Hel. The admission shatters through him like an earthquake, and he sinks to the ground as his knees turn to jelly. He likes her. He’s never liked someone like this in his life. Only Gallus and Karliah were as close, and they were with each other. His little crush on the Arch Mage pales in comparison to the feeling burning through him for his half-Altmer thief.He needs her. She’s brave and skilled and intelligent and so warm. Not just in temperature, but in countenance too. The tender way she touches him, the bright smiles, undimmed by his rough posturing. He’s finally putting it together. The lack of sleep after their trip, the longing, the worry whenever she’s gone for extended periods, the sheer panic and helplessness he felt today when she flinched away from him, the way he melts every time she touches him. He likes her, and he has no idea where to go from here.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mercer needs a distraction. He can’t look Brynjolf in the eye, and he doesn’t want to think about Hel and the whole mess of feelings, so he gives himself extra work to do, like stocking up their potions. Only they’re already stocked, courtesy of Hel. He noticed she always carries some on her, that she makes better potions than Delvin or Niruin, but he never asked her to do that. When he asks Delvin about it (because he’s still avoiding Brynjolf), and Delvin tells him she’s been doing it since she joined.“I’m surprised you didn’t notice, boss,” Delvin says, watching him with careful eyes.Mercer just leaves. He’s not here for sympathy. He’s fine. So what if he just realized he likes someone? Really likes someone, for the first time in his life. He’ll figure out what he needs to do. Whether that’s confessing his feelings or shoving them down until they wither away like flowers in autumn. Of course, Hel already likes someone, if Enthir is to be believed, which he always is. It’s why they’ve worked so long together.Mercer paces to the training room. He’s just thinking himself in circles at this point, and he needs to get his mind off of it. Exercise will do him some good. He pulls his sword out and starts hacking at a training dummy. Unbidden, a flash of memory comes to him, of him straddling Hel’s hips, her body warm between his thighs, her hands like brands on his sides.He slashes with renewed energy, trying to banish the memories. She’s always so warm, like she burns with an inner fire. He doesn’t deserve her. He can’t stop wanting.He needs a better distraction. Something with a purpose. The Stones. He and Hel were gathering the Stones of Barenziah together. Perhaps, if he makes a gift of a few to her, he’ll be able to confess his feelings and she might think about reciprocating. It’s his best chance. It’s something they connect on, and he’s going to exploit it ruthlessly. He doesn’t have any hope of competing against Brynjolf for her affections, but he’s going to go down fighting.With a final swing of his sword, he beheads the straw dummy and goes to find Delvin. Perhaps he’ll have a book about where he can find more.
It turns out many of them can be found in the various Jarl’s quarters, and it’s a suitable challenge for a courting gift. He goes to Windhelm first. After he had traveled here with Hel, it swiftly became his least favorite place. After the fear in her eyes, the way she clung to him with white knuckles, he had secretly vowed to never return with her. Alone, he didn’t get as many stares. He wasn’t giant, blond, and beefy like the average Nord, but he wasn’t a mer, so eyes tended to skate over him without a second glance. He used that to his advantage to infiltrate the keep under the cover of night and sneak his way into the Jarl’s quarters.Ulfric wasn’t there, probably in his war room plotting his next move. The civil war was an annoyance more than anything. It made people’s pockets lighter, caused them to tighten their belts and make do, stopped supplies from reaching merchants, and overall, made it more dangerous to travel. Another reason why the alliance with the Arch Mage was beneficial. He could ask them to send escorts for long journeys to protect his thieves from the fallout of the civil war.He swipes the Stone from the bedside table in the mage’s room and slips out of the keep. He has no other reason to stay in the city, so he leaves under the cover of darkness and heads to Winterhold. He’ll check their hall, but he doesn’t think he’ll find any more Stones in the city. He’s only really going to see the Arch Mage.
He checks the Jarl’s hall, but predictably, there’s no stone. In truth, Jarl Korir has pathetically few treasures. A handful of rusted swords, some weird, toothy crown, but little else. It makes him imagine the potential wealth that Winterhold could have Korir allied himself with the Arch Mage instead of making himself their adversary due to his ridiculous Nordic ideals.He makes his way up to the College, admiring the solid stonework on the bridge. The masons from Winterhold did a good job. The Arch Mage had cleared that giant cave of Falmer in exchange, after all. He catches one of the students.“Is the Arch Mage available?” he asks, already looking for them.They point. “They’re teaching a class for advanced students in the main hall. I wouldn’t interrupt them unless you’re good at warding. It gets kind of dangerous in there.” The student leaves before Mercer can thank them, ever busy, and Mercer turns towards the main hall.He hasn’t practiced wards in ages, but the thought of waiting another moment to see the Arch Mage grates on him, and he decides to chance the hall anyway.There are fireballs, lightning bolts, and ice spikes flying every which way. He can hear a metallic voice shouting above the din, and he ducks as a firebolt flies at his head.“Halt!” the Arch Mage orders, rushing over to him, their strange robes billowing behind them. “Guildmaster,” they greet, crowding him so their bulk shields him from the curious gazes of the students. “You chose a poor lesson to interrupt.”His back hits the wall, and he grimaces, resting a hand on his sword pommel. If he wasn’t so sure that the Arch Mage wouldn’t hurt him, he’d be fighting his way out. They reach by him, brushing his side with their gloved hand to grasp the wall behind him. It pushes away from his back, and Mercer realizes too late that he was standing against a door and not a wall. He stumbles backwards, catching himself on the stone doorframe.“You may wait for me in my room. I’ll be up when the lesson is done. I trust you can pick the lock.” The Arch Mage gently pushes him back and closes the door in his face, and he hears the sound of magic resuming.Mercer blinks. Like usual, the Arch Mage has dazzled him into dumbfounded silence. He has nothing better to do, so he walks up the stairs and into the Arch Mage’s quarters. The door wasn’t locked at all, and he scoffs at how unsecured their room is. Anyone could just wander up here, although he supposes they’d have to make it past a college of mages first, and then they’d be in the Arch Mage’s room, where the most powerful mage Mercer’s ever seen lives.He pokes around, but out of respect for their alliance, he refuses to pocket anything, no matter if there are quite a few interesting baubles. He finds a journal and leafs through it, but it’s written in a language he can’t understand.“What are you doing?” the Arch Mage asks from right behind him.Mercer curses and drops the journal back onto the table. He didn’t hear them approach, and they quickly apologize for scaring him.“How do you walk so quietly?” he accuses, baring his teeth against his embarrassment.“Magic,” they answer, tilting their head. “Why are you here? Is it time?”“Not yet,” he answers. “Soon.”They nod and gesture to a different part of the room, and Mercer follows them to some armchairs in front of a cold hearth piled with logs. They wave their hand, and the fire springs to life, emanating warmth through the chilly stone room.Mercer sighs despite himself. It reminds him of Hel, and the warmth in her eyes whenever she looks at him.“I came to ask some advice,” he says.The Arch Mage steeples long fingers and watches him impassively through their mask.“This would be much easier if I could see your face,” Mercer complains. He’s stalling, but it has bothered him for a while.“You’ll see my face one day. Not today. Now what do you need?”Mercer looks away sullenly, but he needs to get this off his chest. “I like someone.”“…Why are you telling me instead of one of your friends?”“I don’t have any friends.” That’s not entirely true. He would say that Brynjolf is his friend, but Brynjolf likes Hel too, so he can’t really talk to him about this.The Arch Mage shakes their head. “I find that hard to believe, but I’m happy to listen.”“I don’t know if she likes me back.”“And who is the object of your affections?”Mercer blushes. “You know her.”“It’s not one of my students, is it? Because I would have to object to that.”He chuckles at the obvious joke. “No, it’s not one of your students.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s Hel.”The Arch Mage freezes. “And what is so difficult about liking Hel that you need to talk to me about it?”“I don’t think she likes me back.”“You won’t know unless you ask her.”It sounds so simple coming from the Arch Mage. They probably never struggled over this problem. He’s sure they’ve always had people throwing themselves at their feet. They’re magnetic.“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles.“Come now, where is your courage? Your confidence?”He ducks his head and hunches his shoulders. He’s always had confidence in his abilities to steal and plot (and sometimes kill), but he’s never been in this situation before.The Arch Mage sighs. “Mercer…”His gaze snaps up at the sound of his name. They usually call him Guildmaster.They reach out, catch his hands, reel him in. Their grip is burning, even through their gloves. It reminds him starkly of Hel.“Just tell her. You will not be disappointed in the answer.”He clings. “How can you know?”Their mask tilts as the Arch Mage smiles. “I just know.”Mercer relaxes with a breath, and he slowly pulls himself away, standing. “You’re right. I’ll tell her. But not yet. She isn’t at the college, is she?”The Arch Mage stands as well, shaking their head in answer. “You are welcome to stay and take advantage of our hospitality.”“Thank you, but I need to get going. I’ll let you know when it’s time.”“Do not keep me waiting forever,” they warn. It’s made less ominous by the teasing note in their voice.
He decides to bypass Dawnstar and instead make his way south to Whiterun. The journey is arduous due to the mountains, and twice he has to duck under cover as a dragon glides overhead. He grumbles to himself. That damn Dragonborn better be doing his job. Of course, the whole realm knows he’s on Solstheim at the moment, so the dragons are flying around, unchecked, through Skyrim. He better have a good reason for abandoning them all.Mercer supposes he can’t do anything about it, although he can complain to the Arch Mage. He watched them kill a dragon single-handedly, after all.Whiterun is as busy as ever. There are, as always, a million guards swarming the place. Balgruff likes to keep his citizens safe. Even so, Mercer pickpockets the people in the market, raids the gold from the shops, he even pickpockets a few of the guards, although they don’t have much on them. Not like the guards in Riften. The guards in Riften accept all sorts of bribery.He even scouts out Jorvaskrr, but there are too many Companions swaggering about to grab anything, and their silver eyes makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He walks into Dragonsreach with a group of commoners, then hides until everyone’s asleep before skulking through the palace.There are many treasures to be had, but he finds what he’s looking for in the Jarl’s quarters. He’s in an uneasy sleep, and Mercer creeps silently over to his bedside. He grabs the Stone from the bedside table and sneaks back out, no one the wiser to his thieving.He camps off the road. There’s no way he’d sleep in a city that he just robbed. He grits his teeth and bundles up in his bedroll against the cold. He refuses to light a fire because it will only draw attention to himself, and he desperately misses Hel and her warmth right now.He wonders if she’s back at the Guild right now, if Brynjolf is holding her in his big arms and purring sweet words into her ear with his accented voice. He scowls into the fur lining of his bedroll. Perhaps this entire endeavor is all for nothing, but the Arch Mage implied he might have a chance. He tucks his face inside and tries to sleep.
Solitude is warmer, even if it’s more north than Whiterun, but winter is setting in, and he won’t be able to make this journey alone anymore. Once he’s back in the Thieves Guild, they’ll have to settle in for a long, dripping winter.He sneaks into the Blue Palace. It’s almost laughably easy. Since Torygg was killed, his widow has had to take charge, but she has a soft hand. Everyone knows Falk Firebeard is really in charge, but he’s more focused on the large matters and has delegated the guarding and defense of this city to Captain Aldis. Everyone thought Solitude was safe. After all, it was the other side of the country from the Thieves Guild, so they weren’t watching who entered the hall as carefully as they could be, and there was practically a constant parade of people coming in and out.He walks in with a group then slips away to the Jarl’s chambers. The Stone is easy to find, through the first door he sees, next to the Jarl’s bed. He pockets it, then decides to pilfer a few other things while he’s there, like gold and jewels and fine jewelry. So much jewelry.His pockets are already heavy from his stealing spree in Whiterun, but he makes sure to arrange everything so he won’t jingle. He’ll have to cache everything if it’s too much to carry, but he’s loathe to leave any of his take behind for someone else to pick up.He’s about to leave Solitude, but he remembers something that Hel said a long time ago, when they were on that quest together. She had found a flute. Just a random piece of junk, but she said it was important, that she was supposed to turn it into the Bard’s college for a reward, so he decides to swing by the Bard’s college and see what it’s all about.It’s nice inside. The stonework is solid, just like all stonework in Solitude. The large windows provide a light, airy feeling, and there’s the distant sound of lutes and singing. Even where two separate songs overlap, it doesn’t sound bad.“Can I help you with something, sir?” a young man says, walking up with a book under one arm.Mercer shakes his head. “Just looking,” he answers. He would normally steal a few things while he’s here, but he doesn’t want to ruin any of Hel’s chances at future jobs if this is a decent source of income.“Oh! In that case, I’ll give you a tour.”“No, that’s alri-”The boy starts talking anyway, and Mercer could be rude and ignore him, but Hel has helped these people before, and, silly as it is, he doesn’t want to hurt them. They can’t even connect him to her!Maybe one day, his mind supplies. Hel will introduce him to all of her friends outside of the Guild, and he’ll finally know where she goes when she’s not home.The tour is long and long-winded (bards certainly have deep lungs) but it’s over, and Mercer slips back out onto the street.Dusk has fallen, but the residents of Solitude are still active, and Mercer picks a few pockets on his way out of the city.He now has considerably more gold than he started with and it’s quite heavy, so when he walks by the stables he gets an idea.Ten minutes later, he’s up a horse and a set of sturdy saddelbags. Grinning to himself at his minor victory, he heads to Markarth.
He’s decided he hates Markarth. It’s so far from Riften, the mountain is cold and tall and imposing, and the twists and turns in the city, some of which stop at the edge of a cliff, make an easy escape almost impossible.He doesn’t hate it as much as Windhelm. The people here are blunt and distracted and rich, and picking their pockets is easy and fulfilling. He’s hidden most of the gold he’s gathered. He didn’t want to leave it at the stables where anyone could find it, so he stashed it somewhere safe. He’ll pick it up again when he rides to Falkreath.He wanders around the city, slipping into and out of buildings, pocketing whatever small, shiny things his fingers touch. He works his way up to Understone Keep, and he finds the Stone in the Dwemer Museum. It’s more heavily guarded than the Jarl, which Mercer thinks is stupid. Who cares about a bunch of inert, Dwemer tech? Still, he takes the stone then sneaks out. It’s almost too easy, and he relishes something that will give him a bit of a challenge.“I hate guarding the Treasury House,” a guard says. “No one ever tries to break in. Its not like there’s anyone that can pick the lock.”Mercer’s ears prick at the challenge, and he smiles. He can pick the lock.
He waits until nightfall, then sneaks into the Treasury House. It’s laughably easy, and he almost sighs at the disappointment. He’s not one for bragging. If he were Thrynn, he’d be swaggering around the Cistern, telling everyone who would listen (and a few who wouldn’t) about how he broke into the Markarth Treasury House and how easy it was.He clears out as much as he can carry (there are more ingots than anything, which are a bit too heavy to add to his current load) but he vows to come back, maybe with a partner. He pauses, as something through an open door catches his eye. It’s a gem. Not just a gem, but a Stone of Barenziah. Two for one, in one city. A ridiculous city with no escape routes that’s surrounded by cannibal savages.He casually walks out of the gates, not keen to stick around for the fallout when the guards discover all of the precious gems missing. He recovers his stash, saddles his horse, then heads off at a canter towards Falkreath. The sooner he’s off the road, the less likely he is to be targeted by soldiers, Stormcloaks and Imperials alike (and the sooner he returns to the Guild, the sooner he can see Hel).
He's whistling in the fading sunlight, searching for a good spot to camp that will also hide his stolen horse, when he’s knocked out of the saddle by something he can’t see. He feels the air whistle in front of him, and he jerks to the side so whatever it is won’t take him head on. He feels the cold bite of steel against his ribs and the tell-tale burn of poison working its way into his veins.He fumbles for his own dagger, and the assassin becomes visible as their concentration wanes. Mercer gets his dagger up in time to block another stab, but he can feel the poison working through him, making his reactions sluggish.He kicks the assassin off of himself and scrambles to his feet, pulling his sword out. He has to end this quickly. Hopefully he still has an antidote in one of his saddlebags, if he can find his horse after.He slashes at the assassin, who pulls out a second dagger and parries him. They’re good, but they’re not good enough, and he severs their arm then slits their throat. He whistles for the horse, and he finds and downs a healing potion before he rifles through the assassin’s pockets.There’s a note, signed from Astrid. It doesn’t say who, but someone has hired the Dark Brotherhood to kill him. Him! The leader of the Thieves Guild and their longtime ally. He has a guess as to who it might be, but Maven will never admit it, and he’ll be hard pressed to find evidence damning her. He’ll just have to keep a closer eye out and try to speed up his plans as much as possible. Still, he won’t be able to move before winter’s over.The Thieves Guild has a hard time operating after the first snows. Everyone holes up, resources are scarcer, and those that exist are jealously guarded. Winter in Skyrim is more about finding enough food to eat than making any profit. And with the war on, it’s gotten worse.He tucks the note into his pocket to destroy later, but he leaves the body. Let it rot, or better yet, let someone find it and report back to the Dark Brotherhood. Mercer Frey won’t go down so easily.He rides a little more, holding a hand to the slice in his leather armor. The wind bites through to his freshly-healed skin, and he grits his teeth against the cold. Winter has already started, and this will be his last journey until spring comes.He crawls into his bedroll that night, missing Hel fiercely. He remembers the last time he got injured by the saber cat, then almost froze to death. She’d dragged him to Dawnstar, stripped his clothes off, then healed him. He can still remember the way her fingers felt, gentle and warm against his tattered, chilled skin. He wishes he could fall asleep, wrapped in her arms again. He will, he promises himself. He will.
After the attempted assassination, Mercer gives Falkreath a wide berth. He knows the Dark Brotherhood operates out of there, and he’s not looking for further danger. Also, it’s unlikely there’s a Stone in a city that small. The last place he stops is Mistveil keep. He’s been in and out of there a hundred times, and it’s never difficult. It’s almost dawn now, and everyone’s still asleep, but they’ll be stirring soon, so he makes it quick.He plucks the Stone of Barenziah from the Jarl’s bedside table while she sleeps, then slips silently away. That makes five. A worthy courting gift, if he does say so himself. He can’t wait to see Hel, if she’s even here, and he jumps down the Guild ladder, the saddlebags hanging heavy around his shoulders.“Welcome back boss,” Delvin says, relieving Mercer of the saddlebags. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”“Add it to the pile and get me a total count,” Mercer says, stalking towards the Flagon proper. “Is Hel here?” he asks over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought. He’ll find out for himself soon enough.“Aye, but I wouldn’t go in there right now,” Delvin warns.“Why not?”Delvin hesitates, and Mercer rolls his eyes and pushes through the door impatiently. He immediately wishes he’d listened to Delvin.Hel is there, gorgeous and golden under the torchlight, staring into Brynjolf’s eyes as the Nord stands close, his large, rough hands encasing her more delicate ones. They look close, intimate, and Mercer can only watch from a distance, the Stones growing heavier and heavier in his pockets.There’s the initial shock of hurt, like being stabbed, or struck with lightning, but it’s quickly smothered by an all-consuming rage. He needs to go. He needs to go now, or he’ll do something he regrets.He turns on his heel and flees.Hel doesn’t call after him, and something inside him breaks.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mercer is out by the docks, thinking. At first, he wanted to throw the Stones of Barenziah in the water, but he knows his Guild needs all the riches they can get, and he’s not going to throw them away because of a mood. So he sits, and he thinks about Hel and Brynjolf, and how he can’t go back to that frigid distance, but he also can’t just be her friend and Guildmaster anymore. He’s stuck, and he can’t see a clear path forward.He's turning one of the Stones over and over in his hands when the voice he least wants to hear right now speaks from behind him.“Mercer, there you are,” Hel says, sitting down beside him. Her feet hang off the dock, her toes skimming the dark water.He quickly tucks the Stone away. He’s not ready to present them to her yet, if he’s going to do it at all.“How successful were you on your last job?” he asks flatly. He knows better than to ask if she was successful. She always comes through for him.“Not very,” she answers to his disappointment. “Winter has started, and everyone is holed up tight with their wealth.”He grunts in acknowledgement, but he has no admonishment for her. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what he wants. She was with Brynjolf a few minutes ago.“Mercer, are you alright?” she asks, pressing warm fingertips to his shoulder.He wants to collapse into her, allow her to pull him in with strong arms, gather him close and hold him tight, bury his face in her neck and forget about the cold and the assassination attempt and the weight of the entire Guild on his shoulders. But he can’t, because she might be with Brynjolf now, for real.He shifts away and looks out over the water. “Do you need something from me?” It’s difficult to keep his voice from breaking, but he manages. Brynjolf’s always been the smooth talker, like Gallus before him. Mercer has always been the left hand, the one willing to perform the dirty tasks, so when it comes to important conversations, he’s usually blunt and honest, and his frustration often gets the best of him. He can’t let that happen here. He doesn’t want to drive her away, like he’s driven away so many of his friends already.He watches her brows furrow out of the corner of his eye.“I don’t need anything. I just came to spend time with you.”“Shouldn’t you be spending time with Brynjolf right now?”She hesitates, and he finally turns back to face her. She hardly ever hesitates.“What’s wrong?” he demands.“Nothing. It’s just…”“What?” he snarls. He needs to know if she’s in trouble.“I don’t think Brynjolf and I will be spending time together for a while.”“Why not? Has he hurt you?” Mercer stands, ready to go fight his friend for her honor like a chivalrous fool.“No!” she protests, scrambling to her feet. “Nothing like that. He—” she cuts herself off. “It doesn’t matter.”“What happened?” he asks, taking a step forward. “What did he do?”She moves away, and he clenches his fists so he won’t grab her to keep her close.“He told me he loves me.”His heart drops into his stomach. It’s as he feared. There’s no way she’d say no to Brynjolf. But…she just said that she and Brynjolf won’t be seeing each other for a while. What did she mean by that? Did she not reciprocate?“And do you…” love him back? Mercer can’t finish.“I told him I liked someone else.” Her golden eyes meet his, her voice ringing in his ears.The Arch Mage’s words come back to him. Just tell her, they said. You won’t be disappointed in the answer.He digs in his pockets, pulling all five Stones out. His hands are shaking, as they only do in her presence, and he fumbles a bit, trying not to drop them into the water. He manages to catch them all. They’re big, and weighty, but they make a nice, shiny pile in his palms.Her eyes widen. “Where did you find five Stones of Barenziah?”“They’re for you,” he says gruffly, trying to disguise the quaver in his voice. Why is he nervous? He’s never been nervous.She accepts them from his outstretched hands with a soft noise of wonder, looking down at the glittering red gems.He finds himself rambling an explanation. “Most of them were in the Jarls’ palaces. The first was in Windhelm, then Whiterun, then Solitude. I found two in Markarth, and the last was here, in Mistveil Keep.”She looks suitably impressed, and she hands them back, grinning. “Let’s put them with the others. How many do we have now?”“Fourteen,” he answers, always one to keep track of his riches.“Only ten to go.”They share a brief smile, and Mercer breaks their eye contact, readjusting his weight so he’s ready to fight or flee as the situation dictates. If he looks at her he won’t be able to get the words out, and depending on her reaction, he might have to run away forever.“Hel…” he pauses, taking a deep breath. The cold air, even in the south, fortifies him. “I like you.” He braces in preparation for her rebuttal, but it never comes. Instead, there’s a ringing silence.“Mercer,” she says, “look at me. Please.”He slowly drags his gaze to hers. She’s staring at him with her golden eyes, an unreadable expression on her face.“I’d really like to kiss you. Right now.”The relief crashes over him like a tidal wave, and he allows it to sweep him up and carry him forward. He doesn’t wait for her, just smashes their mouths together, tangling his fingers in her silky hair.She presses back just as fiercely, her burning hands roaming all over his body, around his sides, up his back, pulling him closer until their entire fronts are pressed together, not even a breath of space between them.She tastes like victory, like sunlight, like the sweetest of honey wines, better than all the riches of the world.He steps forward, backing her up until she’s pressed against the railing of the dock. He pulls back for a gasping breath, and she hops up so she’s sitting on the railing, winding her legs around his waist and effectively trapping him against her. He doesn’t mind, he likes it, craves it. He’s always wanted to be needed this way, but he always thought it was useless. You couldn’t spend love or passion. He never knew it could feel like this.He presses into her, her thighs like brands against his sides. He has to tilt his head back to reach her mouth like this, but it’s worth it for being encompassed in her heat like this, surrounded by her warmth, her scent, her touch. He needs more. He presses forward again, just as she pulls away for another breath, and she yelps as she overbalances. Her hold on him is so tight it drags him over the railing, and they both plunge into the frigid lake.Mercer fights his way to the surface, gasping for air. He’s already shivering, even if this is nowhere close to as cold as the sea north of Dawnstar. He looks over at Hel, wiping his wet hair out of his eyes, to find her laughing while they both tread water.“Are you okay?” she asks, swimming over to him. Her hair is dark with water and plastered to her skull so her pointed ears poke through the wet tresses.He surprises himself by laughing. He bets they look like a couple of half-drowned skeevers, but there’s really nothing that can ruin his good mood at the moment. He confessed. Hel likes him back. He can’t wait to tell the Arch Mage of his success.“Come on,” he says, swimming over to the stairs that emerge from the water.
With both of them giggling, he leads her back to his private house in Riften. He hasn’t cleaned in a while and there’s a fine layer of dust over everything because he doesn’t trust anyone enough to hire a maid, but he only spares it a passing thought. If Hel likes him, she won’t be dissuaded by his slightly dusty furniture. He’s fully aware of his spiny personality.He sneaks them in to avoid his guard, then leads her to the bathroom.“I had the tub specially enchanted,” he says. “Add water, then tap the flame rune. It’ll heat up for you.”“Ooh, fancy,” she says, stroking her clever fingers over the edge of the tub. Mercer’s eyes snap down to watch. Unbidden, an image appears in his head, of her using those fingers in other ways. He shakes his head. It’s definitely too soon for that.“I’ll get you something dry to wear,” he mutters, fleeing before she can start undressing. They’ve been practically naked with each other before, but they weren’t together back then. He freezes. Are they together now? They like each other, they kissed, but what if she only wants something quick? Now that he has her, he’s not sure he’ll be able to let her go. Ever. The brief time they weren’t speaking was horrible enough. After today, he won’t be able to bear that same distance between them.He grabs some of his own clothes, just a simple shirt and pants, and heads back to the bathroom to leave them outside of the door, only the door is still open, and Hel’s clothes are in a pile next to the tub, her golden head above the water.“Would you like to join me?” she asks, reaching a dripping hand out of the steaming water.YES! Mercer’s instincts shout. He shoves them down. He needs to take this slowly, like a difficult job that takes weeks of casing before finally attempting the steal. He doesn’t want to scare her off (he doesn’t want to scare himself).“Not today,” he answers, leaving the clothes on a table and backing away, making sure to avert his eyes from the bathtub. “I’ll…leave you to it.” He must be imagining the disappointment on her face.
Soon enough, they’re both clean and dry, and Mercer is climbing into his bed beside Hel, who’s looking at him with a soft smile and even softer eyes. She pulls him into the bed with welcoming arms then rolls over on top of him, pressing their mouths together sweetly.Mercer is helpless before her, parting his lips and gripping the back of her (his) shirt in tight fists to keep her there. She smells like him, like his soap, his clothes, his blankets. He never would have imagined that this small thing would bring him such pleasure, such a sense of rightness and belonging, and it’s only been a few hours.They spend a while lazily making out like teenagers, and when they finally part, Hel rolls off him and resettles so they’re still touching. He reaches for her, wanting her to stay close. She intercepts his hand, perhaps sensing what he needs, and entwines their fingers, bringing them to her mouth to brush another kiss over his knuckles.“This is so much better than I imagined,” she whispers into the small space between them.Her comment takes him aback. “You imagined this?”Her amused chuckle sounds like music. “Mercer, I’ve only been thinking about you since the day we met.”“I…what? Really?”“Really,” she reassures him. “You are the most competent,” she leans back in and presses her lips to his throat, “funny,” to his chin, “beautiful man I’ve ever had the pleasure to lay my eyes on.” She kisses him one last time, right between his eyebrows, and he blinks in surprised pleasure, but his suspicious mind turns.“You’re not lying to me, are you?” he asks, pulling himself away and sitting up, causing the blankets to pool in his lap. He shivers as his torso is exposed to the cold air. If she is, she’s been playing a good, long game. Her acting is impeccable.“I wouldn’t lie about this,” she says, propping herself up on an elbow. “Is it really so hard to believe that I find you desirable?”Yes. “…no.”She sits up too, reaching for him, placing her warm hands on either side of his face and stares into his eyes.“I will say it every day until you believe me,” she vows. “You’re beautiful. I like you. And I want to spend every night of this winter in your bed with you.”He pulls his burning face away, blushing hard. No one’s ever said these things about him before. It still feels like some kind of trick, but he can’t detect even the hint of a lie. Even if what she’s saying is ridiculous. In no realm will Mercer ever be considered beautiful. He’s always been painfully average. His green eyes are pretty (owed to his mother), but he’s scrawny, his hair is graying, and his persistent frown has made wrinkles appear around his eyes and mouth.It's not like he’s upset about it. His unremarkable looks have allowed him to be a successful thief all these years. To put it delicately, he has a forgettable face.“Let’s just go to sleep,” he grumbles, laying back down and pulling the blankets over himself.She hums, then lays back down beside him, allowing him to crawl his way into her arms and press his face into her throat. It’s his favorite position, being held, surrounded by her warmth. He’s never had this much warmth in his life.His father hated him, and his mother kept herself at a frigid distance, and the only companionship he’d found was with Gallus and for a briefer time, Karliah. Then Gallus had died, and it had ended. Even Brynjolf and Delvin weren’t as close with him as he’d been with those two, although that was more due to his need to keep people at a distance for self-preservation than any fault of theirs.With Hel, she’d closed that distance despite him, and before he knew it, he’d been too ensnared to think about escaping her orbit. Now, he couldn’t imagine willingly leaving.
“Uh…Mercer?” Rune says hesitantly.Mercer glances up at him before turning back to his papers. The winter gives him time to balance his accounts and make sure he’s utilizing his funds to maximum effectiveness.“What,” he answers impatiently.“I just returned from my last job.”“And?”“…I got caught. They took my loot, and I had to pay a fine.”Mercer doesn’t even dignify that with a glance. Normally he’d be pissed, but he’s in a strangely good mood today. It might have something to do with the amount of sleep he’s been getting. He’s spent every night this week with Hel. They haven’t done anything more than kiss and cuddle, although Mercer has to sneak out of bed each morning to take care of his…problem, and Hel politely pretends not to notice.“That’s fine,” he answers. “You’ll make it up next time.” He scribbles down a few figures. Then he realizes that Rune is still standing there. “Do you need me to dismiss you?”“No,” he says. “Thank you, Guildmaster.” He practically runs away, over to Vipir and Thrynn, who throw him strange looks before whispering together.Nonplussed, he looks around until he catches Hel’s amused gaze. She saunters over to casually lean on his desk.“You’re being awfully nice today,” she says, grinning at him.“I don’t’ know what you’re talking about. I’m always this nice,” he teases, flashing his teeth at her. He’s not used to smiling, and he’s afraid it comes out as more of a snarl than anything else, but she’s able to read his expressions anyway, just like she always has.He’s rewarded by a snorting laugh, and the sound makes him relax and smile for real. He goes stiff again when he spots Brynjolf glaring from across the Cistern, then storming out into the Flagon.Hel follows his gaze and just catches the Nord’s back disappearing through the passageway. She winces.“When do you think he’ll stop being mad at me?”“He’s not mad at you, he’s mad at me,” Mercer corrects her. “We had a talk before…” he waves a hand between them to indicate their budding relationship. “It didn’t go well.”She frowns in the direction Brynjolf vanished. “I’m sorry for hurting him.”“Do you…do you wish you said yes to him instead?” They’d make more sense as a couple. Brynjolf has never had a problem winning over people, men and women alike. He’s nicer than Mercer, softer, kinder, with a bigger heart. He deserves Hel so much more. It’s been a wonderful week, but if she’s regretting her choice…he doesn’t know how he’ll let her go. She’d slipped past his defenses, and now she was stuck behind the impenetrable wall around his heart. He’d have to carve her out somehow.“Not for a moment,” she says, staring him down.He looks back at his papers, but he’s not actually seeing anything as a pleased blush suffuses his face. He tries to hide it, but Hel notices, and he wonders what he can do to make her fluster. So far, she’s taken everything as coolly as the weather.“Shouldn’t you be making potions?” he tries, scratching out nonsense on a piece of useless parchment.“I ran out of blue mountain flowers already. I was thinking of going up to the College of Winterhold tomorrow. They have a few enchanted gardens that are always in bloom.”No. She can’t leave. “Can’t you use other ingredients in the ratways?”“It won’t taste as good,” she complains, wrinkling her nose.He rolls his eyes. “If it’s good enough to save this lot’s life, they’ll drink it. Besides, if you really need ingredients from the College, you can send Niruin with a list. I promised Enthir I’d send him up there more frequently.”She pauses. “…Oh?” The grin on her face looks mischievous. “I’ll have to keep an eye on them.”Something occurs to him. “You know, Enthir told me that you liked someone.”She blinks. “Did he?”“He said you complained to him for two hours about their hands, and their eyes, and their…” he pauses to gauge her reaction, but her face is blank. “Their thighs,” he finishes.Her eyes flick down, almost too quickly to see if he wasn’t already looking. He tracks her line of sight, and if the desk wasn’t in the way she’d be staring directly at his legs.“It was me,” he says with wonder. “The whole time, you were talking about me.”She finally blushes, it turns her golden skin slightly rosy. It’s so pretty that he can’t help but want to make her do it again.“He, ah, wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” Then she looks up at him from under her eyelashes, and her soft expression makes the breath catch in his throat. “But yes. It was always about you.”He wants to kiss her so badly. He wants to keep teasing her to make her blush. He wants to grab her and drag her back to his house and have his wicked way with her and see exactly how far down that blush goes. In fact, he’s just about to suggest the last option when Niruin himself interrupts.“Don’t you two look cozy,” Niruin sneers, swaggering up with his bow in hand. “I’m glad it didn’t take you both years like it took Vex and the old man.”“Niruin,” Mercer snaps, angry at being interrupted. “Just the person I wanted to see. I need you to travel to the College of Winterhold and obtain some potion ingredients.”The Bosmer glares. “In this weather? I don’t think so.”Mercer narrows his eyes. “Are you refusing a direct order?”He sighs airily, rolling his eyes. “No sir.”“I’ll go with you,” Hel volunteers. “It’s not safe to travel alone, especially in the winter when people get desperate.”He feels something in him sieze in terror, and he lashes out like an animal. Later he’ll be ashamed of losing control and showing his hand, but right now he’s panicking.“No!” he shouts, startling the two thieves. He wrangles himself, but there’s still a growl in his voice. “I forbid you to leave.”Niruin looks shocked and offended, but Hel’s face is blank.“Hey, you can’t just—”“Leave us,” Hel interrupts Niruin’s protest on her behalf.“But—”She turns sharp golden eyes on Niruin, who huffs and stalks off, angry at being rebuffed multiple times during this conversation. Hel turns to Mercer, and her gaze gives nothing away. She may as well be the perfect picture of neutrality.“What?” he asks, already hunching his shoulders and baring his teeth in preparation for a thorough tongue-lashing. Hel’s the only one who can get away with it, because she’s the only one whose opinion matters.She blinks, but her expression doesn’t shift. “Mercer, I can’t stay forever.”“I know that!” he says, searching for something, anything, to distract from the inevitability of her leaving him. His instinctual comment at their impending separation may have expedited matters.She takes a step forward, close enough that he can feel her body heat radiating into the space between them.“Mercer,” she says, her voice soft. Her hand is softer where it clasps one of his own, and brings it to her mouth, pressing kisses over his knuckles before placing her lips against the pulse point on his wrist. His fingers spasm against her jaw, but he stills when he feels his calluses scrape against her soft skin.He furtively glances around, but the Cistern is uncharacteristically empty. Perhaps they sensed the brewing storm and decided to hide.“Mercer,” she whispers against his skin, catching his attention. He shudders at her warm breath and the barest brush of her lips against his sensitive wrist. “I would only be going to protect one of our own, not to leave you forever.”Like usual, she’s gotten to the root of the problem without him having to voice it. There may come a day when he wants to hide something from her, and he’ll be unable to do so. For now, it’s beneficial when he can’t even voice his own feelings.“…I know that,” he repeats, automatically matching her quiet tone.“Good.” She moves closer, but doesn’t do anything more, just interlaces their fingers. “Then we won’t have such a difficult time parting when winter is over.”“…huh?” His brain takes a second to absorb what she said. “You mean you’re not leaving?”She laughs. “Why would I? You’re here.”He yanks her down into a kiss, and he can feel her smile against his lips.“We still have to send someone with Niruin,” she says when they part.“I’ll talk to Brynjolf about it. I’m sure he’ll be glad of an excuse to get out of here.”She hums and buries her fingers in his hair, and he grins in anticipation for the thorough snogging he’s about to receive when someone calls his name.“What?!” he shouts, whirling around to glare at the intruder. It’s just Garthar, and he forces himself to take a deep breath.“I’ll be right back,” Hel promises over her shoulder, sauntering away.Mercer watches her go with a deep sigh before turning to Garthar. He’s reluctant to let Hel out of his sight. It’s irrational, he knows, but he thinks that if she gets away from him even a little, she’ll actually see him and not want to be with him anymore. He’s woken up every morning this week expecting her to be gone, having slipped away during the night, only to find she’s miraculously still there.He refocuses on Garthar. “What do you want?”He only half-listens to Garthar’s report.“Yeah yeah,” he says. “Good job. Now go away.”He can see Hel returning with a chair, which she sets on his side of the desk, the back of the chair backed up against the wood. She sits herself down, pulling out a green apple (his favorite) and a knife to cut it.She leans in until her shoulder is bumping his hip and she starts to carve pieces from the apple, dropping one on the desk for Mercer and popping the next in her mouth.Mercer relaxes, crunching on the proffered pieces of apple and gently pressing his hip into the support given by her shoulder. When the apple is gone, she takes out a book and slouches in the chair, leaning more firmly into his side and resting her head against him. Mercer glances down at her reading material, but the language is foreign to him and he turns back to his own work.They pass a quiet, companiable time that way, and whenever his old doubts of her leaving him creep back, he just drops his hand onto her head and plays with her silky hair until her eyes go half-lidded with pleasure and her book starts to droop in her hands.Of course, Brynjolf walks up, and Mercer taps Hel’s shoulder to warn her of the impending confrontation.She stands fluidly, coming to Mercer’s side and leaning against his desk. She’s careful not to crinkle any of his papers, and he’s grateful for the comfort.Brynjolf hesitates when he sees her, throwing her the most heart-broken glance that Mercer’s ever seen. He would scoff at his theatrics, but all he has to imagine is their positions reversed, and he doesn’t feel like laughing at all.“Can you give us a moment, lass?” Brynjolf asks, speaking to Hel but looking at Mercer.“Of course,” she answers quietly. She leaves, her steps silent over the flagstones, and Mercer watches her, trying to will down the panic swirling in his chest.Once they’re alone, Brynjolf speaks. “Congratulations. You won.”Mercer shrugs. “I didn’t do anything.” I don’t deserve her.“You didn’t have to. She chose you. She was never going to choose me. Do you know why?”Mercer shrugs again. “You’ll have to ask her. I still don’t really believe it. I wouldn’t have chosen me.” Brynjolf is objectively the better choice. He’s taller, more handsome, kinder, better with people.Brynjolf looks in the direction she took and sighs forlornly, then he cuts his gaze to Mercer, his eyes hard. “You better treat her right.”Mercer swallows back his instinctive reply, which is to snap at Brynjolf and tell him to back off. “I’ll do my best,” he vows.“Good.” Brynjolf turns, but before he can leave, Mercer catches him.“I have a job for you,” he says.Brynjolf raises an eyebrow in a ‘really?’ gesture. Mercer ignores it. He’s had enough of being mushy today. Now he’s the Guildmaster.“I need you to accompany Niruin to the College of Winterhold. You’re going on a supply run for alchemy ingredients.”“Understood. Anything else, Guildmaster?”Mercer wracks his brain. Does he need anything else from the college? He’d like to talk to the Arch Mage, but that’s better in person, and he won’t be able to do it until spring thaws the roads. “No,” he finally answers. “There’s nothing else.”Brynjolf inclines his head and leaves, and Mercer watches after him. He won Hel, but he lost his best friend.Then Hel walks back in, her head tilted in a question, her golden eyes sharp.“Are you alright?” she asks, placing light fingers on his shoulder, an invitation for touch. He presses his hand on top of hers briefly.“Fine,” he answers. It’s partly true. He’s always better with her nearby. “I’m done working for today. Let’s go home.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mercer wakes as Hel disentangles herself from his lax hold and slips out of bed.“Bathroom,” she whispers in explanation, without him having to ask. “I’ll be right back.” She presses a soft kiss to his temple as Mercer grumbles and burrows toward her side of the bed, seeking out the warm impression she left behind, listening to the sound of her bare feet pattering down the hallway. He dozes, waiting for her to get back.“Mercer!” she shouts, startling him awake. His eyes snap open, and he just dodges the plunging dagger that sinks into the mattress.He falls from the bed, tangled in the blankets, and rights himself just enough to see Hel tackle the assassin.She’s unarmed, but she’s holding her own, and Mercer kicks his way out of the tangle of blankets and reaches for the dagger in his bedside table.Hel blocks a dagger to the neck with her forearm, wincing as it bites deep into her flesh. She kicks the assassin back, but they surge forward again, tackling her to the ground and stabbing the dagger at her face. She catches the blade with both hands, halting its fall inches from her eye.Mercer finally gets to his feet and rounds the bed, grabbing the assassin by the hood and opening their throat with his own dagger. He throws the body aside to bleed out and drops down next to Hel.She’s pressing bleeding hands over a bleeding stomach, her clothes quickly turning red. The cut on her forearm is bleeding freely, but the thing Mercer is most worried about is the dagger protruding from her stomach. It must have been a second, hidden one that the assassin pulled when they failed to stab her in the face, but this one is just as likely to kill her. It’s probably poisoned too.His hands hover over her uncertainly, not sure where to start. He doesn’t know how to take care of people.“Mercer,” Hel says, pulling a hand off of her stomach to catch his wrist. Her grip is slick from blood and weaker than it usually is, and it makes his heart clench in terror. “Look at me.”He looks to her face. She’s gritting her teeth and her eyes are tense with pain, but her touch and gaze are grounding.“I need a poison antidote and a healing potion, in that order.”“Right,” he says, pulling away and sprinting to his supply room. He comes back as quickly as he can, kneeling down next to Hel. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is rapid, but she opens her eyes when he calls her name, reaching for the poison antidote.She drinks it quickly, shuddering at the taste. Or maybe she’s just starting to shake from the blood loss.“You need to take the dagger out,” she says, hands starting to tremble over the stab wound.He grips the handle and pulls, careful not to twist it.She groans and shudders, and her eyes close again.“Hel!” he shouts, dropping the dagger to clatter on the ground and scrambling for the healing potion with one hand while he shakes her shoulder with the other.She takes a gasping breath and opens her eyes, letting out a tiny whimper of pain. Mercer’s heart clenches in sympathy and panic, and he presses the healing potion into one hand. Her fingers won’t quite close, and he has to help her hold it to her mouth. He supports her shoulders and pulls her to a sitting position, and she grimaces as a fresh wave of blood gushes out of her stomach and soaks into her lap.He pours the potion between her lips, pleading with her to be okay. She swallows it, then buries her face in his chest as it starts to work, closing the wounds on her arm, her hands, and finally closing the stab wound in her stomach. She’s completely silent but for her harsh breathing, and he holds her as gently as he can, stroking a hand over her hair.Eventually, she lifts her head with a deep sigh. “Divines, that was awful.”“Are you okay? Do you need another healing potion?” he asks. He’s reluctant to leave her to find another, but he’d do it if she needed.“I’m fine,” she says, stretching a little, then rubbing a healed hand over her healed stomach. “Getting stabbed is never fun.”Now that she’s not dying, his worry manifests as anger like it often does. “What in Oblivion were you thinking?” he snarls, still holding her tenderly. “You fought an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood unarmed!”She narrows her eyes and pulls away from him, slipping a little in the puddle of drying blood as she stands up. “I was protecting you! Why do you have an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood trying to kill you?”“I can handle assassins. I took care of the one that attacked me on my way south from Markarth.”She’s silent for a moment. Then; “You were attacked and you didn’t bother to tell anyone?!” she practically shrieks, her eyes wide and flashing.He crosses his arms. He won’t be dressed down by his subordinate. “Like I said, I took care of it.”She strides forward, and he almost flinches at the sudden movement, but he knows she’d never hurt him, so he stands still and lets himself be manhandled as she circles him, running her hands over his body to search for any sudden wounds she hasn’t found at any night they’ve spent together. For the sake of the Divines, he sleeps without a shirt!Still, he lets her explore until she’s satisfied, and then she’s just holding his shoulders from the front, her eyes still raking over his torso before landing on his face. She’s pale and her hands tremble where they rest on him, and he has another surge of panic. Is she alright? Did she lose too much blood earlier?“That new stitching in your armor. It’s from that, isn’t it?” She traces over the exact spot where he was stabbed by the assassin, and he curses her powers of observation. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she meets his gaze, and she’s got the same look she had in Windhelm when he wanted to separate briefly. Oh, she’s scared. He can deal with that.“I’m alright,” he says gruffly, pulling her into a hug. He’s gotten a lot better at providing comfort this winter, and he doesn’t care about the blood staining her shirt, although it is a grim reminder that she was bleeding out in his arms a few minutes ago. “I think you got the worst of it.”She huffs a weak laugh next to his ear, just a warm puff of air. “I’m fine,” she says again, but she clings to him with shaking hands. He holds her until they’re still.
It’s still the middle of the night, but they have work to do. Mercer calls up Vald to take care of the body, and they start scrubbing the blood off the floor. Then they both get washed and dressed in clean clothes, and then they’re just standing there, staring at each other.“You shouldn’t sleep here anymore,” he says. Everything in him protests at what he just said. He needs her. Her warmth, her reassurances, her breathing next to him. He can’t go back to a cold and empty bed, not after what they had.“Good idea,” she agrees instantly. He gets a stab of hurt, but it doesn’t have much time to take root because her next words are; “You should come sleep in my bed.”“I don’t want to endanger the Guild, either.”She rolls her eyes. “You’re not the one endangering us. You’re the one in danger. The least you can do is let the Guild look after their Guildmaster.”“I…okay.”
They make their way into the Cistern. The Guild members keep odd hours, although most of them are asleep because it’s winter, and it’s not like they can do any late night thieving. Vipir’s up though, and he gives them an odd look as they walk in, but he goes back to polishing his sword in his lap.Hel takes him by the hand and leads him to a bed on the other side, pulling back the neatly made bedcovers and pushing Mercer to sit. She kicks off her own boots, crawling in to join him.Mercer is suddenly flattened by a wave of fatigue so strong, all he can do is drop a hand onto Hel’s stomach before falling asleep almost instantly. He distantly feels lips pressed against his hair, but he’s gone before he can be sure.
He wakes up to an empty bed.“Hel?” he calls, scrambling out of the covers.She’s there immediately, and Mercer has to stop himself from grabbing her. She almost died yesterday.“Don’t wander off like that!” he snaps, clenching his hands into fists.She takes his anger for the fear it truly is and mitigates it by moving a step closer and grabbing his arm, pulling him toward the entrance to the Flagon. “I was thinking you and I could train some more in swordfighting, and I want to get better at hand-to-hand.”He presses more tightly into her side. Is he now completely dependent upon her for his happiness and wellbeing? Yes. Does he care? Not in the slightest.They eat breakfast in the Flagon, and he shamelessly watches her chew.“What?” she says, one cheek stuffed full of toast.I love you, he thinks. The thought doesn’t scare him as much as it should. It feels right. Another step on their path together. He can’t believe he used to find her unbearable. “Nothing,” he finally says, looking back down at his plate.
Mercer has to run off and deal with something, but he grudgingly suggests that Hel can learn hand-to-hand combat from Brynjolf. Her safety is more important than his jealousy.When he comes back, he finds them rolling around the floor of the training room, Brynjolf patiently explaining how to grapple the different moves. Mercer feels a surge of intense jealousy, and he grits his teeth. Brynjolf and Hel were almost together, and Brynjolf still likes her. He can’t hide the way he looks at her, or the protectiveness in his voice when he threatened Mercer the other day.Hel catches sight of him, and her face lights up like the sun. “Mercer!” she calls, countering Brynjolf’s hold and wriggling out from underneath him. She crosses the short distance and practically flings herself into his arms, sweat and all.“You okay?” she asks, pulling back to inspect him, as if in the short time they were apart, some harm could have befallen him.“I’m fine,” he laughs, reaching back for her. He can’t help but find her concern touching, even if it’s currently unwarranted. He drops a kiss onto her forehead. “How are you getting on?”“Brynjolf’s teaching me a thing or two.” She grins back at the Nord, who nods.“She’s not half bad,” he jokes, his lips twitching into a pale smile.“Then don’t let me interrupt,” he says, trying and failing to keep the sour note out of his voice.“We were just finishing,” Brynjolf says, brushing his sweaty hair back from his face. It falls back just a little, perfectly framing his face, and Mercer tightens his arm around Hel as if the sight of Brynjolf’s artfully tousled hair will cause her to abandon him for the Nord.She does move out from under his arm, but it’s only to look at him. “I was wondering if we could train with swords now.”“…Of course.”
He grabs the swords from the training rack and tries to ignore the quiet ‘see you laters’ between Brynjolf and Hel.“Catch,” he says, tossing a sword and a dagger her way.She catches them with a grin and twirls them into their proper holds.He arms himself similarly and lunges for her.They clash swords. He can tell she’s slightly fatigued from her training with Brynjolf, but she’s still fast. Not as fast as Mercer, though.They train for a while, until they’re both panting. Her reflexes are better, her form impeccable, and she takes Mercer’s barked directions instantly. He finally decides to end their training session, slamming her sword out of her hand. She twists under his outstretched sword and digs her sword pommel into his wrist. He drops it with a clatter, and she presses her advantage, hooking a foot behind his knee and toppling him to the ground. He pulls her down with him, yanking her to his chest and holding his dagger to her neck. He feels the cold press of blunted steel against his thigh, right above his femoral artery.They’re both panting, chests heaving against each other, faces inches apart.“Tie?” Hel whispers, throat bobbing against the training dagger.“Tie,” he concedes, tossing his blade away. Hel’s follows immediately, and then they’re grappling, doing their best to pin each other.Brynjolf’s taught her a few moves, and then he isn’t thinking about Brynjolf at all, just the catch of their clothes, the drag of her limbs, the warmth of her body. Mercer wins, and he pins Hel down, pressing bodily against her from above, their fronts aligned in a mirror image of earlier.She stares up at him, golden eyes all liquid warmth, and he doesn’t know who moves first, but they’re kissing. There’s the wet glide of her tongue against his, the plush heat of her lips. His hands find their way under her shirt. She breaks their kiss, only to gasp in a breath and moan enticingly as she presses up into his hands.“Is this okay?” he asks, pressing himself into her thigh.She nods vigorously and crooks an ankle behind his knee, hauling him down with a leg and both hands. “Yes,” she murmurs into his mouth. “I want you.”Something in him thrills at that, at Hel wanting him, and he kisses her again.He doesn’t notice much after that. He thinks someone walks in on them at one point, but he’s too caught up in the moment to really know.
Mercer presses his face into her silky hair with a groan as he settles over her, and she pulls him in, pressing her lips to his shoulder.“Again?” she asks.“Already?”“I can’t get enough of you,” she confesses. Her voice drops. “If we go somewhere softer, I’ll show you how much I love your thighs.”He feels himself start to stiffen again at her proposal. “Promise?”
He pulls her into his little-used private room off the Cistern, and she makes good on her promise. When he drifts off, sweaty and content and cherished, he can’t imagine anything better.“I love you,” he whispers when he’s sure she’s asleep. She doesn’t answer, but then, he wasn’t expecting her to.
They spend the whole next day in bed doing…things. Together. Mercer only climbs out of bed long enough to pull some pants on and get them some food. Vekel the Man gives him a strange look when he walks up, whistling, with bare feet and hickeys all over his chest.“Having a good time, boss?” Delvin asks from the side, raking his gaze over Mercer’s thoroughly debauched form. He’s not even sure what his hair is doing, but he’s sure it’s not pretty. He doesn’t care. He’s never been happier.“Shut up, Mallory,” he replies without any heat. He takes the plate of bread and cheese and the handful of apples Vekel pushes towards him, and takes the opportunity to fill up some water skins. He heads back to his bedroom where Hel is waiting, a fur wrapped around her shoulders and the blanket pooled in her lap.“I see you were successful on your mission,” she says, golden eyes twinkling. Her hair is ruffled, her neck covered in bite marks, but she’s never looked more beautiful.“I always am,” Mercer brags, sitting down beside her and placing the cheese plate on the bed between them. She chuckles and drags him into another smiling kiss, and he catches her hand before she can pull fully away.She allows it, eating with one hand and lacing her fingers with his.“So,” he says, swallowing his bite of bread, “we should probably get cleaned up after this.”“Good idea,” she agrees. “We can enjoy ourselves in the baths.”He blushes. That’s not quite what he had in mind, but he’s not opposed. “I…yeah.”
The baths are a fun time, and he has to stop himself from letting an ‘I love you’ slip out every five seconds. Afterwards, they truly do take a bath, and Hel lovingly scrubs soap through his hair and over his skin.He returns the favor clumsily, with hands unused to kindness. Hel doesn’t seem to mind, leaning into his touch, placing her golden head on his shoulder with a deep sigh of contentment.They relax until the water grows cold, then they climb out and dry off.“We should probably put in an appearance in for the rest of the Guild’s sake,” Hel says, pulling on clean clothes. The shirt is Mercer’s, and he hides his pleased smile at her wearing it.“Fine,” he agrees easily. “But only for a bit.”
They’re subjected to a bunch of catcalls and whooping as soon as they emerge out to the middle of Guild dinner. It was something the Guild had started doing this past summer, after Hel had joined them. Anyone that was in headquarters at the time got together to eat the evening meal, but Mercer had never really joined in before.Brynjolf is there with a nod. He’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning either. Mercer nods back, then he’s ushered to sit and a plate is pushed into his hands before he can protest. Hel, who hasn’t left his side all winter, is dragged over and placed between Rune and Thrynn, who start gossiping with her like old fishwives.Mercer finds himself between Delvin and Tonilia.“Oh, stop looking like a lost puppy, Mercer,” Tonilia says, rolling her eyes. “You’ll have her back tonight.”Hel catches his eyes and gives him an amused smile before turning back to Thrynn.“So, boss,” Delvin says, leaning close and giving him a conspiratorial grin. “Tell us, is she treating you right?”He bares his teeth. “Like I’d tell you anything.”“Course she’s treating him right,” Tonilia snorts. “See how relaxed he is?”Mercer bristles. He doesn’t want anyone trying to dissect their relationship. Not while it’s so new. Delvin places a calming hand on his shoulder. “Relax. We’re just teasing. We’re really glad you found someone, boss. Twenty-five years and I’ve never seen you even look at someone.”“There wasn’t anyone to look at until she showed up,” he says, shoveling some food into his mouth so he won’t have to answer any more probing questions.There’s a ringing silence around him, and he looks up, annoyed.“What?” he snaps, ready for a fight.“That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Tonilia says, glancing over at Vekel.Mercer shrugs. He wasn’t trying to be romantic. It’s just true.
Afterwards, Mercer makes his way into Hel’s arms again. They’re spending the night in Hel’s bed since Mercer’s is a bit messy at the moment.“Your family is happy for you,” she whispers, hooking her chin over the top of his head just as he likes so he can press his face into her throat.“Our family,” he corrects. She’s a part of it.“…our family,” she repeats after a brief hesitation.He goes to sleep, utterly content.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I have to go,” Hel says as they’re both getting dressed for the day.Mercer’s entire being immediately rebels against her words. “What? Why? Where would you go? The weather is still terrible, you’ll get stuck.”“The snows stopped enough to allow passage on the roads. It’ll be fine if I don’t get caught in a spring storm. Besides, I ignored a lot of responsibilities so I could spend my winter here with you. I don’t regret a moment of it, but now I have to leave and take care of some things.”He doesn’t want her to leave. This winter has been better than any he can remember. Even those few with Gallus and Karliah, those last few with Brynjolf too, were great. They were fun and filled with joy, and then Gallus had died and Mercer had been stewing in bitter, self-imposed isolation for the past two decades. And now Hel had come along and shattered it.She’d spent almost every moment by his side. They’d trained together, slept together, worked together. He’d watched her make potions, she’d watched him read boring reports.One memorable day, which had dawned clear and crisp, they’d taken some horses from the stables and gone for a gallop through the powdery snow. Then a dragon roar had come from nearby, and they’d raced as fast as they could back to Riften, sheltering next to the wall, their horses panting and steaming in the cool air.He'd watched her face, the wide golden eyes, the rosy flush to her cheeks, the growing smile at having gotten away. “I love you,” he’d said. It had just slipped out, easy as breathing, and she’d turned to him, her smile growing, her eyes softening.“I love you too,” she’d replied, easy, sounding much more confident than his rabbiting heart made him feel. He couldn’t touch her then, not with them both on horses, huddling next to Riften’s outer wall, but he’d laid her down later, made love to her as well as he could, and judging by the way she held him, she’d enjoyed herself too.Now, she was trying to leave.“You can’t leave,” he says, projecting all the authority of his position into his voice.She sees straight through him, like she always does. This winter, she’s gotten even better at it. “It won’t be forever, just until I finish my business.”“And how long will that take?”She shrugs, and he represses the urge to growl.“You promised to tell me one day.”“After we defeat Maven, I’ll tell you where I go when I’m not here.”“Promise?” he asks, reaching for her.She catches his hands and brushes her lips over his knuckles then turns his hand over and presses her lips to his palm. “I promise,” she whispers against his skin.He pulls away reluctantly. He needs a clearer head to make an actual decision, not that he can ever deny her anything.“Fine,” he concedes. “After Maven. I’ll hold you to it.”
She leaves the next day, and Mercer is tempted to follow her, but he has to trust her. He’s never trusted anyone after Gallus died. Maybe Brynjolf and Delvin, but neither one keeps secrets from him.He tries to busy himself, but there’s no way he can keep his mind on any task while Hel’s out there alone. Although she did tell him once that she’s never safer than when she’s alone, which looking back, was a strange thing to say. It doesn’t make any sense, but he supposes it’ll all become clear when Hel tells him after they slip out from Maven’s iron grip.He waits a week. Even with the first blushes of spring, it’s still cold, and Mercer has to spend the nights in his previously warm bed alone. It sucks, and he hasn’t heard anything from Hel at all. He doesn’t know if she made it to her mysterious destination, and he can’t help but worry.He paces his way through the guild, pounds out his frustrations in the training room, and even snaps at the other members.“When does Hel get back?” he hears Thrynn grumble. “Mercer’s extra mean when she’s not here.”He’s just about ready to pack up and go after her when a letter comes in.
Made it safely. Busy here. Will write when I can. Love, H.
He stares at it for a solid minute, just absorbing the words over and over. Some restless part of him starts to settle. She’s safe. She still loves him. He holds out for a few more days, but one morning dawns clear and warm, and he knows its properly spring now.He gathers the guild members.“Everyone!” he shouts, gathering their attention. “Winter’s over. Let’s go make some money!”There’s a round of cheering, and everyone disperses. Mercer swings by Delvin’s usual table before he goes.“I’m heading up to the College,” he informs him. “You and Brynjolf keep things running while I’m gone.”“You got it boss,” Delvin agrees.He nods, then goes to find Niruin. It will be the first time he’s leaving the Guild for an extended period since fall, and with the assassination attempts, he’s going to assume it’s safe to find backup. Plus, he did promise Enthir he’d make Niruin visit the College more often, and one time does not a promise make.He finds the Bosmer practicing with his bow, as usual.“Niruin!” Mercer calls. “Pack your bags. You’re coming with me to Winterhold.”Niruin lowers his bow and scowls at Mercer. “I went earlier this winter. Why do I have to go again?”“Because I said so.”He sighs and rolls his eyes. “Fine.”
They set out in the early morning, trying to take full advantage of the lengthening daylight. The northern road, which already passes through a swamp, has turned into a quagmire with melting snow, so they head west towards Falkreath.Niruin hardly says a word, which suits Mercer just fine. He’s used to Hel’s easy companionship, and Niruin is not that. He’s usually bitterly sarcastic, which matches Mercer’s difficult personality well. Mercer is hesitant to stay in Falkreath since that’s the Dark Brotherhood’s territory, but they don’t really have a choice. He’d rather not camp in this weather, and spring has made everything wet anyway, including any potential firewood.“We’re staying at the inn,” Mercer grunts, leading the way into town.“Thank the Divines,” Niruin mutters.They end up with two rooms because no one is traveling at this time of year, and Mercer leans on the bar.“Heard any good rumors lately?” he asks, trying to get some news.“Yeah, the Dark Brotherhood got attacked by the Penitus Oculatus. They’ve been wiped out and their sanctuary was burned down. I don’t miss them here in Falkreath, that’s for sure.”Mercer tries not to let his jubilation show on his face. He hums. “Thanks,” he says, wandering off to his room.If Hel were here, she’d know he was pleased without a doubt, but Niruin just looks bored and doesn’t give Mercer a second glance. They retreat to their separate rooms, and Mercer goes to sleep. Cold.
The rest of their journey is uneventful. They rob a whole bunch of things in Whiterun, try in Dawnstar (but no one has anything there, although there's this weird museum), then make their way to Winterhold. They pass straight through town and up to the College, and Mercer parts ways with Niruin.“I’m going to see the Arch Mage. Make yourself busy for a while, but no stealing,” he orders, waving the Bosmer away.Niruin nods then sashays off, walking faster than is normal. Mercer scoffs as he watches him enter the wing where Enthir lives. Good to see they’re getting along, he supposes. He doesn’t really care right now. He goes to find the Arch Mage.He finds them in the library, conversing quietly with the librarian, a recalcitrant orc that could give Mercer a run for his money when it comes to grumpiness. He waits patiently, glancing over the spines of the nearby books. He can read most of it because he was forced to study magic by his parents when he was young, but he doesn’t really keep up. He’s good enough at Illusion that he never really uses anything else.He sees the Arch Mage finish the conversation with the librarian and straightens, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword. They come toward him, head tilted.“Guildmaster!” they greet, clasping his forearm warmly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”“I came to see you,” he answers. Neither one moves away, and the heat radiating from the Arch Mage reminds him of Hel. His chest twinges with longing, and he remembers she spends some time here. “Is Hel around, by chance?”The Arch Mage shakes their head. “She was here a few days ago. She was well, last I saw her.”Mercer deflates slightly but nods. One day, he’d love to have Hel show him around the College since she said she spends so much time here, but it can wait.“Come,” the Arch Mage says, slinging an arm around his shoulder and folding him into half an embrace. Mercer, who hasn’t been properly warm or even touched since Hel left, sinks into it.
They lead him to a quiet alcove with some plush seats, sinking into one with a sigh and gesturing for Mercer to take the other. He does, leaning forward on his elbows. The Arch Mage curls toward him, tilting their masked head in curiosity.“Now, why do I get the feeling that you have something to tell me?”Mercer ducks his head, blushing. How does this person read him so well? “I do.” He hesitates, trying to form his thoughts. “I took your advice. I told Hel how I felt and…she felt the same. We’re…I love her. She loves me back. I didn’t know I could be this happy.”The Arch Mage waits patiently for him to finish. “That’s wonderful, Mercer,” they say, voice thick with some emotion. “I’m so happy for you.”He nods and clears his throat. That’s enough mushiness for one day. “Do you need anything from the Guild?”The Arch Mage shakes their head. “We could always use more money, but we’ll earn it.”“In that case, we’ll buy all the healing potions you’ve got, plus anything else you have.”They nod. “If you stay an extra day, I’ll double your order. The students could use the refresher after the long break they had.” They pause. “It’s…coming soon, then?”“As soon as we restock what we lost this winter.”They nod seriously. “Alright. I’ll be ready.”“And the others?” Mercer presses, because as much as having the Arch Mage will turn the tide (he doesn’t really need anyone else. They’re easily the most powerful mage he’s ever seen), he’d love to have the others. The Arch Mage can’t be everywhere at once.“I’ve spoken to them about it. Enthir’s in, but the others…they’re scholars, not warriors. I won’t force them to put themselves in danger. Not even for the good of the alliance.”Mercer frowns, but he understands. People are part of the Thieves Guild so long as they want to be, although they don’t really have a retirement plan. He can’t force anyone to join or to stay. If you do, you’re just asking for a betrayal.“I see.”“I’m sorry,” they say.“It’s okay. I get it.” He shakes his head and stands. “Let me know if you need anything from me.”“Of course. Take care, Mercer.”
That night, Mercer is staying in a bed generously provided by the Arch Mage when the door creaks open. He silently draws a dagger.“Mercer?” Hel’s voice wafts through the chilly air.“Hel?” Mercer asks, putting the dagger away and sitting up in the bed.A dark shape patters toward him, pausing to rustle slightly before a warm body slides under the covers next to him and practically buries themselves in his arms. After a whole winter together, he instantly recognizes the person as Hel. Her hands, her arms, her nose pressing into his neck, even her scent is familiar.It’s an unexpected surprise, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He wraps her up and lays them down again, snuggling as close as he can get.“I just got back, and the Arch Mage said you were here.”He doesn’t care. He’s just happy to have her back.“I missed you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against whatever part of her he can reach. It turns out to be the tip of her ear, and she shudders as his lips touch against the sensitive nerves there. He grins, then sucks the tip of her ear into his mouth, providing a little suction and laving over it with his tongue.The shudder turns into a soft moan, but she pushes herself away. “We can’t. Not here.”Mercer sighs and regathers her. “Alright, but don’t leave.”She presses a smile into his shoulder. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
He wakes up to sunlight streaming in and Hel still asleep in his arms. She looks exhausted so he spends a while just watching her until nature calls and he has to find the bathroom. He sneaks out as quietly as he’s able so he doesn’t wake her, but she’s still clinging to him even in sleep and wakes as he extricates himself. She sits up, wiping her face and rubbing at her eyes, which only serves to highlight the deep bags underneath them. She looks almost as bad as Mercer most days, and he aches for her.“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Try to go back to sleep.” True to his word, he returns in under a minute, but she’s already getting dressed, washing her face in the nearby water basin and turning to smile at him. Even as tired as she still looks, she’s beautiful.He melts and pulls her into another embrace, pressing their foreheads together.“It looks like you haven’t been sleeping enough,” he says, stroking a gentle finger under one of her closed eyes.She laughs. “I could say the same thing about you.”“It’s hard to sleep without you,” he confesses.“I know. I feel the same.”He enjoys the quiet moment then pulls away, still clinging at her hands and trying to pull her back into bed.She resists, then succumbs to his silent, cajoling eyebrow raise and flops back onto the mattress, reburying her face in his chest. He pulls the covers over them both and goes back to sleep.
They both wake up around midday, as the glaring light of the spring sun shines through the high window. Hel slides out of bed and stretches, and Mercer enjoys the view. Then she turns to him, a mischievous smile on her face.“I thought I could show you around today. Are you up for it?”He grins and follows.
Hel spends the day showing him around the College.“This is the student’s building,” she says, pulling him into the stone tower. It’s loud in a cheerful sort of way. It actually reminds Mercer a bit of the Guild, if he’s being honest, and looking around at the average age of the students here, he can see why. He’s in charge of a bunch of children.They’re all young men and women, barely independent of their families. As he’s watching, he sees a group trying to study, but really just throwing bits of paper at each other. Another student, who’s actually trying to study shushes them with vitriol. Mercer snorts. That student reminds him of himself.More are lazing around in their sleep clothes, reading books or drinking tea. There’s a ruckus upstairs, and Hel looks up with a hint of worry tugging at the corners of her mouth, then she dismisses it, grinning over at him.“They’ll learn the hard way,” she says. “Experimentation is part of the curriculum.”They go back outside, and Mercer shivers at the spring chill, stepping closer to Hel to leech of some of her natural warmth. She looks over him, as if she knows exactly what he’s doing, but she allows it and presses onwards.“This one is the staff building,” she says, and Mercer reads the Hall of Countenance over the entrance, as well as looking at the runes etched everywhere.Hel notices his attention. “They’re mostly symbolic, but some have real power imbued in them. That one’s for protection,” she says, pointing. “That one’s for wisdom. That one for patience.” She rubs a thumb over one close to them. “This one’s for power.”“Do you…” he hesitates, but Hel is turning to him with a question in her golden eyes. “Do you regret not having magic?”Hel shrugs. “It’s often more trouble than it’s worth. Besides, if you can’t protect those you care about, what use is all that power?”Mercer takes a step backwards, frowning. “The Arch Mage is going to protect us.”“I know,” Hel says, face calm. “But the Arch Mage can’t be in two places at once, and they need to be here. They have responsibilities that supersede any allyship with the Thieves Guild.”“I know that,” Mercer snaps. It strikes a nerve because he’s struggling with the same thing. Hel keeps saying she has these responsibilities that take her away from him and away from the guild, and he’s sick of it. “Do you think I’m not preparing our Guild to protect themselves? That I’m just sitting on my ass and making the Arch Mage do all of our work for us?” He doesn’t want to argue with Hel, but he can’t stop. He’s hurt and bitter over her leaving him constantly for unknown reasons.“Of course not,” she says, voice soothing. She takes a step forward and catches his hand, bringing it to her mouth and pressing a kiss to his calloused palm. It gets him to calm immediately, and he feels a curl of guilt settle in his stomach.“You’ve been doing an amazing job,” Hel continues, still hanging onto his hand. “I saw how hard you worked all winter, and how hard you’re still working. The Guild couldn’t ask for a better Guildmaster.”Mercer scoffs, but he’s secretly pleased. He knows it’s just flattery, but he can tell she’s being honest about it. Brynjolf would probably be a better Guildmaster. He’s not as good of a thief or a fighter, but he’s better at forging those necessary connections. Plus, all of the thieves come to him to solve their problems or give them jobs because Mercer’s mean and scary. It’s nice that someone thinks he’s doing a good job.“You’re just saying that,” he says, blushing and looking down.Hel doesn’t bother to correct him because they both know she actually meant it.“Come on,” Hel says, pulling him along by his hand. “I’ll show you the view from the roof.”It’s a bit chilly up top, but Hel is right. The view is amazing. She can tell he’s getting cold, so she pulls him close and they descend into a shadowy stairwell.“Where do these stairs go?” Mercer asks, looking down. He can’t make out any loud noises, so there’s no indication.“Arcaneum. It’s quieter than the staff or student stairs.” She pulls him into a dark nook and wraps a hand around his hip. The other buries itself in his hair, her fingers threading around the back of his head, and she tugs gently. Mercer grins and lets himself be moved forward. He knows what comes next.Hel connects their lips with a depth and fervor he wasn’t expecting due to her earlier rebuff, but he’s not complaining. He presses into her, backing her up until she’s nestled against the wall. She hooks a knee over his hip to pull him in closer and he obliges enthusiastically, gasping a quick breath before returning to their kiss with a passion.They’re interrupted by noisy footsteps and giggling on the stairs, and Mercer whirls, pulling his dagger with a growl.It’s Enthir, and he looks surprised, then he looks past Mercer to see Hel, her lips wet and swollen, and his expression slides into a satisfied smirk.“Oh, it looks like this spot is occupied,” he says, grinning with narrowed eyes at Mercer. “I think we better go find somewhere else.”Mercer notices who he’s towing behind him. “Niruin? You’re with this jester?” he asks, pointing an accusing finger at Enthir.Enthir’s smile deepens into something sinister and insulting, but Niruin is the one that sticks up for him.“So what if I am?” he sneers, his lip curling. “What, you’re allowed to sleep with someone who sneaks off all the time on mysterious ‘errands’ but I can’t have some fun with one of our most trusted allies?”Mercer bristles, ready to defend Hel, but she places a gentle hand on his shoulder and he relaxes.“It’s alright,” she says. “Let’s go.” She pulls him away. “Enjoy yourselves!” she tosses over her shoulder, leading him down the stairs. “I wanted to check on potential locations for more Stones of Barenziah anyway.”She leads him into the Arcaneum, throwing a quick nod the librarian’s way and heading for a shelf of books. Mercer still has anger burning under his skin. How dare Niruin insult Hel, his own Guildmate!“What’s wrong?” Hel asks, pulling a book from the shelf and turning to Mercer with a raised eyebrow.“Nothing,” he snaps, crossing his arms and glaring back at the door to the stairs.Hel guesses correctly, because of course she does. She always does. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice soft so only he can hear. “I wish I could tell you why I keep having to leave unexpectedly.”Mercer’s attention snaps to her. “It’s alright,” he says. It is. He decided he could live with it. He knew it was an issue from the start, he had her followed (unsuccessfully), and later, when he’d gotten to know her a bit better, he decided he trusted her anyway. Still, he wishes he knew the last of her secrets, even if she doesn’t know all of his. He’ll never tell anyone about Gallus.“It’s nothing that could endanger the Guild. I promise.”“I know,” Mercer whispers back. “I trust you.”She sighs. “Let’s see if we can find a Stone.”They sit down at one of the tables with a stack of books and go through them. They’re both excellent readers, having been taught from birth, and they make their way through the books quite quickly.“Here!” Hel exclaims after a while, tapping a slender finger against a page. “Dead Crone Rock, in the Reach. Are you up for mountains?”Mercer wrinkles his nose. He hates the Reach, but it won’t be too bad if Hel’s along. “You don’t think the snow will be too bad in the mountains?”She laughs. “If we can make it around Winterhold, we can make it around the Reach. Besides, we should be on the road the whole time until Markarth.”“Fine,” Mercer agrees. “But you’re going to stick close by so I can keep an eye on you.”She smiles and takes his suspicious order for what it really is; a declaration that he cares about her wellbeing.“Fine,” she agrees. “But only so I can keep an eye on you.”Mercer hides his smile. It’ll be nice to be on the road with Hel again, and screw Niruin and his insulting remarks. He trusts her. He does.
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Mercer cranes his neck to look around the courtyard.“Who are you looking for?” Hel asks, hoisting her traveling pack a bit higher on her back. She’s deceptively strong for someone so delicate looking at times, but he knows exactly how many muscles she’s hiding underneath her clothes.“The Arch Mage,” he answers. “They’re expecting me to purchase some extra healing potions, and I want to let them know that Niruin will be taking them home.”“Uh, I think the Arch Mage left as I was coming in, but we can tell someone to pass the message along.”She casts her gaze about then spots a student, calling them over.“Could you do me a favor?” she asks gently as the student stares at her with wide, bewildered eyes. The student nods mutely. “Go tell Enthir that his ‘special guest’” she says it with a strange inflection, showing she’s not wholly over Niruin’s comment from yesterday, “is to pay for and take home the potions that you and your classmates are working on. Got it?”“Y-yes,” the student stutters out, hurrying to carry out the order. They seem more intimidated by Hel than any of Mercer’s thieves are by him, and he wonders why.“There, all set,” Hel says, heading for the main entrance. Mercer hurries behind.“That student looked terrified of you,” Mercer points out.Hel sighs but doesn’t slow her stride. “Yeah, I know. I’m working on it. It’s just borne from a healthy respect.”“What’d you do to earn a mage’s respect?” From his experience growing up in High Rock, those with superior magical powers have always looked down on those without. It’s one of the reasons he decided to relocate to Skyrim instead of anywhere else, because of the general dislike of magic by the native peoples.Hel shrugs. “Bit of a mercenary for them. Speaking of…” she fishes a piece of paper out of one of her pockets. “I got a location on a book that Urag wants.”“Urag?”“The librarian.” She hands the information to Mercer, who looks it over with a cursory glance.“I see. I’ll keep an eye out.”
The walk is a bit chilly but more pleasant than his trip north with Niruin. Hel points out interesting herbs, talks about some similar trips, and listens intently as Mercer shows her how to identify different bird songs. They spend the night in the plains outside of Whiterun. They push their bedrolls together and Mercer sleeps with one hand around Hel and one hand clutching the pommel of his sword. It’s a bit uncomfortable, sleeping with his swordbelt still on, but he doesn’t much like Whiterun. There are always wolves running around, and if they’re not sleeping in the inn (and he doesn’t want to leave a trail this time, not when their plan is so close to fruition), then they run the risk of being eaten in the night.Hel hangs onto him too, her grip loose. She’s not wearing her swordbelt, as if she’s not worried about them being attacked, but it’s still within reach. Against his better judgement, Mercer’s eyes slip closed and he goes to sleep.He wakes up warm and comfortable to find himself sleeping on top of Hel. Somehow, the fire is still going as if by magic. Hel’s already awake and she’s got a clever hand playing with his hair. He’s tempted to close his eyes and indulge, but he knows they have to get going so he rolls off of her with a parting kiss.He doesn’t know when it became a habit for him, for them, to kiss easily like this. He never thought he could have this easy affection with anyone, but he’s found he’s taken to it quite strongly. He’s acutely aware of every little touch and glance sent his way, and Hel gives him a lot of casual, loving touches and looks. When they’re walking and she wants to point something out she touches his arm, or when they’re sitting down during the day she sits right next to him and presses their legs together, which is terrible from a watch standpoint because they’re both facing the same direction, but he wouldn’t give it up for a minute.Hel hums into the kiss and Mercer can feel her smile against his lips.“Morning,” she says when they pull apart.“Morning,” he greets, slowly dragging himself off of her, knowing exactly what his body does to her. She clutches at his hips then reluctantly lets him go, rolling to her feet with a sigh and helping him pack up the bedrolls.They set out again, but the heated looks Hel keeps giving him make Mercer’s skin flush with pleasure. Later, he promises himself. It’s been a while since they’ve been together, and Mercer can’t wait for a more…physical reunion.But they have a job to do now, and despite all his teasing, he tries to turn his mind to survival. They’re crossing into the Reach, and those fucking Daedra worshippers are everywhere.Luckily, they make it to Markarth with almost no incidents. Here, there’s not really an alternative to staying in the inn. It’s not like they can go camping in the Forsworn infested hills, so they rent a room in the inn.They decide to get some sleep and leave early the next day. Hel pulls out the map and looks down at it, then up at the rock spires in the distance, frowning.“Give me that,” Mercer snaps, pulling it from her hands and finding their position. He looks up again. “Well, shit. We’re going to have to fight our way through an entire fort before we make it to the tower, aren’t we?”“We can sneak around?” Hel suggests, but even as she says it, they both scan the near-vertical cliffs. They’re both good climbers (you have to be when you’re a thief), but neither one can see a way around. Not in the Reach.“Let’s go,” Mercer says, already drawing his sword in preparation for a fight.Hel follows suit, shadowing him up the steps.
There’s no hiding on these large stone platforms, and it’s an hour of hard fighting. Mercer usually goes it alone, but there’s no way he would be able to take on this many enemies by himself. Luckily, the Forsworn’s weapons are of low quality, so it’s pretty easy to take most of them down. The Briarhearts and the Hagravens are the ones to watch out for, seeing as they have magic.Mercer tries to stick by Hel, but she keeps sprinting off to the next enemy, and she’s slightly faster than him. He grits his teeth and focuses on the enemies in front of him. He has to trust she’ll be fine. Distraction will get him killed. Still, he keeps an ear out for the sound of fighting just to know she’s still alive.He slays the last forsworn he can see then looks around and doesn’t see Hel anywhere. Panic surges, and he supposes that since the whole mountain knows they’re here, he’d be okay shouting.“Hel!” he calls, desperately straining his ears to hear back from her. “Hel!” He starts running, scanning for a familiar figure, either still standing or…laying down. She’ll be fine. She’s always fine.“Mercer, up here!” he hears, echoing off the mountainside. He sprints in the direction of the voice, his heart pounding, his breath coming in harsh pants as he imagines the worst. He makes it up to the top of the steps and around some stiff leather barriers, and he spots Hel, entirely unharmed, standing over the corpse of a troll.“Don’t go running off like that!” he snaps, remembered fear and worry tugging at his mind. He can still recall the day she came stumbling in with Garthar, her entire side bruised to Oblivion from a troll attack.She laughs. “At least this one didn’t get a hit on me. Come on, this is the tower.”Mercer breathes out his fear and frustration and picks the lock for them. “You always make me do this,” he grumbles.“You’re better at it than I am,” she explains, watching his hands work deftly.“Which is exactly my point.” He gets it open and proceeds inside, determined to stay in front of Hel so she doesn’t go sprinting off again.
They sneak their way up the stairs and towards the first room. Mercer can hear someone inside it, so he holds his finger to his lips as they sneak past, unseen. They ascend a spiral, wooden staircase into another series of stone hallways and rooms. The well lite braziers cast light everywhere, but the shadows are dark beside them and Mercer sticks to these, almost disappearing in the darkness.Hel is altogether more golden in complexion, but she pulls her hood up and knows how to sneak, staying at his back while giving him room enough to maneuver, her feet light and soundless over the stone floor.Down another hallway, through another door, and there’s someone working at an alchemy station, their back to the room. There’s a heavy chest sitting just to their right, but if Mercer goes for it he’ll be in their peripheral, so he motions for Hel to stay and sneaks up behind them, plunging his dagger into their throat so they can’t call for help before dying with a quiet gurgle. He catches the body and lays it down gently, not wanting it to smack into anything and make a sound before approaching the chest.He silently orders Hel to pick the lock and she does so swiftly, easing the lid open and quietly scooping out the gold and jewels and pocketing a few potions. They continue silently, assassinating a few more forsworn and going up a spiral staircase back into the open air.They’re immediately assaulted by three forsworn outside the door, and Mercer takes two of them, letting Hel deal with the last.He hears the thud of a body before he sees it, then his second opponent gasps as a sword is thrust through their chest from behind. Mercer dispatches the last one, and Hel gives him a little grin, checking him over not-so-subtly.“Alright?” she asks, golden eyes skating over his whole form.Mercer almost flushes at the attention. Even after months of this, he’s still unused to positive, caring attention.“I’m fine,” he grunts, looking her over in return. She’s still unmarked, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “You’ve gotten faster,” he compliments.She waves it away. It’s all thanks to your training, really,” she deflects, turning up the path. “Come on. I can hear more this way.”They kill a few more Forsworn, dive into another tower where they sneak through and dispatch as many as they can silently, then ascend to a circular room with a whole squad of Forsworn and a Frost Atronach.Mercer pulls back and curses under his breath, but the shouting indicates they’ve already been spotted.“How do you want to handle this?” Hel asks, tightening her grip on her weapons.Mercer would like to get them to a hallway so they can use it as a chokepoint, but they don’t have that luxury.“Don’t get surrounded. And whichever one makes it to the atronach first, kill it.”“Right,” Hel answers, charging in at his back.They both hit the Forsworn like twin arrows, streaking through them and cutting bloody lines wherever their swords land. Mercer is absurdly grateful that the Forsworn only wear the bare minimum of clothing, which gives him a lot of unarmored space to stick his swords.He carves his way through the mob, slicing open bellies and throats. A spike of ice shatters against his armor, covering him in freezing shards. He grits hit teeth as one burrows into a gap in the leather and bites into his side, but he keeps fighting through it, dodging the next spike sent his way. In between parries and thrusts, he glances at Hel. She’s still in her feet, whirling through the Forsworn like a hurricane and closing the last gap to the Atronach, stabbing both her sword and dagger deep into the ice of one of its legs.It staggers but keeps
its feet, and Mercer cuts down the
last of the Forsworn and throws himself at the Atronach, catching another ice spike to his chest. It staggers him, freezing shards slicing the uncovered skin of his neck and spilling hot blood down his throat, but he keeps going, doing his best to slice through the thick ice of its torso.It doesn’t go down easily, but with both of them hacking at it, dodging its thick limbs, it eventually falls over, shattering into frost which drifts away back to Oblivion.Mercer immediately looks to Hel, trying to ascertain if she’s been harmed in any way, but her face is ghostly pale and she practically sprints for him reaching out to catch his face in one hand and his shoulder in another, peering at his throat as if to find it’s been sliced open while he wasn’t looking.“I’m fine,” he tries to quickly reassure her. “I’ve cut myself worse shaving.”She takes a shuddering breath and releases him, quickly pulling a minor healing potion from a pocket and pressing it into his hand.“Please,” she says, voice soft. “Take it.”Mercer rolls his eyes at her overprotectiveness, but does as she asks, swallowing the potion with ease. It’s one of hers, he can tell, because it doesn’t taste like fungus and skeever tail. Then he thinks about how he’d feel if she were the one with blood all over her throat, and he doesn’t feel like dismissing her worries anymore.“I’m fine,” he repeats, trying to wipe the blood off to show her the now-unmarked skin. She captures his face again, bringing their foreheads together softly.“I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t okay,” she whispers into the little space between them.Mercer feels the same, but even after their winter in bliss, he’s hesitant to voice it. “I…same,” he finishes hesitantly, as if finally admitting something so glaringly obvious is going to make her flee from him forever.She pulls away, keeping hold of his hand for another moment, their fingers interlaced.“Come on,” she says. “Just a little more to go. I think.”
Behind another locked gate is an outdoor platform with a chest, so they pick the locks and take the riches easily. Hel still tracks him with carefully sharp eyes, and Mercer keeps giving her reassuring nods. He tries not to begrudge her worry. He felt the same panic not long ago before he found her standing over the slain troll.They go back into the tower, out another door, and up the last set of steps.
Hel, who’s just an inch or two taller, ducks back down as soon as she gets a peek over.“One hagraven and a briarheart,” she whispers. “Who do you want to take?”Mercer thinks. Briarhearts are better at close quarters, but Hagravens are more deadly at a longer range.“Can you get to the Hagraven?” he asks, knowing she’s faster than him.“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in her response.“Then I’ll take the Briarheart. Get in close as fast as you can. Watch out for the talons.”She nods, and at his signal, they rush up the last of the steps.Mercer engages the Briarheart immediately, trusting Hel to take care of the hagraven without his help.It’s a brutal fight, but Mercer isn’t the best swordsman in the Rift for nothing. He parries axe blow after axe blow, weaving to try and get a hit in. He finally scores a cut that just grazes along his opponent’s ribs, but he redoubles his efforts and finally knocks the axes wide, whirling with both blades and beheading the Briarheart.The antlers rattle when they hit the ground, and Mercer turns just in time to watch Hel strike the killing blow against the Hagraven. It screeches and crumples to the ground, and Hel swipes a few strands of hair from her eyes with a casual hand. She turns to Mercer, a wide grin on her golden face, and he can’t help but return it.“Let’s find what we came here for,” Hel says, turning away towards the bloody altar. She freezes, and Mercer is at her side immediately, ready to take on whatever enemy she spotted.But it’s not an enemy. It’s a wall, similar to the one that’s in Snow Veil Sanctum. Mercer remembers every inch of that place. He never really knew what the wall was for, and it’s written in a language he can’t read. To him, it’s just a hunk of useless stone, but people usually stick some treasure at the base, so he’s not surprised to see an ornate chest on the ground. He crouches, picks the lock with ease, then lifts the lid, scooping out the gold and leaving the heavy weapons. He also finds a strange book, which he puts in his bag to show to Hel later.When he turns back, Hel is still examining the wall, and Mercer snorts. “What’s so interesting?” he asks.“This is a word wall,” Hel answers, stroking reverent fingers over it. “They’re written in the language of dragons, and rumors say the Dragonborn can learn power from these walls.”“What kind of power?” Mercer asks, curious now. Could he learn it too?“Words for their Voice. It’s a different kind of magic. Very old.”“Is it the same kind Ulfric Stormcloak used when he killed the High King?”Hel nods. “So they say.” Then she sends a teasing grin his way. “Didn’t think you kept up with politics.”“My whole life is politics,” Mercer grouches. “I never have time for actual thieving anymore.”Hel laughs, and something in Mercer’s chest eases. He’d been worried that as soon as she left, their happy little bubble they had during the winter would burst, and she’d leave him for something or someone more interesting. But here she is, having just carved their way through two giant camps teeming with Forsworn, after having journeyed across all of Skyrim together, and she’s still laughing at his terrible jokes. He starts to relax. If she hasn’t left him by now, she probably won’t anytime soon.He looks at her, stepping back from the wall with one last stroke of her clever fingers, before she turns and lights up at the altar.“There it is!” she crows, snatching a familiar red stone off of the stone table and tilting it so it shines in the afternoon sunlight. She passes it to Mercer with a grin and he takes it, snorting at all the trouble they went through to get this little stone.He hands it back and she pockets it, patting the leather pouch she’s just put it in with a contented smile.“Great. Our quest was successful. Let’s go back to Markarth.”Mercer wrinkles his nose. He hates Markarth with its stupid roads that dead end into deadly drop-offs. Then something occurs to him. “Since you’re here to help carry stuff, we can clear out the treasury house tonight before we leave.”Her eyes light up in mischief. “Ooh, yes. Good idea.” She springs forward and loops her arm through his elbow as if they’re taking a casual stroll and not hiking down a mountain covered in corpses that they put there.Mercer snuggles into her hold more securely. The physical reassurance that she’s fine, the spreading warmth of her touch, these are things he’ll never be able to give up when they’re offered freely like this.
As soon as they return to Markarth, Hel narrows her eyes toward the uphill slope.“What is it?” Mercer whispers, mindful to keep his voice down in case it’s something incriminating.“I thought I saw an Argonian,” she says, then her eyes widen in realization. “It’s the Dragonborn, come on!” She drags him up the hill, and Mercer follows with an amused huff. He’s never seen the legendary dragonborn, but it’s impossible to not hear stories of his exploits. About how he escaped Helgen when a dragon attacked. How he defeated another dragon at the western watchtower outside of Whiterun. How he’s been traversing the country, solving problems for all of Skyrim’s citizens. He still hasn’t joined a side in the civil war, but Mercer’s
sure that as soon as he does, it’s over for the other side.They sneak into the keep, following the flash of a scaly, yellow tail over toward the keep’s forge. Hel crouches and motions for Mercer to do they same, and they sneak silently around the pillars until they’re right outside the room with the forge.Mercer can only hear the soft murmur of deep voices, but Hel tilts her head, listening, as if she can hear the words spoken. Her elf blood probably has something to do with her superior hearing.After a minute, she motions Mercer away from the open doorway, and the two retreat back to the elevated walkway, standing up from their crouched positions.Hel has a smile on her face, like usual, and her golden eyes are twinkling in mirth. “It was a…private conversation,” she shares. “Between the Dragonborn and the smith.”Mercer raises an eyebrow. “That’s…unexpected.”Hel nods. “It was sweet though. If someone as untouchable as the Dragonborn can find love, it gives a bit of hope to the rest of us. Not that I need it anymore since I found you.”Mercer blushes. He’ll never get tired of hearing that. Hel loves him. Hel loves him. It almost boggles the mind, how someone as prickly as him, someone so unused to kindness in any form, managed to land someone as amazing as Hel. He’s just about to return the sentiment when a crisp, refined voice cuts through the air.“Helarys, is that you?”Hel’s eyes flash panic before her expression smooths into something frigid and untouchably polite. She whirls to greet the towering Altmer approaching them, and Mercer finally realizes why Hel said she’s too short to fit in with her mother’s race of people.“Ondolemar! What a…pleasant surprise.” Her voice sounds strange and wrong, with none of the easy warmth he’s grown used to. It makes his muscles tense, as if to ready himself for a fight.“I haven’t seen you for an age,” Ondolemar says, his robes swishing behind him as he sways to a stop. “You haven’t gotten any taller over the years, I see.”Mercer bristles on her behalf, but the Altmer’s not done.“What are you wearing?” he sneers, looking down his nose at her, two of his cronies gliding up to stand at his shoulders. “Even with all your gifts, you still haven’t been able to afford proper clothes, have you?”“It doesn’t look like you’ve had the same problem,” Hel returns, voice polite. “Finally got that promotion you were angling for, didn’t you? What are you now, Justiciar?”Ondolemar preens. “That’s right. I’ve been tasked with rooting out Talos worship in this…lovely country. I can see why you moved here.”Mercer grinds his teeth. It is clear that Ondolemar does not think Skyrim is lovely, and that Hel matches it perfectly.“Oh?” Ondolemar continues, acting as if he just noticed Mercer standing at Hel’s shoulder. “Who’s this? A Breton? I’d admonish you for sullying your Altmer blood with such a watered down specimen, but then again, I suppose it doesn’t matter who a half-breed mates with.”Mercer’s ready to go for the guy’s throat, but Hel places a calming hand on his arm and steps in front of him, as if to shield him from the elf.“I’m not surprised to see you with company,” Hel says, voice still endlessly polite. “You never could handle even the simplest of tasks alone.”Ondolemar colors an unflattering orange, and Mercer smirks. It’s nothing like Hel’s rare, rosy blush.“I’ll leave you to your job tracking down old necklaces, or whatever it is you do here. Oh, and Ondolemar?” Hel asks, tilting her head threateningly, her tone honey-sweet. “Do you remember that game we used to play as children? The one with the two teams in the town square?”“Yes,” he grits out.“Good.” Then she says something in Altmeri, which is a language Mercer doesn’t know. Whatever it is, it causes Ondolemar to pale and backpedal, then try to draw himself up.“Your empty threats don’t scare me,” the Altmer says, looking down his nose at them.Hel just smiles. “Have a pleasant day,” she says, voice cloying. She whirls, grabs Mercer’s wrist in a soft yet insistent grip, and leaves.She’s eerily silent, and Mercer turns his hand in her grip until he can interlace their fingers, giving her his silent support. She’ll talk about it when she wants. If she wants.“What’d you say to him?” Mercer asks when she’s swung to a stop, taking lungfuls of the cold, high mountain air.She waves it away with her free hand. Her other, noticeably, never strays from his grip.“Just the usual threats, about how I’d destroy him and everything he’s ever worked for.” She sighs and reels Mercer in, dropping her head to his shoulder.“I didn’t like it when he insulted you,” she murmurs.Mercer cards a hand through her silken hair. It’s gotten longer since she joined the Guild, but it’s not a bad thing. There’s just more of her to love, to touch. “I didn’t like it when he insulted you,” Mercer returns.She chuckles into his neck. “I’m used to it.”Mercer pulls her up because that’s just not okay. “You shouldn’t be used to it. No one should get to insult you like that. You’re perfect.”She melts, her eyes turning to swirling pools of molten gold. She doesn’t answer, instead reeling him in for a kiss. “What do you way we rob this city blind?” she whispers against his lips.Mercer grins, pressing one last kiss to her mouth before pulling away. “Lead the way.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
They sneak into the Markarth treasury house, Hel leading the way. She almost steps out in front of some passing guards, but Mercer pulls her back by one of her buckles. She cedes to his direction easily, settling back by his side until the guards pass then looking to him for his nod.They clear almost the whole treasury house, stuffing as many ingots and gold and jewels into their pockets and bags as they can carry. Hel keeps casting him these delighted grins, her golden eyes shining in the torchlight as they try not to wake the family sleeping next door to their riches.They sneak out as silently as they came in, fleeing into the moonless night through the front gates.A few hours later the sun sends its warming rays over the mountain tops, turning the sky grey.“Hel,” Mercer says, stopping in his quick march through the stone spires and juniper trees. They’re in a sheltered spot, far away from prying eyes, which is important for what he wants to do next.She turns, a question in her eyes, and Mercer drops the heavy satchel he’s carrying, ingots clinking gently through the cloth padding he shoved in there.Hel mirrors him, dropping her own satchel, her eyes narrowing as she tries to understand what’s going on. Mercer steps forward into her space, grabbing her hips and bringing their faces close together so their breath mingles in the chilly dawn air.She sucks in a sharp breath, waiting, her own arms sweeping up his sides, his ribs, coming up to rest on his shoulders, and Mercer closes the last bit of distance between them.He’ll never get used to this, Mercer thinks, feeling those same sparks, that same swooping feeling in his stomach as their first kiss together on the Riften docks. Every kiss, every touch with her is a gift he never thought he’d get.He’d run with Gallus, and then Karliah had joined, and for a while they’d been a triad. Then Karliah and Gallus had gotten together, and Mercer had just been the leftover member, even though both of them had done their best to include him.And then Gallus had died, and Mercer had never allowed anyone that close again. He always knew he’d be alone forever.Then Hel had swept into his life, filling it with light and passion and warmth, and every new kiss was like a new revelation.His movements turn a bit frantic as he tears at the buckles on her clothes, needing to feel more of her. She pushes his hands away, pulling back to take a breath.“Can’t take the armor off. Forsworn,” she gasps out before diving back into swallow Mercer’s annoyed growl.She’s right, and he hates it, but that’s quickly giving way to surprised pleasure when he feels her clever fingers working at the ties on his pants. He tries to help, but his hands just get in the way, and she easily catches them, bringing them to her waistband.Mercer grins and digs for the fastenings on her pants.
He’s tucked against her back, his hands shoved up under her cuirass and splayed against the warm, smooth skin of her stomach. Hel still hasn’t woken from their bout of lovemaking, but they do have to get moving soon.He rubs her stomach and kisses the back of her neck, nuzzling through her silky hair.“Hel,” he whispers against her skin.She stirs, turning in his arms with a pleased hum and kissing him on the lips.He savors her, the way she tastes, the sleepy, plush softness of her mouth.“Morning,” she whispers. “I love you.”“I love you too,” he whispers back, diving back in for another kiss.She arches into him, and Mercer almost wants to have another go, but they have to get moving. He pulls away reluctantly, brushing his hands along her sides as he goes, and she sighs as he stands, rolling onto her back and looking up at him with soft, golden eyes.Mercer’s always blindsided when she looks at him that way, as if he’s worth something. As if she wants him. He basks in the warm attention for a moment before shaking his head and focusing back on their surroundings. They have to keep going. He extends a hand down to her. She takes it.
They’re walking along the road towards Falkreath.“Are you going to be alright? With Falkreath being the headquarters of the Dark Brotherhood. You know, since they keep sending assassins after you,” she elaborates at his confused glance.“Oh.” He turns back to face front. “That won’t be a problem anymore. Their sanctuary burned down. They’re gone.”“What?” Hel swings to face him, walking backwards over the uneven cobbles with an unfairly effortless gait. “When did you find that out?”“In Whiterun, on my way up to the College.”She blinks. “I see. I’m glad you’re not going to be killed by an assassin.” She pauses to grin at him. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”He abruptly remembers that strange book he pulled out of the chest at the top of Dead Crone Rock. He stops to fish it out of his pack as Hel looks on, amused.“I found this strange book. I can’t read it, but you might be able to.” He hands it to her, and she glances over it with critical eyes.They widen. “This is Shalidor’s insights!”“What?”“It’s exactly what Urag is looking for!” Hel lunges forward, planting a smacking kiss on his lips. “You’re amazing,” she says, smiling down at the book. “Thank you.”Mercer blinks dazedly. “…You’re welcome.”She stows the book in her own bag, humming happily and walking closer so their shoulders brush with every step. It’s not practical in case they’re attacked, but Mercer’s helpless to move away.
A roar pops the happy bubble that was growing around them, and Hel doesn’t waste any time, grabbing Mercer by the hand and sprinting for the nearest copse of trees. She makes
an abrupt turn when the trees light on fire as the dragon unleashes their breath. She pulls him behind her, running for a distant cave opening.“Sword!” she calls, letting go of Mercer’s hand and drawing her blade.Mercer mirrors her, drawing his sword and preparing himself for whatever she’s seen by the cave.It’s only a few bandits, and they make short work of them before diving into the cave, pressing themselves against the wall. Hel’s expression is wary and hard, and Mercer is reminded of that other time they were on the road and a dragon flew overhead. If they have to wait an hour for it to pass, Mercer knows a few ways they can pass the time.“Hel,” he says, trying to catch her attention. She frowns at the entrance, listening to the distant trumpeting of the dragon, before sighing and turning to him.“I can’t wait until we throw Maven over,” she says.Mercer furrows his brow. “What does that have to do with the situation we’re in?”Hel blinks. “We probably wouldn’t be in this situation if we weren’t picking up treasure to help us support our way out from underneath her.”It doesn’t sound right, but Mercer allows it. It’s a stressful situation they’re in, and Hel’s mind is probably going a million different directions to keep them safe.“We should settle in for a long wait,” Mercer suggests, sitting down.Hel slides down the wall next to him, pressing them together shoulders to ankles.“Mercer?” she asks, letting her head thunk into the wall behind them.“Yeah?” he answers, grabbing her hand and lacing their fingers together.“What do you want to do? After we defeat the Black-Briars, I mean.”He contemplates it. He’s been focusing on getting there, so he hasn’t fully contemplated what he’ll do after.“It’ll be an adjustment for everyone,” he says carefully. “We’ll have to make sure we don’t go under immediately without her support, or that Maven won’t retaliate in some way. But after that? I think I just want some rest. Maybe a vacation.”“Yeah?” Hel asks, voice light. “Where would you want to vacation?”He shrugs, dragging their shoulders together then settling in more firmly. “Don’t know. Somewhere new. Maybe Solstheim. Delvin’s brother is a smith there.” He turns to her. “What would you like to do, after?”Hel smiles softly, staring at the ceiling. “I wouldn’t mind traveling,” she answers, casting him a speaking glance.Mercer ducks his head to hide his smile. “Oh.”
It takes a few hours until the dragon goes silent, and it’s already dark by that time. They contemplate staying in the cleared cave for the night, but they both want to continue their journey to Falkreath to get home faster.They straggle into Falkreath in the early morning. Hel, somehow, still looks bright eyed and flawless, but that might just be Mercer’s rose-colored glasses. He’s sure he looks like a drowned skeever because they got caught in a spring rain. His hair is probably frizzing like an angry cat, and his leather is rubbing uncomfortably against his skin where his underclothes have ridden up.All he wants is a bath and a nap, but the innkeeper doesn’t have any rooms available. Mercer is ready to murder someone just so a room will be free, but Hel can see his thoughts on his face and grabs his hand, towing him from the inn with a quick thanks thrown over her shoulder.“Come on,” she says. “We’ll find somewhere dry to camp.”Mercer grumbles but follows.
She leads him to a ruin outside of town. It’s cold and slightly damp, but Hel manages to shake their bedrolls out and start a smoky fire, which quickly dries out and turns warm. Mercer takes a freezing bath in the nearby lake and sits in front of the fire, swaddled in a blanket that Hel had dried out for him.He’s touched by her thoughtfulness, the care she takes with him, and he snuggles into the blanket, inhaling the light scent of smoke and mountain flowers that clings to the coarse fabric.Hel has gone off for her own bath, and she comes back, her cheeks flushed from the chill, padding in on quiet, bare feet.Without any fuss, she sets her clothes out to dry and stabs a salmon onto a stick, propping it by the fire to cook. She settles in beside him, pressing into his shoulder, her damp hair tickling his cheek.He shoves her away with a playful scowl, and she rebounds, presses her face into his neck so the last of the lake water drips down his collar. He can’t help but laugh, even while cringing from the icy paths the water leaves down his neck. She laughs too before pulling away and sprawling out, spreading her legs and propping herself on her elbows, stretching her bare toes towards the fire. She looks softer like this. More open, and Mercer tries to imagine what she’s hiding from him, that big secret she’s going to tell him after they defeat Maven.She’s not in the Dark Brotherhood, definitely not a vampire, and she can’t do any magic so she can’t be a member of the Thalmor. She’s assured him it doesn’t conflict with the Thieves Guild, so she’s not part of another thieving faction. Maybe she’s married and has a husband out there? A whole other family? Mercer has never wanted to be a father. He doesn’t have much use for children, doesn’t really understand them. He thinks they’re stupid and filthy, but he’s happy to avoid them. He really hopes she doesn’t already have any children. If she has a husband, he can take care of that. Or she can. Couples are allowed to divorce in Skyrim for any reason, so she shouldn’t have any trouble if she wants to annul her marriage. But what if she doesn’t?“Septim for your thoughts?” Hel says, kicking her knee out to nudge his own legs hidden under the blanket.He almost startles. “Are you married already?”“What?” She sits up properly and turns to face him. “Where did that come from?”Mercer shrugs. “I’ve just been thinking about your big secret. You don’t have a secret family, do you?”Hel blinks. “I’ve never been married and I don’t have any children.”“Promise?” He feels himself weak for needing her reassurance this way. It shouldn’t matter to him one way or another, but he can’t bear the thought he’s competing for her affections with someone. Competing with Brynjolf, one of the best men he knows, was difficult enough, even when Hel never liked him back. But having to compete with another person who’s already won her affection? He doesn’t know if he’d ever win.“I promise,” she says, meeting his eyes. He relaxes, leaning over until he can flop into her side.“Good. I’m not very good at sharing.”She laughs, running a clever hand through his hair. He leans into it like a satisfied cat.
Mercer wakes up to an empty ruin. He does his best to shove down his rising panic. She never leaves him while he’s sleeping. She always ducks out for the bathroom, or to grab breakfast, and this time should be no different. He tries to ignore the fact that they’re traveling and not safely ensconced in the Guild headquarters.He shoves the blanket off, yanking his armor on and doing up the buckles as quickly as he can, determined to go find her. She’s always running off where he can’t see her or reach her if anything goes wrong.He sprints out of the ruins, skidding to a halt as he almost runs into Hel who was just coming back while holding a wrapped bundle.“Stop leaving me!” he snaps, rebalancing himself.She blinks. “I made sure to check the surrounding area before I went off so you’d be safe.”He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t care about that. He knows he’ll be safe. He’s been travelling alone his whole life, and another morning is not going to make a difference. He was worried about her safety.She softens, reading him flawlessly as always. “I was careful, I promise. I just nipped into Falkreath to grab us some breakfast.” She unwraps the bundle to reveal some sweetrolls, still steaming, the icing glistening temptingly. “I thought we could eat then go check out the old Dark Brotherhood sanctuary.”Mercer harrumphs and plucks a sweetroll from her arms. “Fine. But I don’t want you wandering off again.”She smiles reassuringly. “Of course.”
Mercer leads the way into the old sanctuary, both blades drawn. There’s no sign of life, but he doesn’t put his weapons away, trying to avoid the piles of ashes so he won’t leave any footprints.Hel shadows him, stepping exactly where he does. She touches his back, indicating a side passage, and Mercer follows her direction, leading them into the next room.It’s an enclosed space and Mercer relaxes a little, confident no one’s going to jump out at them.“Mercer,” Hel whispers, reaching for a shelf. “Look what I found.” She turns to face him again, a familiar red stone cradled in her palm.He nods, but he’s too on edge to celebrate. “Let’s get out of here,” he hisses, leading the way back out. The whole place reeks of death. He’s used to it, but not to this caliber.Once they’re back in the fresh air and away from the creepy door, Mercer takes the time to inspect the stone properly. He can’t stop the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. He and Hel started their adventures together searching for the Stones of Barenziah. Even here, in a place that is worryingly dangerous, it settles his mood.“It’s great. We’re getting closer.”Hel sighs as she stows the gem. “I don’t know if I want to complete the set.”Mercer flinches back. Does she not want to go on adventures with him anymore? Are they not going to work together anymore?She notices, and she catches his hand, lacing their fingers together. “We’ll no longer have an excuse to spend all this time together away from the Guild.”Oh. Mercer relaxes. “If that’s all, I’ll just make up another reason. No one would dare question the Guildmaster."Hel laughs and kisses him. “I love you,” she says.He never gets tired of hearing that. “I love you too.”
They do a quick run through Falkreath, then pickpocket any traveler they see on the road on their way over the mountains and back home. Hel, as always, sticks close to him, her perpetual good humor rubbing off and making him smile more than he’s used to.They eventually reach Riften and the Guild Entrance, and Hel follows Mercer down the stone steps, trailing affectionate fingers over the wall as they pass. Mercer can see the eager faces on the thieves currently in the Cistern, wanting to come talk to her. He sighs silently. It seems he’ll never get to have Hel to himself when they’re home, and it’s impossible to focus all his attention on her when they’re out in the wild.He makes for his room. Anything that happened in the time while he was away can wait another ten minutes while he drops his bags. Hel waves to everyone but doesn’t approach them or her own bunk, instead choosing to continue following him, and Mercer pauses.“What are you doing?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.She stops, takes a step backwards, and for the first time since they started their relationship in the fall, looks unsure. “Following you? Or would you rather I sleep in my old bed?” she asks, indicating the single mattress with a tilt of her head.Mercer’s face colors. Of course! They spent all winter sleeping in the same bed, sharing the same space. He had feared the return of spring would have ended that for some reason, as if their little bubble would break, and she’d go back to her old habits and he’d go back to sleeping alone. “No, just…come along,” he says, stalking towards his room, and she bounces after him, catching up to his side and walking close enough that he can feel her body heat. He steps closer so their shoulders brush. He’ll never let her go, not if he can help it.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mercer takes inventory the next day. They’ve made it. With the pile of ingots and precious jewels from the Markarth treasury house, they finally hit the necessary quota to not immediately flounder as soon as Maven pulls her support. They have enough gold here to pay off any of the former political allies she’ll try to bring down on them.Everyone had been combat training all winter, so they’ll be able to defend themselves if Maven hires mercenaries to come after them. Mercer wishes their headquarters were a bit less well-known, but practically everyone in town knows where to find them. They’ll have to arm the ratways with traps, which Mercer is kind of an expert at. Maybe he can ask one of the college mages to come down and lay some runes.Hel’s run off to go spend time with the other thieves, but he can’t wait to tell her. Footsteps approach his desk, and he lifts his head in gleeful anticipation, but his expression quickly cools when he realizes it’s just Brynjolf.“Don’t look so excited to see me,” Brynjolf teases, leaning on his desk.Mercer scowls at his hands touching his territory. “What do you want?” he says, trying to wrangle his voice into something less combative. He and Brynjolf are still dancing around their relationship after the whole business with Hel rejecting Brynjolf and getting with Mercer. They were combatants not that long ago, and Mercer won (definitely not on his merits. Hel just chose him, divines know why), and he doesn’t know how to move forward. They’ve been distantly polite for a few months, but now Brynjolf seems to be trying to break the ice. The least Mercer can do is play along with his oldest surviving friend.“Just checking in,” Brynjolf says, trying to peer at Mercer’s papers. Brynjolf doesn’t have a mind for numbers the same way Mercer does, but he’s definitely not hopeless at it.“We’re ready,” Mercer says. “Some final preparations, and we’ll make our move.”Brynjolf’s surprised smile mirrors Mercer’s excitement.
The next few days are a flurry of activity. Mercer only sees Hel in passing and at night, when he flops on top of her and immediately falls into an exhausted sleep as her arms wind around him to keep him from sliding off her during the night.They rig the ratway with traps, even asking the college mages to come down and help. No one knows how, but Vipir shows up with a crate full of falmer and chaurus and releases them into the tunnels. Mercer’s grudgingly impressed until he realizes they’ll have to prevent them from sneaking into the Guild and murdering them all in their sleep, but one of the mages obliges with a few runes that should deter them until they can clear them away once they’ve got their use out of them.Whenever Mercer inquires about the Arch Mage, the other mages just tell him they’re busy and left the college on some business and hasn’t yet returned.“I’ll go find them and direct them here,” Hel volunteers, but Mercer declines. He’d rather have Hel by his side, even if the Arch Mage will eventually be necessary.
Finally, all is prepared, and Mercer stares at the letter with a familiar briar seal that sits, unopened, on his desk.Hel hovers comfortingly at his side as he opens it. It’s a summons, as plain as he’s ever seen it.
I know about your plans. Come and say them to my face, and we’ll see if you’re so sure then.
She’s given him a time and date. Three days from now, mid-morning. It’s obviously a trap, and Mercer won’t be able to use the shadows to his advantage. It won’t matter. He’ll be walking in with the Arch Mage at his side.“Are you going to go?” Hel asks, reading the paper over his shoulder.“Yes,” Mercer says, looking up at her. “I’m going to need you to go get the Arch Mage.”“Of course,” Hel says, straightening. “I’ll go now.”“Wait!” He catches her wrist before she can tear off, reeling her closer. “Promise me you’ll be careful. I don’t think the Arch Mage just went for a walk in a field. They’re probably diving into some cave teeming with vampires.” He snorts affectionately as he imagines it. The unperturbable Arch Mage striding confidently into the darkness and blowing those vampires to smithereens.Hel cracks a smile and twists her arm in his hold until she can catch his hand with hers. “I promise to be careful,” she agrees, brushing a kiss over her knuckles.All the tension he’s been holding for days melts out of his frame at the simple gesture of trust and affection.“See you soon,” she says, then she’s leaving, her golden hair flowing behind her, her steps quick and sure.
The Arch Mage arrives in the middle of the night, just hours before the appointed meeting. They’re alone.“Where’s Hel?” Mercer demands as soon as he sees them and doesn’t see her.“She’s fine, don’t worry,” they say, instead of telling him where she is.Mercer huffs out a harsh breath. “You took your time showing up.” It’s not fair to take his frustrations out on his enigmatic friend and ally, but he misses Hel, especially now that one of the most important moments of his life is approaching. The meeting tomorrow will make or break the Guild. It will be their salvation or their ruination. No in between.“I’m a very busy person, Guildmaster,” they say, lifting their head and standing to their full height. They’re taller than him, and their presence is made more massive by their fringed robe that’s a mark of their station as Arch Mage. They fill the space with their presence, and they smell like snow and smoke, with the same hint of wildflowers that Hel carries. They obviously involve themselves in alchemy.Mercer shrinks a little under their ire, but he won’t be cowed in his own territory. He’s just trying to think of a retort that won’t come off as either rude or submissive when the Arch Mage starts to laugh.“I’m sorry,” they chuckle. “You should see your face.”Mercer scowls in mock anger, but the Arch Mage has that same talent at reading him as Hel and doesn’t take him seriously.“Now, I would dearly like a few hours sleep in a private room before our battle in the morning.”“We probably won’t be fighting tomorrow,” Mercer says. “I’m sure Maven will wait until we’re complacent before enacting her retribution.”“Still, I’ve had a long journey. Where am I staying?”Mercer shows them to a private room they’ve managed to shape up specifically for the Arch Mage.They examine it and nod in apparent satisfaction. “Please tell your people that if they try to come into the room while I am sleeping, they will find a rather nasty shock.”“You’re not serious, are you?” Mercer asks, just to make sure.“They’ll just have to find out for themselves, won’t they?” They tilt their head in the way that means they’re smiling, then the door closes and Mercer’s left alone on the outside of it.
He doesn’t let his nerves get the better of him, and he gets a few hours rest before the showdown in the morning.“Ready?” he asks the Arch Mage, who’s emerged fully dressed. Their mask is almost black today. If he can say, they look even more intimidating than normal.“Of course,” they answer, striding at his back as he leads the way to Maven Black-Briar’s town house.
“So, you’re here,” Maven greets. She’s sitting in an ornate chair which can’t be at all comfortable. She has not provided any seating for Mercer or the Arch Mage. Mercer doesn’t care. He’d rather be ready to fight.The Arch Mage stands just behind his shoulder with enough space so he can easily draw his sword. They’re arms are loose and easy at their sides, but Mercer can sense the slight tension in their frame.“I’m here,” Mercer answers.Maven makes a show of peering around the room. “Where’s your little blonde bitch?” she asks, feigning interest.“Stealing your silverware,” Mercer lies.Maven’s painted lips compress into a thin line, and she nods at one of her omnipresent guards to go see to it.“She’ll grow sick of you eventually,” Maven says, examining her nails carelessly. “Divines know I did. I had to make my own fun in the end.”Mercer doesn’t flinch. Maven’s cut right to one of his worst fears, but he refuses to let her see. He feigns disinterest.“I just came to tell you that the arrangement between you and the Guild is done. From today, you and your friends are fair game.”Maven rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll never survive without my support. You need me as your ally.”“The Thieves Guild has new allies now,” the Arch Mage cuts in, their metallic voice ringing through the room.Maven pauses and finally takes in the second figure standing before her. “And I suppose you’re going to protect these rats? From all the way up in Winterhold?”“Yes.” Their tone leaves no room for argument.Maven narrows her eyes. “We’ll see.” She stands from her chair. “Don’t be surprised if I flush you out like the vermin you are after this.”Mercer smirks. “You’re welcome to try.” He stalks out, swiping a few pieces of jewelry on his way out. No one tries to stop him.
As soon as they’re away from the house, Mercer laughs his relief and happiness to the spring sky. He did it. It’s over. He told Maven to stuff it and he walked away unscathed. He turns to the Arch Mage.“Thank you,” he says. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”They just nod. “What she said about Hel…it’s not true.”He tenses at the reminder. “I know.” He does. She’s stuck with him this far, but he can’t help but think she’ll get bored and move on, or his clinginess will drive her off, or he’ll finally be mean-tempered enough for her to have second thoughts. He’s fully aware of all of his faults.“Do you?” The Arch Mage says, voice ringing softly between them. “Because she thinks of nothing else when she’s apart from you.”“…really?”“She’d spend every moment with you if she could.”Mercer wills down his rising blush, but he can feel he’s unsuccessful as his face heats.“You’re just saying that. You can’t know.”The Arch Mage smiles under their mask. “I have to go now, but I’ll be nearby. Hel will know where to find me.” They leave, and Mercer goes back to his home.
Hel is already there, waiting tensely with the others. She practically sprints up as soon as he comes into view.“How’d it go?” she asks, loud enough for the others to hear.“When did you get back?” he asks instead of answering.“Just before you did. The Arch Mage needed my horse to make it in time, so I had to run here.”Mercer nods. “It’s done for now, but I need everyone on high alert for when the Black-Briars try to pay us back.”There’s a smattering of nods and cheers from everyone, and Mercer smiles at Hel, reaching out towards her, needing her reassurance.She obliges him almost automatically, hooking her elbow through his and leaning into his side, leading him towards the celebration. He stares at her smiling profile and goes willingly.
They celebrate their victory that night. He couldn’t have done it without her, and he tells her so, whispering thanks into her skin as he brackets her hips with his thighs just the way she likes. She reaches back, arching against him, hanging on like he’s the only thing keeping her from falling, murmuring praises back. About how strong, and handsome, and clever he is. About how she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but in his arms. It soothes the part of himself (he still feels guilty for it) that doubted her love due to Maven’s words. He relaxes. Maven will retaliate eventually, but it won’t be tonight.
Everything is quiet. Life continues like normal, or as normal as it can be since Mercer oversees a bunch of idiots. He and Brynjolf have reached a tentative peace, and Mercer is basking in the amount of time he gets to spend with Hel.“Will you tell me your secret?” he tries to ask.“As soon as it’s all over and done with. I promise,” she always answers.He frowns, but her promise is enough.
As predicted, just as everyone starts to relax, Maven strikes.Mercer is just coming back into Riften from a job when he’s stopped by a dozen guards standing in his path.“Mercer Frey?” One of them asks. It’s not really a question. They know who he is. He recognizes a few of them from Maven’s house.He doesn’t reply, instead he’s thinking, trying to find a good escape route. He may be the best swordsman in the Rift, but even he will have trouble taking on a dozen men at the same time by himself.“It’s him. Let’s kill him!” Another one shouts. He doesn’t wait for a say-so, just lunges at Mercer, sword-first.Mercer whips his swords out, knocking his blade aside and slicing the man’s neck open. Then he turns himself invisible and sprints for the woods. He’s glad he at least has this one spell.It works for a moment, but he can only hold concentration for so long, and he turns visible right before he makes it to the welcoming shadows.“After him!” someone shouts. There’s the sound of many booted feet running behind him, and Mercer dodges into the woods, sprinting for all he’s worth.
A body slams into him from the side, and he falls, smacking into a tree on his way down. His head swims and his shoulder aches, but he rolls to his feet and strikes out with his blades, catching a lucky hit on one of the thugs.He parries an incoming blow, spinning under another before slashing out and killing another. He fights like his life depends on it because it does. He dodges around trees, using them to his advantage, keeping them between him and his opponents.He carves his way through them, parrying, dodging, slicing and stabbing, trying not to die. He thanks the Divines that Hel isn’t here to weather this with him since she took that job in Solitude. He doesn’t want her to die. He doesn’t want to worry about her while he fights for survival. He doesn’t want her to witness his death.But he won’t die here today, not if he can help it.He fights for his life, and it isn’t until a dozen bodies lie scattered through the bright woods that he even notices the deep stab wound in his stomach. He tsks. It aches, and he curses his luck. Gut wounds are usually not immediately fatal, but it’ll be a painful, prolonged death if he doesn’t get to a healer soon.As much as he wants to lean against the nearest tree and sink to sit in the soft leaves, he can’t. If they found him here, they’re no doubt going to attack the Ragged Flagon, if they haven’t already. He digs a healing potion out of his bag and down it, then promptly throws it up, his wounded gut refusing to take the fragrant liquid. His stomach cramps painfully, and he would make a sound if he were capable, but the pain has made all the breath flee from his lungs, and he chokes on air.He does lean against the tree this time, trying in vain to regain his breathing pattern. He finally manages to gasp in a breath, but it’s almost too late. His knees give out, and he slumps to the ground, rolling himself on his back. Spring has not advanced so far as to grow many flowers on the trees, but the few he can see wave in the breeze. It’s beautiful, with the warm sun shining through the branches, so why does he feel so cold? The wound must have bled more than he thought. Perhaps he won’t have a long, painful death after all. He’s glad Hel’s not here to witness this, although he wishes he could see her one last time…“Mercer!” a yell shatters the silence of the woods, and he languidly turns his head towards the approaching figure. It looks familiar, and as it nears, he recognizes the tasseled robe of the Arch Mage. They slide to their knees beside him, their hands hovering over his gut wound. Then they burst with golden light, and he has to close his eyes against the brightness of it.He eventually blinks his eyes open at the gentle touch of a gloved finger stroking over his cheek.“Are you alright?” the Arch Mage asks, their metal mask doing nothing to disguise the worry in their voice.He takes a moment to feel his stomach. The sudden absence of pain makes his head swim, and he’s reminded of his earlier concussion.“Can you heal my head too?” he asks, voice rough.The Arch Mage chuckles and presses a gloved hand to his forehead, pushing some more healing light into him. His mind clears, and he sits up, blinking. Then he jerks into action, scrambling to his feet.“The Guild!” he calls, already running for the Flagon. The Arch Mage follows behind, faster in a dead sprint than he predicted. Although he has seen them move this fast while fighting. It looks effortless for them, but he can’t give them much thought as he sprints for home.There are a few mercenaries in their way, but the Arch Mage incinerates them before they can get close. The normal Riften citizens have all wisely moved inside as soon as they noticed all the swords in the streets. You have to be good at avoiding trouble if you’re going to live in the same city as the Thieves Guild.Mercer leads the way down the secret entrance. It won’t open, but the Arch Mage shoves him back and raises their hands, blasting apart the stone with sheer power. They lead the way inside through the rubble into a battlefield.
Mercer takes one look and dives in, swords first, cutting through a mercenary before they can bash Brynjolf’s skull in with their mace. He hauls his oldest surviving friend to his feet but there’s no time for thanks as they both keep fighting.It’s chaos. People are shouting, there are flashes of light and heat as the Arch Mage explodes enemies with a twist of their fingers.The battle moves from the Ragged Flagon to the Cistern, and Mercer bares his teeth, clenches his fingers against the slick feeling of other people’s blood, and keeps going.“Thieves Guild, to me!” the Arch Mage’s voice booms as they stand on the center circle, firing precise shots off at the mercenaries.“You heard them. Move!” Mercer echoes, killing his last enemy and relieving Garthar of his so he can scramble across the slick bridge and to the center. Mercer stays out fighting until almost everyone is there, joining them and shouting to Brynjolf to get a move on.Once they’re all gathered around the Arch Mage, they lift their arms, and turns the mercenaries to ashes with a whirlpool of fire, centered around their calm eye. To him, the flames only emit a gentle warmth, and Mercer allows his swords to droop in his exhausted grip as the flames die away to reveal nothing but burnt corpses and scorched stone.“Is it…over?” someone asks. Rune, Mercer thinks. He doesn’t look, he’s too busy watching the Arch Mage who saved his life and the lives of everyone in the Guild.They cast another spell, their hands glittering with subtle, magenta light. “It’s over,” they announce. “It’s done.”“Well, thanks for the save,” Delvin says, clapping the Arch Mage on the shoulder.They hum in acknowledgement, but their attention is firmly on Mercer.“What?” he asks, shifting under their heavy gaze.They shrug, and it’s a strange motion on them. “Now’s as good a time as any,” they say, lowering their head briefly before catching Mercer’s eyes again. “Before I…well, I just want you to know. I never lied to you. Not about the important things.”Mercer takes a step backwards at the strange speech, dropping a hand back onto the pommel of his sword. Are they about to betray him? After saving his life and his Guild?But they just reach a hand up, not to shoot fire at him, but to remove their ever-present mask to reveal a very familiar face.
Mercer lurches forward, then just as quickly staggers back. He can’t speak, can’t even think.“Hel?” Brynjolf says, nursing an injured arm. “You’re the Arch Mage?”“Yes,” she answers, but she only has eyes for Mercer.Mercer finds a shred of his voice. “Why?” he chokes out. He supposes he means it for everything. Why did she join the Thieves Guild? Why did she lie to him all that time? Why did she hide that she can do magic? Why did she make him fall in love with her?Her brow wrinkles, her golden hair falling in sweaty wisps over her forehead and into her eyes. She’s still beautiful.“I’ll just start at the beginning, shall I?” she asks, although no one answers. “I joined the Thieves Guild because I needed research funding for my students.”“Money?” Thrynn growls. “You joined us all for money?”Her gaze snaps to him, golden eyes narrowing. “Do any thieves join for a different reason?”“I joined for freedom and family,” Thrynn defends, baring his teeth.“Then you could have joined the Companions. You’re a good enough fighter. And you’re a Nord. They’d take you in a heartbeat.”He backs down, and Hel turns back to Mercer, her gaze imploring.“The College wasn’t making enough by itself. The people in Skyrim don’t trust magic, and there are only so many rare potions we can sell to apothecaries. So I decided to join the Thieves Guild.”“I don’t understand, lass,” Brynjolf says, his eyes relaying his confusion. He looks like a hurt puppy, and Mercer would laugh if he didn’t have betrayal burning in his throat and behind his eyes, dropping a lead weight into his stomach. “Why did you lie about who you were and what you could do?”“Can you honestly say you would have extended an invitation for me to join if you knew who I really was?” Her head tilts, and her eyes are filled with nothing but pain and sympathy.Brynjolf opens his mouth, then closes it. He can’t contradict her.She turns back to Mercer and takes a step forward, freezing when he flinches away.“It was only supposed to be temporary,” she says, settling back on her heels. “I never thought I’d…” she trails off, looking imploringly at him. When he doesn’t answer she takes a deep breath, the tassels on the edge of the Arch Mage’s robe fluttering with the movement. “I could never have predicted I’d fall in love with you.”It hits him like a blade to the heart. He remembers thinking it, the first night they got together. The first time saying it, sheltering under the wall in the snow, panting from outriding that dragon. He carries that feeling with him constantly, his heart beats to her name. She’s everything to him. He can’t imagine his life without her in it anymore.“And after that?” he whispers. “Why didn’t you say anything?”She sends him a tentative smile. “I didn’t want to risk the chance of you kicking me out and cutting off our alliance. I knew you’d never be able to get out from under Maven’s thumb without my help. I promised to tell you after that. So here I am, keeping my promise.”“That’s why you were gone all the time,” Delvin concludes. “Because you were responsible for the College and its activities.”She nods, her eyes flicking to Delvin then back to him.“I don’t get it,” Vex interrupts. “I get not telling us that you were the Arch Mage, but why didn’t you use your magic? You could have helped us so much.”Hel chuckles, but it lacks her usual humor. “I did use my magic. Whenever I went on a solo job. It’s why I was able to complete so many jobs so quickly.”“But not when you were about to die,” Mercer says, remembering that time she was bleeding on the floor of his manor, having taken that assassin’s blade that was meant for him.She smiles at him, and it gives him that familiar flare of warmth in his chest, making that cold, choking feeling flee temporarily.“I was never in any true danger,” she says. “And I made sure you weren’t either.”“How? When?”“Remember that time you fell through the ice?” she asks.He nods. Of course he remembers. She saved him from drowning. She dragged him all the way to Dawnstar so he wouldn’t freeze to death afterwards.“Didn’t you ever wonder why you didn’t lose any toes? How you made it all the way to Dawnstar before hypothermia set in?”He just stares at her, uncomprehending.“Perks of being a fire mage,” she tries to joke, wiggling her fingers. “I radiate heat.”So the whole time, the warmth he always enjoyed, sought out, couldn’t sleep without, was because she was a mage? He never noticed. Never even thought. In retrospect, it all makes sense. Always taking extended trips because she had responsibilities. Not knowing how to fire a bow accurately. Having much higher than average success on jobs. Excelling at alchemy and making potions for the whole Guild. It all adds up into a damning picture. He should have known.“Did anyone know?” he asks.“Only Enthir,” she confesses. “He helped me set the whole thing up, so he’s known from the beginning.”He can only gape incredulously. “Enthir?!” he shouts. “Fucking Enthir knew before me?”She shrugs lamely, her arms hanging limply at her sides. Her eyes are quickly losing their brightness, all hope leeching out of them. “It couldn’t be helped.”“And the rest? Was everything else a lie too?” His worst fear, come to fruition. She never loved him. She was only getting close to him to get better jobs, more money. He was going to propo– it doesn’t matter now. It’s over.“No!” she shouts, surprising them all with her sudden passion. “None of that was a lie. I love you. I have since almost the first moment we met, and it’s only gotten stronger with every passing day. I love you, Mercer Frey.”He can’t believe her. Not anymore. Every insecurity he has is surging beneath his skin. He’s always known it was too good to be true. Well, here’s the proof.“Get out,” he says.She takes a step backwards. “…what?”“Get out!” he screams, waving a wild hand toward the door. “I never want to see you again!”Brynjolf chimes in. “That’s a bit harsh, Mercer.”Mercer whirls on him. “Shut up! I don’t want to hear it. You’re the one that brought her here. You’re the one that introduced us. You’re as much to blame as she is.”“Mercer, there’s no way he could have known—” Hel starts, trying to defend Brynjolf.“Just--!” he interrupts her. He takes a deep breath. “Hel,” he says, and her name tastes like ashes in his mouth. “Just go. Please.” He’s resorted to begging, but he can’t bear to be in the same room with her a second longer. Not when she never loved him back, and she was the only person he ever had, or ever would.She opens her mouth as if to say something else, but closes it again, nods at him, and with one last long look, she leaves, taking all of his happiness with her.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mercer can’t sleep. He no longer has Hel’s comforting warmth (he’ll never have it again), and he can’t bear to look at either of his beds. Not the one in his manor and certainly not the one in the Guild. And he’s not going to sleep in someone else’s bed or in view of where Hel used to sleep on her own.The entire Flagon holds memories of her from the training rooms where they clashed swords, to the baths where they…did other things. His heart is like an open wound, and every little memory opens it further.The rest of the Guild tiptoes around him, except Vex, who just rolls her eyes and tells him he’s being an idiot. She doesn’t care that Hel, the Arch Mage, lied to them for months. Vex would have done the same thing in her place, and how could Mercer have ever thought that she and Hel were so different?He only has to wait a few days until the letters start to appear. He opens the first one unthinkingly, quickly scanning over the contents before the words start to register.
…the lie was necessary…You of all people should understand…I still love you.
It’s a lie. It has to be. He isn’t deserving of anyone’s love. Not his mother’s, not his father’s, not Gallus and Karliah who he betrayed, and certainly not someone as light and friendly and powerful as Hel. Besides, if she can lie to him about something as important as her identity for money, she can lie about something as trivial as loving him. He doesn’t cry. Not yet. He can’t allow any weakness in himself, and, unfeeling, he holds the paper to a nearby torch and burns it. He doesn’t bother to reply.
The next few are similar. Apologies. Explanations. Declarations. The only one he thinks about replying to is a question about if the alliance still stands. He doesn’t know. He can’t give it up, not after throwing Maven over. He’ll have next to no powerful allies if he does. On the other hand, he never wants to think about the Arch Mage ever again. He burns that one too.He starts destroying them before reading them, recognizing the seal. When the seal changes color and shape, he mistakenly reads another, then destroys that one too. Soon enough, the letters stop altogether. He doesn’t know how to feel about it, if he’s glad or devastated. She really has given up on him.Then he spots Brynjolf reading and replying to them, and he turns away with a scowl. If she wants to write to Brynjolf now, then fine. She should have been with him anyway. Brynjolf obviously doesn’t care that Hel lied to them this whole time if he’s replying to her letters.
“You’re taking this whole thing surprisingly well, boss,” Delvin says, watching Mercer with his shrewd eyes.Not really, Mercer thinks to himself. He’s holding on by a spider’s thread. He feels like he’ll snap at any moment, and he’ll never get out of bed again.“Thanks,” he replies flatly.“Are we going to do anything with our newfound freedom?” Delvin asks. Mercer’s done nothing but keep the status quo. He should be enacting revenge against Maven, or planning for her next move. He knew the attack was coming, and that Hel saved them all, but he also knows that Maven has more than one card up her sleeve, and he doesn’t want to be caught unawares.He should be planning for things like this. He should be instructing his thieves into building their new empire and making sure all of Skyrim feels their presence without ever actually witnessing it. He should be planning a journey to Solthseim with Hel.That last thought slams into him with the force of a runaway wagon. He’ll never get to go on that journey with her. He’ll never get to hold her in his arms again, or spar with her in the training room, or share an excited smile when they find another Stone of Barenziah.Tears spring to his eyes, and the sobs he’s been holding back for days claw their way from his throat, making him hunch over as he tries to feel about for some sort of mental anchor. There’s nothing, and he’s adrift in his grief.He feels familiar hands on his shoulders, pulling him into a broad chest.“You’re alright,” Brynjolf’s soothing brogue murmurs in his ear. “I’ve got you. Just let it out.”
Mercer wakes up in his bed in the Guild. He has a blurry memory of Brynjolf dragging him there. He feels wrung dry. His eyes are scratchy and his throat is sore, and he realizes too late he has his face buried in Hel’s pillow. It still smells like her. He feels the tears return, and he buries his face deeper to muffle his renewed sobs. Her lingering scent only makes it worse.He misses her. He’s devastated that she never loved him, that she was only using him for connections, or more money. Which…goes against everything he knows about her. It’s confusing, but he can’t make sense of it on so little sleep with his mind muddled by grief. He cries until his tears run dry a second time and he falls asleep, cocooned in remembered warmth with the smell of mountain flowers and sunlight in his nose.
“Mercer,” Tonilia says. She’s been the one voted to come into his room and rouse him. He’s turned away all the others. Brynjolf’s sympathetic cajoling, Delvin’s sound reasoning, Vex’s biting insults, which made him curl tighter and tighter until she noticed and awkwardly left.Tonilia’s no-nonsense but more sympathetic attitude might be more effective. Mercer clutches the blankets closer, the torchlight filtering through the fabric.“You have to get up some time,” she says.No I don’t, he thinks. He’s not even feeling up to saying it out loud.There’s a sigh, and the bed dips as Tonilia sinks down to sit on the mattress. She extends a hand and pats a lump under the covers, which turns out to be his elbow. Mercer tucks his arm in tighter. He doesn’t want any soft touches. Not from anyone except Hel, but he’ll never have that again. If Hel found him like this, she’d join him under the covers and hold him, whispering sweet nothings or telling him stories until he felt better. She’d join him in his misery and shed some light on it from the inside instead of hovering on the outside, trying to drag him out of it.“We’re all very sorry about Hel, but we’re think you’re taking it a bit harshly.”Mercer feels rage replace the comforting numbness that had suffused him thus far. He yanks the blankets back and sits up, glaring at Tonilia.“Harshly?” he hisses. “If anything, I haven’t been harsh enough. She lied to us for months about who she was. She lied to me about everything. She used us for money. She was never truly one of us. She never loved me.” His eyes widen as soon as it slips out.Tonilia’s shocked face mirrors his own before her eyes narrow. “There’s a lot you said there that’s wrong, but you cannot possibly believe she never loved you.”Mercer looks away with a scoff but Tonilia leans toward him so he can’t avoid her gaze anymore.“Mercer,” she says, staring him down. “We all knew she was in love with you long before you did. She was pining for you for months before you got together, and we all agreed that we’d never seen such a happy couple.” A shadow of some emotion passes over her face. Divines know her relationship with Vekel hasn’t been effortless, but they both love each other and they’re not going to let each other go because of some nasty rumors and a misunderstanding. “So, will you stop wallowing and get out of bed? We need our Guildmaster.”“Brynjolf—”“Brynojlf isn’t cut out for it,” she says matter-of-factly. “He knows us, true, but he’s more of a peer than a leader, and he doesn’t have the same violent streak that you have. He’s not as mean as you.”It gets a strangled laugh out of him, which is the first sound of happiness he’s made since he banished Hel. He feels…horrible, for being happy when she’s not here, because he knows he’ll never be happy again. Not truly.It makes him want to hide back under his covers and go to sleep, but Tonilia seems to sense that and grabs his hand, towing him from the room. He’s still only in his sleep pants, but Tonilia doesn’t seem to care and drags him into the Ragged Flagon, pushing him into a chair and getting a bowl of food from Vekel. She drops it in front of him, and for the first time in days, Mercer eats.
Mercer’s back at his desk, checking over their recent profits since they successfully defended their home from Maven’s hired thugs. They still haven’t exacted revenge on her, but he has the start of an idea for that. It would mean writing to Hel, but if he could get out of that if he just thinks his way around it. Speaking of writing…“You’re looking better,” Brynjolf says, leaning on the desk, just like old times.Mercer grunts. “The Guild’s coffers aren’t. We’re not bringing in as much as we were.”“You banished our main money-maker,” Brynjolf points out.Mercer flinches, but Brynjolf’s not done.“I’m disappointed she didn’t trust us with the truth before then, but she came clean in the end and saved the Guild. If you just—”“Enough!” Mercer cuts him off. “I don’t want to talk about her. Find us some more jobs.”Brynjolf sighs. “As you wish, Mercer.” He leaves, steps heavy, and Mercer turns back to the accounts.
A letter appears on his desk. It’s addressed to him in a familiar hand with a familiar seal, and Mercer should destroy it like he destroyed all the others, but his curiosity gets the better of him. He opens it.
Dear Mercer,
Brynjolf told me you’ve been destroying all of my letters. I hope you haven’t destroyed this one, but if you have, at least I know I tried.
I’m not sorry I lied to you about my identity. I had to do it for the good of my people. As a fellow leader, you should understand, or at least, I hope you do. I am sorry I hurt you. I don’t know how I can ever make it up to you, or if you’ll even let me try. I hope you do. Someday. I can barely imagine my life without you in it, but what I can imagine is devoid of any sort of happiness.
Mercer takes a break. He feels the same. After days? Weeks? He doesn’t know how long it’s been since Hel saved them all then promptly fucked off (he squashes the little voice that says he made her leave). He can’t imagine a happy future without her in it. He knows now what it is to be happy, and knows he’ll never be able to get back to the way he was before he met her. Just like he was never able to get back to the way he was before Gallus died and Karliah left for good. He takes a deep breath and reads on.
Brynjolf’s been asking me to come back, but I’m not going to unless I hear it from you. The last thing I’d want to do is to hurt you further by intruding upon your space when I’m not wanted. I hope you’ll allow me to come back and visit, or at least say goodbye properly. You’re always welcome at the College and in Winterhold. I would never turn you away, although I still won’t let you steal from my people.
He snorts a laugh. When they made their alliance, he’d promised not to steal from the College or its members, and he can just imagine the teasing lilt to Hel’s voice if she were to say this out loud. For her, it seems, the alliance still stands.
I still love you. I will never stop loving you. I hope you know that. I hope you believe it after I lied to you, but I never lied to you about that. That was all real, or at least it was for me.
He sucks in a deep breath. Her words, the reassurances from his thieves, they’re all making him doubt his convictions that she lied about everything. It also doesn’t make sense that she was able to deceive him so thoroughly through months of getting to know each other and through an entire winter of intimacy. It felt real, and that’s what makes the lie so devastating. If it was a lie. He’s not so sure anymore. Did she really love him? Does she still, like she says? It wouldn’t make sense for her to keep lying after she already revealed her big secret. And it’s not like her secret was hidden. Everyone knew she had one, she told Mercer she had one, and she even told him when she was going to reveal it. And she kept her promise. It’s another point in her favor, and another chip away at his doubt. He reads the rest.
I hope you’re doing well, but if you’re feeling anything like I am, I can only be sorry for causing you such anguish. At least I can comfort myself with the knowledge that you are alive and safe.
I will not bother you again, so if you wish to see or hear from me again, all you have to do is ask.
Love always,
Hel
It makes something warm bloom in his chest. For the first time since he found out her true identity, he feels hopeful. He’s not ready to speak to her yet, but he knows he might be able to get there if he can see with his own two eyes how much she loves him. One sentence in particular sticks out to him, and he has an idea.“Brynjolf!” he calls, waiting until the Nord trudges up to him. “It’s time to get our revenge on Maven. Let’s go rob her blind.”Brynjolf smiles, and it transforms his worried façade to his normal, carefree cheer. “On it, Guildmaster.”
Mercer sneaks through the rooms at the Black-Briar’s secluded lodge. It’s hidden in the woods outside of Riften and holds the majority of their wealth and blackmail. Mercer’s never been invited out here and the existence of it is usually a secret, but he picked up a few things from hanging around Maven so long.Brynjolf and Garthar are here too, although Garthar is just a lookout for now. He didn’t want him getting trapped in the house and unable to get out, or alert the guards by making a mistake. He’ll cause a distraction or go for more help if Mercer needs it. Vex and Delvin are robbing the house in town, and he trusts them to make a clean job of it. Maven is off attending some high society wedding in Solitude, so there are fewer guards than if she were at home which is only beneficial for them as they go about their usual business of burglary.Mercer works his way up to the top floor and finds a familiar gem at Maven’s bedside. It sends a pang of emotion through his chest. He and Hel started their relationship with the Stones of Barenziah. If he hopes to continue it (and he’s becoming more convinced she really did love him each day, as the memory of her lie fades and the memories they shared resurface), he can’t leave it here. It would be bad luck. So he pockets it to think about later.He leaves her a note on her pillow. Something along the lines of ‘we robbed you, in your face, and also you’ll never catch us because we’ve evaded the Jarl all this time’. He knows Maven will take the bait. She’s conniving and crafty, but Mercer has a way of pushing her buttons and making her mad and reckless, and he’s counting on that.He finishes his slough of rooms and sneaks back out of the building where Garthar is waiting with three of Maven’s prized horses.“Good thinking,” Mercer compliments, clapping him on the back with a grin. It feels good to finally stick it to the old crone, and he’s happily imagining the look on Maven’s outraged face when she discovers he robbed her blind. Brynjolf rejoins them, his pockets practically bursting with treasures, and the three thieves ride back home to Riften.
Now it’s just a matter of waiting for the inevitable. Maven takes the bait and tells the Jarl all she knows about the Thieves Guild, which is a tiny bit of truth smothered in the lies Mercer has been craftily feeding her for twenty years. The Riften guards are reluctant to do the Jarl’s bidding (having been paid off so well by the Thieves Guild for years), and Jarl Laila seems to sense this, calling for Ulfric Stormcloak to assist her. He sends a contingent of troops down to Riften to weed out the Thieves Guild.The ensuing fight is short but bloody. Luckily, everyone on Mercer’s side comes away with nothing a healing potion won’t fix, and the remaining Stormcloaks retreat back to the war front, feeling they’ve done a good job at scaring away the Thieves. Mercer gives everyone an order to lay low for a while, and he sets the last leg of his plan into motion.He knows he can’t just use anyone for this job. Brynjolf is a good enough actor, but Hel can read him like a book so he’s out. He thinks about Delvin, but he’s always been a little soft on their golden half-elf. He decides on Niruin since he’s got the appropriate levels of deception and disdain.“Niruin!” he calls, waving the Bosmer over.Niruin comes without protest. He respects Mercer enough as a thief and a Guildmaster that he doesn’t roll his eyes, even if he doesn’t care for Mercer’s relationship with Hel. Although he was right to see it wouldn’t work out as easily as anticipated.“Yes Guildmaster?” he says, gliding to a stop. His natural grace is familiar, and Mercer suffocates whatever pining expression his face wants to make.“I need you to go to the College and tell Hel that Maven killed me.”Niruin wrinkles his nose. “Are you sure? I don’t think she’d take it well.”Mercer frowns. “That’s the point. She’ll destroy Maven for us.” And if she doesn’t, Mercer will have his answer either way.The Bosmer sighs. “Fine. I’ve been wanting to go back and visit Enthir anyway. He’s worried after this last fight.”“You can’t tell him the truth,” Mercer warns.“I know. I’ll wait until it all concludes, one way or another.” He pads off, feet completely silent.
Mercer waits tensely, pacing. He’s told the entire Thieves Guild of his plan in case Hel tries to get word, which was obviously the right move as Hel bursts into the Guild, coming through the back entrance instead of the normal one under the cemetery.“Brynjolf!” she shouts as Mercer ducks into hiding. She’s still as beautiful as ever, even with her hair swirling around her face and her boots spattered in mud. Her eyes look half wild, and Mercer shivers. “Bryn!” her voice cracks on his name like she’s holding back tears, and Brynjolf runs to meet her, catching her by the hands.“Tell me it’s not true,” she gasps, looking up at him, clutching at his fingers like a lifeline. “Is Mercer really…?” she chokes on the last word.“I’m sorry,” he says.Hel freezes, and she’s utterly, completely still. Mercer holds his breath.“…Maven?” she says, her face shuttering.Brynjolf nods jerkily, and Hel turns on her heel and strides out the way she came, the air wavering around her shoulders.Mercer hastens to follow.
Watching Maven’s manor go up in flames is glorious, and Hel strides out like an avenging wraith, wreathed in flames. A contingent of guards tries to rush at her, but she throws them back with a few streaks of lightning and marches for the city gates. Mercer follows discreetly. Normally, Hel would sense him, but she’s obviously distraught, and he’s being extra careful.He tracks her to the Black-Briar Lodge in the woods where Hel forces her way through the guards, lighting them on fire. They don’t even have enough time to scream. She vanishes into the house and Mercer waits at a safe distance.There are a series of noises from the house. At one point, a man is thrown out a window and falls down to thunk onto the ground. He does not move afterwards.The other Thieves Guild members creep through the trees, joining Mercer as he waits for the inevitable end. Brynjolf and Delvin flank him, Vex a shadow at Delvin’s side, and it just reminds Mercer of what he’s missed lately and what he’ll be gaining when she finishes here. He’s decided, based on her response, that she couldn’t have possibly been lying about loving him. No one who’s indifferent looks that broken when they find out the person they love is dead.The culminating explosion is so loud it was probably heard in Windhelm, and Mercer ducks behind the trunk of a sturdy tree as burning shrapnel lights the leaves on fire. The house crumbles, the upper floors collapsing with the sound of breaking timber, and Mercer jerks a step forward, his heart climbing into his throat. Hel is still inside! He has to get to her, pull her out of the falling building. Brynjolf and Delvin both grab onto him, hauling him back.“There’s nothing you can do, boss!” Delvin says, pulling him back behind the safety of the tree.“She’s still in there!” Mercer protests, straining against both him and Brynjolf. He caused this. It’s all his fault. If she dies—he cuts the thought off. He can’t imagine that. If she dies he’ll never be able to live with the guilt. He still hasn’t gotten over Gallus, but he’ll never get over Hel. Not when he tricked her this way, knowing this would be her response. But there’s no way he can run into a burning, collapsing building to save her. Plus, she’s the Arch Mage. He has to assume she’ll be fine. He allows himself to be pulled back and he settles in for a wait, Brynjolf sitting down next to him and slinging an arm over his shoulders, pulling him tight to his side.Mercer’s grateful for the comfort and he leans in, finally noticing Brynjolf’s shaking, his silent tears.“She’ll be fine,” Mercer says, because he has to believe it. “She’s the Arch Mage.”Brynjolf shakes his head. “You didn’t see her when I confirmed you were dead. We don’t know what Niruin did or said. He probably wasn’t kind about it.”Mercer doesn’t like to think about the implications. She’ll be fine. She has to be. Or he just threw her out for nothing.It takes hours, but the rubble finally stops shifting, reduced to a smoldering pile. There’s movement in the center of it and Mercer jerks forward before holding himself where he’s sat next to Brynjolf. He doesn’t know if they’re friend or foe. He watches as a figure rises from the ashes, their shoulders hunched, their head bowed until they reach their full height.It’s Hel. He’d recognize her anywhere, even after all this time apart. She’s covered in so much soot she looks like she’s half made of shadows, and he waits, wanting to see what she’ll do next.She’s just…standing there. Then a hair-raising noise starts up as she keens, sinking to her knees and burying her fingers in the ashes, as if all of her strength is suddenly gone. The noise doesn’t stop, but it’s interrupted by horrible choking breaths before she’s wailing her grief to the uncaring sky again. Mercer’s heart shatters. He caused this. He wanted to see this. Why didn’t he just believe her?He wrenches himself out of Brynjolf’s hold, which had clamped down as soon as her grief-stricken cries had started. He sprints to her, doing his best not to trip over the rubble. The ashes are warm and getting warmer the closer he gets to her.Hel’s eyes are screwed up tight, her entire body shaking as she grits her teeth to hold back her grief-induced noises. Mercer falls to his knees beside her, sending up little puffs of soot, and wraps his arms around her shoulders, hauling her into his chest.“It’s okay love,” he whispers into her filthy hair, right behind her ear. “I’ve got you.”She flinches, pulls away to cast her golden eyes at him, practically glowing from within her dirtied face. Her tears have left clean tracks through the ash that has settled on her skin, and Mercer allows his eyes to take her in. It’s the first he’s seen her, face to face, since he banished her a while ago, and it’s like he was starving until this very moment.“…Mercer?” she whispers, reaching back out to him, tentatively touching his face with her soot-blackened hands.He doesn’t care, leaning into her hand until her palm cradles his cheek, fitting as perfectly as it always has.“You’re alive?” she asks, voice light and breathy, a little rasp under there from earlier. Or maybe from smoke inhalation.“Yeah,” he answers, closing his eyes and finally relaxing for the first time in days. Hel’s hand pulls away from his cheek and he’s almost bowled over as she rockets into him, her arms coming around his torso to clutch him as close to herself as physically possible.She’s sobbing now, but it’s lighter than her earlier noises, and Mercer clutches her back, nodding to the other Guild members as they retreat silently back into the woods. He’ll bring her back to the Guild later.Mercer’s never been that great at comforting people, but he tries, and he’s gotten a lot better at comforting Hel, mostly because she allows it so easily. It works this time, and eventually she pulls back, rubbing her eyes with one hand.“I’m so glad to see you,” she says, tears giving way to a blinding smile. Then her brow furrows in confusion. “Why did everyone think you were dead?”Mercer can’t meet her eyes. He feels ashamed to have caused her so much grief. “I told them to lie to you.”She pulls away. “Why?”Mercer finally meets her gaze, her eyes brimming with confusion and tears. It hurts, that he’s caused her this much pain, and he wonders if that’s what she felt for those weeks he wasn’t speaking to her.“I had to know if you really loved me, and I wanted you to kill Maven for me.”She laughs, but it sounds more like a sob. “You could have just asked.”“About which one?”“Either, both, it doesn’t matter now. Do you have your answer?”Mercer nods. “You love me,” he says, voice full of wonder.“I love you,” she echoes, and he feels the truth down to his bones.“And is Maven…?” he raises his eyebrows suggestively.She nods. “I wish you could have seen her face when I broke down her door. She tried to bribe me to leave her alive.”“What did you say?”She shrugs. “I laughed. Then I blew her up.”Mercer’s slightly disappointed he didn’t get to see it, but it sounds like she suffered in the end, and he’s twisted enough to enjoy that. “Good.” He stands, pulling Hel up with him, and starts heading for home. He doesn’t hear footsteps behind him. When he turns around, Hel is still standing there, watching him with a blank face.“Aren’t you coming?” he asks, tilting his head.She hesitates. “Do you…want me to come with you?”“Of course!” He can’t imagine being apart anymore. He’s been making himself miserable for weeks for something that wasn’t even real. He thought she had lied about loving him. He could have accepted that she lied about her position as the Arch Mage. That one made sense. But the other part…Well, he knows better now.Even with his reassurance, she’s still not moving. She’s always been the confident one in their relationship, and Mercer finds himself unsure as their roles are reversed.“You’re not still…” she winces, “upset?”Mercer will hold a grudge until he dies, but there have always been different rules for Hel. It’s his turn to soothe her.“You lied to me about your identity, I lied to you about my death,” he shrugs. “I’d say we’re even.”She nods, and all the tension drops from her shoulders as her customary smile overtakes it.“No more secrets,” Hel says, coming forward to take his hand.“No more secrets,” Mercer promises honestly, thoughts of Gallus and Karliah swirling in his mind. He’ll tell her one day, but right now is not the time.Hel leans into him until their shoulders are brushing.Mercer leads them home.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The Flagon is empty when they return. Mercer’s sure that everyone’s excited to see Hel, but he can’t help but commend them for giving her a little space right now, especially since she looks half dead on her feet. She must have run all the way from Winterhold without stopping when she heard the news of his death.She leans into him, her eyes at half-mast, as Mercer leads them to the baths. He’d love to take her straight to bed since he misses sleeping next to her, but they’re both covered in ashes and he’s sure she’ll feel much better when she’s clean.“Oh, you beautiful man,” she says, kissing him on the cheek when they walk into the baths. She strips, wading into the tepid water.“It’s cold—” Mercer starts to explain, but almost as soon as Hel steps into the water, it starts to steam. Mercer grins. That’ll come in handy on the road now that she doesn’t have to hide her magic. He grabs them some fresh clothes (Hel left many of her things here, but Mercer grabs his own clothes because he prefers when she’s wearing his things), and joins her.He washes the dirt from her hair as she gets her front, the water turning murky around them.“Is using your magic tiring?” Mercer asks, moving the wet cloth down her back.She presses into it, sighing. “No. It’s easy as breathing for me. I’m tired because I haven’t slept in a few days since—” she cuts herself off.“Since Niruin told you,” he finishes, squeezing her shoulder in an apology.“Yeah.” She clears her throat and moves away from him, heaving herself out of the bath.
They’re both clean and dry, hair damp, in Mercer’s bed. Hel has settled herself over and top of him, pressing him into the mattress. Mercer doesn’t mind. He enjoys it, in fact, burying his face in the crook of her neck. After so long without her, her weight feels wonderful. He can’t believe he ever doubted her, not when it’s so obvious how she feels. He falls asleep with Hel surrounding him.He wakes up before her. No wonder, seeing as she’s been running around burning down buildings. He’d lay there forever just…drinking her in, but he slides his way out from underneath her.She wakes up immediately, her eyes snapping open, her arms winding around his waist and dumping him back onto the mattress, coming back down to cover his body with her own again. She’s almost laying on his face, but Mercer can peek out through her hair to see she’s summoned a glimmering, magical shield to protect them.“What are you doing?” Mercer snaps, trying to escape. He can’t stand being trapped like this against his will. It was alright last night when he wanted it, but now, when his bladder is full and his skin feels slightly too tight, he needs to leave. He pushes against her, but her arms are locked tight, and his struggles only make her wind tighter and speak.He does not understand what she is saying. Aldmeri is usually a beautiful language, but hissed like this, a thread of panic at the back of her throat, it sounds rough.Mercer freezes. This is not what he thought it was. He needs to tread carefully here and undo the damage he did when he made Niruin lie to her.“Hel,” he says, stroking his hands over what little bit he can reach. “Helarys.”She loosens her grip slightly, and he breaths a little in relief.“It’s okay. I’m okay. We’re home. We’re safe here.” He tries to go as boneless as he can to show how relaxed he is, and it gets Hel to relax on top of him, her arms unwinding from around him.“Sorry,” she apologizes, clambering off of him and helping him sit up.“It’s okay,” he forgives automatically, not that she did anything wrong this time. It’s his fault for lying to her. If he had known it would have caused this much damage, he would have figured something else out.He cradles her face in his hands. “I love you, and I will be right back, but I really have to go to the bathroom.” Then he jumps out of bed.
Mercer is working at his desk and Hel is across the Flagon, sitting with Brynjolf and Rune at one of the tables nearby. She looks normal, smiling and laughing with the boys, throwing fond glances Mercer’s way every now and again.He’s sure only he can see the tension she’s holding in her legs, even while sitting down, as if she’s ready to stand up at any moment. The way she hasn’t touched the flagon of ale that Vekel placed in front of her. He frowns. He needs to do something about that, but he doesn’t know what. Hopefully she’ll calm down if he’s gentle and kind with her, like she is with him.
Mercer’s fighting with Vex in the training room. He’s left Hel with Brynjolf, who has a much more soothing demeanor than Mercer. The idea is that he’ll be able to comfort her where Mercer can’t.Vex is fast and more flexible than him, and she dodges in close, under his guard, swiping at him with her daggers. He blocks her with his own dagger, bringing his sword around between them and forcing her back. They go back and forth like this, evenly matched. It reminds him a bit of fighting Hel, although Vex is much more aggressive where Hel is more playful.Mercer pays for his distraction with a cut to his forearm and he pulls back, hissing at the painful sting.Then Vex is thrown backwards and Mercer is protected inside of a ring of flame that’s higher than he is tall. By all rights he should be burning, but he only feels a gentle warmth. He can hear shouting. Vex’s poorly hidden panic, Hel’s fury, Brynjolf’s pleading cadence. Mercer can’t just stand here, but to get to them all, he’ll have to walk through the fire. It hasn’t burned him yet, and he has to trust that Hel wouldn’t let it hurt him. He takes a deep breath and walks forward.Mercer emerges unscathed on the other side of the fire to Hel, snarling at Vex, her hands filled with fire. Brynjolf is clasping her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides.“Hel!” Mercer shouts, sprinting in front of her, blocking her view of Vex. “Stop it!”“She hurt you!” Hel snarls, thrashing against Brynjolf.“I’m alright,” Mercer says, grasping her face between his palms. Her eyes track to his forearm where the shallow cut has already stopped bleeding. “It’s fine,” he says, trying to waylay her concerns.“Brynjolf,” she says, going perfectly still. “Let me heal him.”Brynjolf meets Mercer’s eye and only releases his grip when he nods.Hel’s hands snap up to tenderly cradle Mercer’s hurt arm, pulsing healing light into the cut until it leaves unblemished skin again.“I’m fine,” Mercer protests, letting her do whatever she wishes anyway. “Now you need to apologize to Vex.”Hel looks away, then peers around Mercer at Vex.“I’m sorry for attacking you,” she says, then very deliberately closes her mouth. Mercer can fill in the rest for himself.“Sure, whatever,” Vex says. “Next time, when I hurt your boyfriend, I’ll make sure you don’t find out about it.”Mercer presses a hand to Hel’s chest to hold her back, shifting back in front of her field of vision again.“Thank you, Vex,” Mercer grits out. “Can you please go?”Vex scoffs and leaves, but Brynjolf hesitates.“Will you be alright, lass?” he asks, looking at Hel.Hel throws him a reassuring smile. “Of course. Thank you for holding me back Bryn. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”Brynjolf relaxes at Hel’s reassurance. “Not at all. Take care of yourself.”As soon as he’s gone, the smile drops off Hel’s face faster than snow melting in summer.Mercer frowns. He doesn’t know how to fix this, but for now, a hug might do the trick.
When they’re alone that night, Mercer brings up his concerns with Hel.She rears back. “So you’re saying I can’t care about you?” she asks, eyes widening in shock and hurt.“No!” Mercer corrects, grabbing her hands to stop her from leaving their bed. “I’m just saying, you don’t need to protect me from everything, and certainly not from my own Guild.”Hel won’t meet his eyes, and it makes his insecurity rear its ugly head. He squashes it with a vengeance. She’s shown how much she cares about him.“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt Vex, or scare her, but I saw her cut you and I just…” she takes a deep breath and looks back at him. “I thought I lost you once. Can you blame me for being overprotective?”Mercer sighs. “I suppose not. But you can’t lock me in a cage trying to protect me.”“I know. And I won’t.” She goes silent, and Mercer can see her trying to gather her thoughts. “I’ll get over it. I just need time.”Mercer frowns. “Don’t you have to go back to the College soon? You’re the Arch Mage. They need you.”Hel shakes her head. “I left Tolfdir in charge of classes, Faralda in charge of defense, and Brelyna in charge of student research. The faculty can normally conduct themselves in my absence.”Mercer blinks. “You need three people to do your job when you’re gone?”Hel looks back at him, her brows furrowing in confusion. “You’re surprised by that? You need the same thing.”“No, I just put Brynjolf or Delvin in charge.”She laughs. “Brynjolf covers jobs, Delvin covers the books and letters, and Vex deals with any difficult situations that crop up.”“Huh.” He never realized. He thought that Brynjolf just took care of everything when he was absent, and that Brynjolf would be Guildmaster after him, probably when his past catches back up to him.Hel grins and scoots closer, trailing her lips up his cheek and to his ear. “You have some very big shoes to fill,” she whispers. “There’s no one like you.”Mercer shivers at her warm breath as much as her words. She always knows how to get his blood up. He allows the pleasant diversion. He’ll tackle Hel’s worry about his safety in the morning because he has the start of an idea.
“Vipir, Thrynn, Garthar,” Mercer calls, marching through the Cistern on a mission. Hel has gone out with Rune, and they only have a few hours until she returns. “I need you for something.”
“Close your eyes,” Mercer says, holding Hel’s hands. She raises a delicate eyebrow but does as he says, her fingers gripping back. He leads her down a hallway to a little-used room.“Okay. Open,” he says, letting her hands go.Her eyes open, resting gently on his before taking the rest of the room in.“You…got me an enchanting table,” she says with wonder, going over to stroke her fingers across the runed surface.Mercer shifts awkwardly on his feet. “Yeah I thought…” he trails off, unsure. Maven never liked his thoughts, but she’s dead. The memory of their relationship still crops up at the worst times.“You thought…?” she asks, tilting her head, her soft smile telling him it’s okay to speak his mind.“I thought you could enchant something for me, to keep me safe when you’re not here.”She’s silent, and Mercer thinks he messed up, but then she smiles. “Mercer, that’s a wonderful idea! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.” She hugs him, and Mercer melts in relief in her warm embrace.Then she pulls back. “Would you prefer a ring or a pendant?”He blinks at the question. Rings would get in the way if he tried to pickpocket anyone. “Pendant,” he answers.She kisses him on the cheek. “Thank you. You’re so thoughtful.”He blushes down to his toes, his face flaming. He manages to make a strangled noise of pleased agreement.
She finds him later, reeking of magic. She smells like ozone, and he wants to bury his face in her throat and breathe her in, but she’s presenting him with a gift with a flourish and a bashful smile.When he takes the pendant it hums and warms in his hand. He can feel the magic. She chose a pretty one, silver with flawless emeralds, small and light enough to be hidden easily under his clothes.“It’s beautiful,” he says. “What kind of enchantments did you put on it?” he asks, putting it over his head and letting it settle against his skin. It’s warm, like a small piece of sunlight against his chest. He quickly becomes used to the weight and the feeling.“As many as I could,” she answers. “Protection against magic and weapons, buffs to health, strength, and endurance, and a few muffle and pickpocket charms.”“Is that all?” he jokes, floored by the thought that the Arch Mage is his person and she just gave him a priceless gift created with love.“Do you like it?” she asks, lips twitching up into a small smile.“Of course,” he answers. “You made it for me. How could I not love it?”She blinks in surprise, then practically melts before his eyes, her smile turning fond and sappy. “I love you.”“I love you too,” he returns automatically, easily, feeling it in his bones. He can’t believe he ever doubted her.
She leaves a few days after that, back to the College. Brynjolf stands at Mercer’s side as he waves her off.“Will you both be alright?” Brynjolf asks, eyeing Mercer critically as Hel finally disappears around a bend in the road.Mercer frowns back at him. “Of course.”“Are you sure?”“Your faith in me is heartwarming,” Mercer deadpans, stalking back toward the Guild entrance.Brynjolf doesn’t even have to jog to catch up, his stride is so much longer. Bastard.“Really?” he asks, joking now. “Because whenever Hel is gone you start sighing over your paperwork.”“Shut up,” Mercer growls, face flaming.Brynjolf’s laughter follows him down the steps.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mercer’s up at the College visiting Hel. Her recent letters have been growing more cryptic and concerning, and she’s no longer signing them with love, or including his full name on top of them, so he hastens up there to see what’s wrong.Niruin’s still at the College as well, but Mercer hasn’t heard from him in a while, although Rune says he’s just spending time with Enthir. Mercer wrinkles his nose at the unpleasant thought. Niruin’s one of his thieves, but he can be a little biting, and Enthir is a cheerful thorn in his side, but he helps the guild. Plus, he belongs to Hel, so it’s not like Mercer can do anything about it.He sneaks his way in under the cover of darkness, using a secret entrance from below the college that Hel told him about, just in case there’s anything amiss. As he creeps through the campus, he doesn’t spot anything out of the ordinary, but he keeps his tension until he’s successfully snuck his way into the Arch Mage’s quarters.Hel wakes with a start as he closes the door, but she immediately relaxes as soon as she sees it’s just Mercer, then she opens her arms wide. Mercer doesn’t waste any time, shucking his bag and boots and crawling into her arms, even if he’s still a little dirty from traveling.Hel doesn’t care, and if their positions were swapped, Mercer wouldn’t care either.She gathers him tight and doesn’t say anything for a bit.“Are you okay?” Mercer asks, stroking a hand down her silky hair.“Better now that you’re here,” she murmurs into his shoulder. She pulls back. “Not long after I arrived back at the College, the Thalmor showed up.”He narrows his eyes. “What does that mean for you?”“It means I’m being watched. The Thalmor never liked me. They know who I am, and normally they’d be more concerned with Ulfric Stormcloak and perpetuating the civil war to sow unrest in Skyrim, but they’re wary that I’ll disrupt their plans.”“Because you’re the most powerful mage in all of Tamriel?”Hel chuckles, and it vibrates through him pleasantly. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”“What are you going to do about it?” As much as Mercer’s willing to help her, he’s reluctant to step on her toes here at the college. He’s not much of a mage. Enough for a weak healing spell or a spell of invisibility, but he’s out of his depth here. He supposes he could ask Hel to train him, but he doesn’t want to be a burden for her, not when she’s teaching all of her students. Besides, he’s content with his skills as a swordsman and a thief.She shrugs. “I’ll stonewall them until they get fed up and leave. My only other option is to kill them and start a war with the Thalmor.”Mercer chuckles at her joke, but she’s not laughing, and he quickly sobers. He supposes she could. She might even win, or at least make it so the Thalmor pull out of Skyrim. He knows there’s not many of them here in the first place.
Hel invites him to her class the next day.“You have the pendant I gave you?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.He touches his chest where it rests under his tunic. “Of course.”“Then come along.”
She tells him to stay by the wall. “You won’t need to dodge anything,” she says. “Everything will be redirected or nullified by the pendant.”Mercer nods and watches as she greets her students, tells them what they’re supposed to be doing, and then they get to work. She has them warm up in pairs, then they go for a free-for-all combat match. Mercer flinches at the first fireball that comes his way, but it swerves aside and puffs harmlessly against the stone wall next to him. The next few dissipate before they get anywhere near him.He relaxes, watching Hel weave amongst her students. Healing some, throwing up wards without even looking when a shot goes astray and almost hits her. She corrects some of the students, adjusting their stances or demonstrating proper technique. He notices immediately when the Thalmor come in.They peer around with upturned noses, a look of distaste on their faces, as if there’s a bad smell permeating the air. They zero in on Hel, watching as she weaves between her students.One of them shoots a lance of lightning at her unprotected back and Mercer lunges forward, but Hel casually blocks it with a ward and sends a bolt of lightning three times as powerful back in their direction. It shatters harmlessly off the wall above their heads. A warning shot, and they all know it, judging by their minute and hastily hidden flinches. They file out and leave her to the rest of her class, not noticing Mercer against the far wall.
He finds her afterwards, after she’s finished her class and walked out, casting Mercer a speaking glance. They’re up on the parapet. It’s windy, but the air is clean, colder here than in Riften, but warm enough for the spring season.“Here,” she says imperiously, holding a hand out.Mercer snorts but takes it, and she laces their fingers together, even if hers are covered by her gloves. She’s taken off her perpetual mask for him, and she smiles, her friendly golden face so different from the three Thalmor that looked in on her lesson.Speaking of… “What are you going to do about them?”She doesn’t need him to clarify. “I’ll stonewall them until they get fed up and leave. I’m not beholden to the Thalmor. They can’t bully me into doing their bidding.”Mercer hums, then just enjoys the sunshine and Hel’s company.
Hel is engaged in some Faculty research when Mercer crosses paths with Enthir and Niruin, coming upon both Bosmer wandering the garden, arm in arm.“Boss,” Niruin says, nodding.“Look what we have here,” Enthir teases, grinning sharply.Mercer nods back at Niruin and does his best to ignore Enthir. “So you’ve been holed up here all this time.” It’s not really a question.“Don’t worry. I’ve been working,” he defends, bristling.Mercer waves him down. “I know.”“What are you doing here? Avoiding your job?” Enthir says, sneering.Mercer tries not to rise to the bait. “I’m visiting,” he answers.“Keeping the Arch Mage company?” He wiggles his eyebrows.“Enthir,” Hel’s voice snaps out, and Enthir cringes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”He pouts. “Fine. You’re no fun.”Niruin glares at Hel hard enough for the both of them, but Hel just levels him with a stare as they walk off.“He doesn’t like me,” she says, grinning over at him.Mercer frowns after Niruin and Enthir. “I could make him.”She chuckles. “Don’t bother. He’s just jealous I’m taking your time and attention away from the Guild.”Mercer blinks incredulously. “But the Guild has never been stronger.”She shrugs. “Yeah, but it’s different than it used to be. It’ll be fine. He’ll get used to it. I’m certainly used to him hanging around the College by now.”“He disrespected you in your own home.”“He’s getting better. I’m sure we’ll be friends in no time.” She smiles, and that’s the end of it.
Mercer can feel eyes on the back of his head. “What,” he snaps, spinning around. There’s a Khajit, a Nord, and a Dunmer watching him.“Nothing,” the Nord answer quickly. “Sorry.”“Who are you?” the Khajit asks, tilting his head.Mercer narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Why do you want to know?”“Because we see you spending time with the Arch Mage, and Hel’s our friend. We just want to look out for her,” the Dunmer finishes.He stares them all down. “If she wants to explain anything, she will.” He turns back around, hunching over the book he’d borrowed from Hel’s quarters. He didn’t want to deal with the grouchy librarian. He shoves down the stab of hurt he feels. Does Hel not talk about him with her friends? Does she not want to acknowledge their relationship the same way he does?“She’s only been pining over you for months, vanishing from the College for you, moping, heartbroken over you, talking about you ever since she returned after running off,” the Khajit stands, his clawed hands filling with fire. “After all you did to her, why should we trust you with her?”“Why do you care?” Mercer bristles defensively. “Are you in love with her?”The Khajit chuckles, low and menacing. “If I were, you’d never stand a chance.”Mercer feels a surge of anger, and for a moment he wants to jump to his feet and start fighting, but he wrestles himself under control.“Look,” he says, gritting his teeth trying his best to explain. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Hel is with me for her own reasons. Divines know why,” he mutters.The Dunmer blinks. “Oh!” she says. “J’zargo, leave him alone.”“But what if he’s not good enough for our Hel?” the Nord protests, glaring at Mercer.Their Hel? Mercer thinks, feeling a flare of possessiveness. “How do you even know her that well? Aren’t you three students here?” He packs as much derision into his tone as he can. It’s not hard.The Khajit and the Nord bristle, but the Dunmer smiles. “Yes, but Hel was a student with us before she became the Arch Mage. We’re all from the same class.”Mercer recalls a story Hel told him once, of the Arch Mage’s rise to power. He hadn’t known it at the time, but it was her story. She hadn’t been only a spectator. It had happened to her. “I see,” he says. “Then you should know how smart and strong she is. You can trust her to make her own decisions.”“We do,” The Nord says. “But sometimes she can be too trusting.”“Really?” Mercer says. “Then you must not know her as well as you think.” He banishes the bitterness that sneaks up when he thinks about her hiding her identity from him for so long. It made sense that she did. He’s forgiven her for it. Besides, it’s all out in the open now.The Nord looks one second away from attacking when Hel breezes past him, wafting her familiar scent of sunshine and wildflowers.“Making friends, love?” she asks, smiling over at Mercer with an expression that looks heartbreakingly fond. Mercer can’t help but melt at it. She turns to the others. “I hope you’re being courteous to my guest.”“Of course, Arch Mage,” the Dunmer answers for all of them, blinking innocently.“Uh huh,” she says, tilting her head.“Hel,” the Nord says, stepping toward her. “We think you’re making a big mistake.”“Onmund—” the Dunmer starts. Hel cuts her off.“It’s fine,” she says, staring down at the Nord. “I appreciate your concern, but it’s unwarranted. I can make my own decisions regarding my personal life.”“But—”Her glare cuts off any further protest. “Now,” she says, softening. “I was hoping that we could all get along. I have a mission in mind for all of us.”“Where?” Mercer asks. He’s had enough of waiting around at the College uselessly while Hel runs things.“Yngvild.”J’zargo the Khajit grins, showing off all of his pointed teeth.“A Stone?” Mercer asks, and Hel nods at him, ignoring the questioning looks of the other three.“What enemies will we encounter?” the Dunmer asks. She looks like she’s ready to take notes.“Draugr and ghosts, mostly,” Hel answers. “But be prepared for anything else we might encounter. We leave in an hour.” She stalks off, and Mercer follows at her heels.
When they’re safely ensconced in the Arch Mage’s quarters and Hel is carefully stowing potions into a bag, Mercer brings up his worries.“They said…” he doesn’t want to sound insecure, but he needs reassurance right now. “They said you being with me was a mistake.”She pauses in her packing and looks at him, frowning, then her expression smooths out. Even after all this time, she can still read him easily. “Being with you has been the best choice of my life.” She stands and goes to him where he’s shifting, restless, by her bed. She presses a firm, dry kiss to his forehead and smooths strong hands down his arms. “I wish you could see how precious you are to me.”Mercer snorts and pulls her in for a real kiss as he relaxes, fisting his hand in the front of her shirt and sitting down on the bed, pulling her with him insistently until she’s half-kneeling, bent over him.“Come on,” he urges, tugging at her gently, trying to get her to join him.“If I lay down, we’re not leaving until tomorrow.” She pulls away, disentangling his fingers and patting his hand patronizingly. “Down boy,” she teases, grinning.It has the opposite effect, and Mercer watches her, frustrated and smirking, thinking up all the ways he can conveniently distract her on their journey. The fact that he gets to rub it in the faces of the three mages, especially the Nord, is just icing on the sweetroll.
Their little team sets out, Mercer doing his best to ignore the Nord’s glare at his back as he strides at his customary place at Hel’s side. Hel lets J’zargo kill all the spiders on their journey east to Yngvild. He seems happy enough to throw fire at anything that comes close enough to threaten them. Mercer appreciates it. It means he can keep Hel’s attention on him.He walks in front of her a few times, grinning back at her over his shoulder. He teases her a little, tugging on her hair or clothes. In a final devastating move, when she pauses to pick an herb, he pauses with her. He could bend over to look at it more closely, but he squats instead, angling himself just so to show his thighs to their full advantage.Hel’s hands pause on the plant, then she very carefully snaps the branch and stows it in her bag. Her eyes are burning into his, and Mercer holds her gaze. Then he smirks, and Hel narrows her eyes.“Stop it,” she hisses, glancing over at the other three who are accompanying them. Thankfully they’re not paying attention.“I don’t care if they notice,” Mercer says. Then he pauses. “Unless you’re ashamed of me.”“No,” she protests. “Never.” Her voice is unwavering, and Mercer believes her. Then Hel’s gaze flickers behind him and she curses, standing abruptly.Mercer mirrors her, his hand flying to his sword handle, but it’s a familiar, Altmeri figure striding up the path. They catch up quickly, their long legs eating up the distance, and their thin mouth is set into a frown.“What do you think you’re doing?” their new chaperone shrieks. “Trying to sneak off on an unsanctioned trip?”Hel steps smoothly in front of everyone, shielding them from view. “I don’t need you to sanction anything.”“You’re supposed to report all trips to—”“I’m the Arch Mage. I don’t need to report anything to you.”The Thalmor agent harrumphs and crosses his arms. “All the same, I’ll be accompanying you as an observer.”Hel narrows her eyes. “I see. In that case, you better be on your guard. We’re descending into dangerous territory. I would hate for anything to happen to you.”
Yngvild is on an island across the icy water. Mercer can’t stop his shiver as he remembers what happened almost a year ago now, his plunge into the icy depths, and steps closer to Hel to leech some of her warmth. She shifts away, and it shouldn’t sting as much as it does. He knows she’s only doing it in front of the Thalmor, and only to protect him. She casts her hands out and creates a bridge of ice, textured on top so they don’t slip.Mercer crunches across the bridge behind Hel, eyes focused ahead.
They reach Yngvild in frosty silence. Hel stays between the Thalmor and Mercer the whole time, trying her best to act casual. Mercer stares straight ahead and pretends he’s just an assistant, or another college student accompanying the Arch Mage on the journey.They pause at the entrance.“I would prefer if you stayed out here,” Hel tries with the Thalmor agent.He just glares at her.“I won’t be able to keep you safe.”The agent scoffs. “As if I need your protection. I’m an agent of the Thalmor, the greatest power in all of Tamriel.”“Right,” Hel says, smirking. “Suit yourself.”They descend into the crypt.
The icy tunnel is empty. Hel leads the way, shoulders squared, eyes straight ahead. Mercer pads silently behind her, the three other mages in a loose bunch after him. The Thalmor agent follows at the rear, to better keep an eye on them all.Mercer doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t think he’ll try anything. Not when he’d be outnumbered five to one. He stays close to Hel, ready to fight by her side.It’s a quiet trudge through the ice tunnel until they reach something that was built by hands, the torches on the wall giving it away. A dense fog drifts through the tunnel and obscures their vision, plus any enemies that lie ahead of them.Hel pauses and looks back at their group.“Mercer,” she says, “scout ahead and report back on what you find.”He nods and slips off into the fog. There’s the sound of distant shuffling, a muffled grunt and bark of a draugr. He creeps forward until he can see their silhouettes through the fog, then he lunges forward and slides his sword through a tattered gap in the armor. The draugr dies with a death rattle and Mercer continues to creep through the fog, killing draugr until the shuffling noises stop and all the draugr are dead.He walks back out through the fog, grinning at Hel and twirling his blades.“All taken care of,” he says, waiting for her gaze to spark at his competence, to get that eyebrow raise that means she’s thinking about kissing him later. She gives him a cool nod instead, and it’s like Mercer just got doused in cold water.“Good. Let’s go.” She stalks past him, into the fog, stepping over the still bodies of the draugr. The magic of the crypt will animate them eventually, but it won’t be for days at least. They move forward through the mist, the other three mages starting to joke amongst themselves.Mercer huffs and tries not to let it get to him. She’s just being careful. She can’t give him away in front of the Thalmor agent. It still hurts.Yngvild is an icy maze filled with draugr and ghosts, but Hel’s taken the lead now and she leads them confidently into every room, letting the other three mages dispatch the enemies. Mercer’s feeling like a useless tagalong, so he decides to slip off and go exploring on his own.He finds the last chamber with a draugr deathlord inside. As soon as he steps across the threshold, the door clangs shut with an echo of finality. Mercer curses. He can pick any lock, but the door’s not locked mechanically. It’s locked magically, and even with the Skeleton key, he wouldn’t be able to open it.Besides, the noise had alerted the draugr who stands with a bark, drawing its sword.“Have you found something, my sweet?” a voice calls out as a robed figure emerges from the shadows at the back of the room.Mercer tightens his grip on his swords. It looks like he’s going to have to fight his way through. The draugr comes at him and doesn’t even swing, just opens its mouth and Shouts, stripping his weapons away to clatter somewhere in the room.He dives and rolls, dodging the draugr’s following swing and sprinting in search of his weapons. A lance of ice flies over his head, shattering against a wall. The freezing crystals dissipate before they can touch him, and the pendant hums against his chest.He grins. Hel’s protecting him, even if she’s not with him right now. He stands up and runs, looking for his swords and ignoring the sound of discharging magic at his back. The pendant buzzes furiously against his skin as it nullifies a ray of frost, picking up his swords just as the draugr deathlord shouts again, stripping them away and flinging them even further into the dim room.Mercer curses and dives as the draugr breathes a stream of frost at him. It catches him in the side, burning into him with icy fingers. It seems the pendant does not make him immune to this strange, ancient magic, and his natural, Breton resistance is useless against it. He grits his teeth against the icy burn and tries to scramble away, find his weapons, an exit, anything.He knows he’s outclassed against this draugr, as much as it hurts his pride to admit it, even in his own head. The necromancer is an added complication, although his attacks aren’t able to land. Hopefully he doesn’t realize and pull a dagger, and then Mercer will have two enemies to worry about.The draugr Shouts again, and slow as he is from the previous blow, he’s unable to dodge in time. It takes him full in the legs, and he crumples with a scream of pain at the icy needles stabbing into his legs, freezing his muscles and bones, numbing all his nerves so he can’t get up, can’t even move. He pulls himself along the ground by his arms, teeth bared in a pained snarl, a cry for Hel caught in his throat.The doors bang open and a wave of fire boils through, surging toward the draugr and singing its dry flesh. Hel charges through the open door, sending another roiling mass of fire towards the draugr, completely obliterating it. She turns towards Mercer.“Necro…” he coughs out. “Necromancer.” He points shakily toward the other side of the room, and Hel spins, her shoulders square, every line her body radiating fury and power.“I’ll destroy you, trespasser!” the necromancer shouts, going to confront Hel. Even in pain as Mercer is, he laughs. The necromancer doesn’t last two seconds. Then Hel is stalking toward him, her anger still held in the tense line of her shoulders, the purposeful stalk of her legs.“Hel,” Mercer starts.“Quiet,” she says as she drops to a knee next to him and holds her hands out, scanning them down his body while casting a healing glow over him. The frozen feeling retreats, to be replaced by her signature warmth, and he wants to bury his face in her neck, have her hold him in her warm, strong arms, but she’s still as tense as a bowstring, and he gets the impression that his touch won’t be welcome right now.Her three students aren’t behind her, but Mercer spots the Thalmor agent creeping into the room, spotting Hel’s unprotected back as she fusses over Mercer some more. The Altmer throws a wave of lightning, and Mercer tackles Hel with a shout, trying to protect her with his own body.He braces for a shock that never lands. Even while being tackled, Hel has summoned a ward that shimmers strongly around them while the lightning passes harmlessly by. Then she stands, shrugging off Mercer’s slackened grip and unleashes what appears to be the very fires of the planes of Oblivion. The Thalmor agent erects a ward, but the fire splits before it touches it and rejoins behind the shield, immolating him without even time to scream.Hel turns to him with a deep breath, grabbing his hand and pulling him up to stand.“Are you alright?” she asks, voice soft, shoulders relaxed again.“I’m fine,” he says, trying to lean into her. She allows it only for a moment before she’s stepping away again, and her students rush in, magic swirling in their palms in preparation for a fight. They deflate when they find nothing but scorch marks.“Let’s check the treasure at the back,” Hel says, leading them all to the back alcove. Mercer finds his swords within feet of each other on the floor and sheathes them, trusting Hel to take care of any enemies that pop up unexpectedly. Although at this point, he thinks the chances are slim, seeing as this is the throne room and they already defeated the two strongest beings in the dungeon.She finds the Stone on a table and tosses it to Mercer, the red gem glittering in the flickering light of the torches. Mercer pockets it, and without saying anything else, Hel leads them all out.“You three, go ahead,” Hel says, talking to her students. They continue with some strange backward glances, and Mercer is left alone with Hel on a cold, windy rock out the back entrance to the dungeon.“Hel,” Mercer starts, stepping toward her.She holds up a hand, stopping him from gaining the comfort he’s craved all day.Her voice is dead even when she replies. “You can’t come back to the college with me. You should return to the Thieves Guild as quickly as possible.”“W-what?” he says, dread dropping into his stomach. He thought they were good. She had welcomed him to her domain, been lovely and affectionate with him, even in front of her students and staff. “Are you…breaking up with me?”She rips her mask off and her face is anguished. “No! Never.” She steps forward, catching his hands, reeling him in, unresisting, until she can press her forehead to his.Mercer clutches her back, not about to let her go after everything they’ve been through. He can’t.When she pulls back, they’re both a little calmer, and Hel takes a deep breath and explains."I just started a war with the Thalmor. Even if I say it was an accident, that the agent died because he was killed by the draugr, they won’t believe me. I need to get you safe before I return to the college, and I won’t be there for long. Long enough to shore up the defenses, and then I have to eliminate every Thalmor in Skyrim.”“I’ll help,” Mercer offers immediately. “You’ll have the entire Thieves Guild on your side.”“No!” Hel protests at once. “I need you to keep yourself safe.”He rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”“Like you were fine inside of Yngvild?” she says, raising an eyebrow.Mercer scowls. “That wasn’t a fair fight.”“The Thalmor won’t fight fair either, and I’m not willing to risk you.” Her golden eyes are melting him down, making him think this is a good idea somehow.He shakes it off. “I’m not leaving you.”“And I’m not losing you for real,” she says, implacable.Mercer has to concede defeat. “What about you?”She gives him a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll be fine. I’m the most powerful mage in all of Tamriel.”Mercer silently vows to keep an eye on her, even if he has to sneak around to do it.
Before they part ways, she kisses him, her fingers threading into his hair, her mouth descending on his in her normal passion and care that he’s been missing all day. He melts into it, snaking his hands up behind her back to better keep her close. She pulls away after a time that is not long enough.“I love you, so much,” she whispers, just for his ears, before she’s standing tall and squaring her shoulders, donning her mask once more. “Onmund, J’zargo,” she calls. “Escort Mercer to Dawnstar, then return to the College. Brelyna, with me.”She leaves, and Mercer watches her go without protest.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The walk to Dawnstar is cold and miserable, complete with miserable company. J’zargo keeps casting him these sympathetic glances, his whiskers twitching. The Nord, Onmund, won’t look at him, and when he does, his eyes are hostile, his mouth smug.“Don’t worry,” the Nord says in parting. “We’ll take good care of her for you.” He leaves before Mercer can retaliate.They leave him at the edge of the city and hurry their way back toward Winterhold, and Mercer seethes.How dare Hel send him off like a naughty child. How dare she run off to play hero while Mercer gets shunted to the sidelines. It’s like they can’t catch a break. Like the Divines are against them. They had that last, lovely winter when they first got together. Those slow, cold months where they explored new things together for the first time. Where Mercer finally found out what it’s like to be in love with someone. And since then it’s been nothing but trials.Her secret identity coming to light and his refusal to forgive her cost him weeks. Cost them weeks. And now this.Well he’ll show her, even if she doesn’t want his help. Even if she told him to stay out of it, like he was an amateur who was in over his head. He’s the best damned swordsman in the whole Rift and the most competent thief in all of Skyrim. He’s going to take the Thalmor down from the shadows.
He slams through the door from the Ratway. They really have to work on getting rid of those Falmer they stuck down there. On the upside, they’ve eaten all the grifters. Though if they start breeching the Flagon he’s really going to have to clear them out.Brynjolf is the first to notice his return. He opens his mouth, probably to ask how his trip was, and wisely closes it again at the look on Mercer’s face.“That bad, huh?”Mercer storms to his desk, not even bothering to change out of his dusty and sweat-stained travel clothes. He spreads a map out and looks at it, trying to find the likely places the Thalmor would be.“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”“Nothing’s wrong,” Mercer snaps.“Then where’s Hel? I thought she was going to come back with you.”He doesn’t want to talk about it. “You thought wrong.”“Mercer, what is going on?” Brynjolf asks, his big puppy eyes wide with concern.He lets out a harsh breath. “The Arch Mage,” he spits the title, “has decided that I am too weak and useless to help her in her war against the Thalmor, so she’s sent me home to ‘keep me safe’.” He uses air quotes on the last part of the sentence to emphasize his point. He might be a little bitter at being sidelined like a rookie.Brynjolf takes a moment to digest all the information. “She started a war with the Thalmor?”“Technically, they started it by trying to assassinate her.”Brynjolf pauses, and he looks thoughtful. “I guess it makes sense that she’d send you home. I mean, you’re not a mage.”“I’m a Breton,” he protests. “I’m naturally resistant to magic.”“And she’s the Arch Mage. I think her war is out of your league.”Mercer hates that he’s making sense. Hates that he’s right. Hates that Hel tossed him away like she doesn’t feel the same need to be near each other. Before they became an official couple, she was the one to initiate things, to pursue him, to circumnavigate his walls until he could no longer function properly without her.He bends until his forehead is pressed to the smoothed wood of his desk and tries to think through it. What would he do if his and Hel’s positions were reversed? Would he keep her close, let her do whatever she wants despite the danger? Or would he force her away, no matter what it took, to keep her safe?Damn it. He hates when she’s right.“Mercer?” Brynjolf says. “You okay?”He straightens with a deep breath. “Yes. Gather everyone. I want to know every spot in Skyrim where they’ve seen the Thalmor.”
They now have a map riddled with places where his thieves have noticed the Thalmor. Random patrols walking along a road. Prisoner transports. Permanent holds. Mercer will send out his best to scout for intelligence and pass it on to the mages.He calls Ravyn over, a dark elf who was a member of the Morag Tong. He joined shortly after Maven was killed for good, and Mercer hasn’t spent much time with him, but he’s quiet and competent, with a strange, cheery air that’s a bit unsettling.“I want you to assassinate the three Thalmor in Understone Keep.” He still hasn’t forgotten that strange conversation in Markarth, where that one Thalmor, Ondolemar, had recognized Hel. He’d even called her by her full name. Then he’d called her a half-breed, and Mercer has quietly been planning his demise ever since.Ravyn frowns. “Markarth is a trap. The only way in and out of the city is through the front gate. If I get caught, I’ll be killed.”“Then don’t get caught.”The Dunmer nods and leaves, and Mercer turns to his next order of business. He sets his other thieves to rooting out Thalmor intelligence and keeping track of their movements as they go out on jobs.He assigns Garthar to be his messenger. The dark haired Nord is growing in confidence and skill, but he doesn’t want to send him out on any high stakes missions until Mercer’s sure he won’t be killed.
Niruin trails in a day later. He hides it well, but Mercer knows his team, and he can see how angry he is.“Enthir kick you out too?” Mercer greets him.Niruin starts unbuckling his cuirass with more force than necessary. “He’s being stupid. He says it’s too dangerous now that the college is at war. Hel’s warded the place, made it incapable of a breach by someone who isn’t already a member, and I had to go.”Mercer watches him, the tense lines on his face, the furious movements as he takes off his dusty traveling clothes. He feels for him.“We’re taking the Thalmor down. Do you want in?”Niruin pauses, cuts a sideways look at Mercer. “What do you need done?”“Can you infiltrate them?”“It’d work better with an Altmer.”“No, they know all the Altmer on their incestuous little continent. A new Bosmer, on the other hand, one without any previous connections…” he lets the sentence trail off, lets Niruin fill on the gaps."That's not so hard to believe,” Niruin finishes. “Fine. I’ll do it.” His tone makes it sound like he’s doing Mercer a favor instead of the other way around.“You can report to their embassy near Solitude. If Hel comes to blow it up, get out of there as fast as you can.” He’s seen her immolate people, kill a dragon, and destroy an entire building. He’s seen what she can do when she’s focused.“Right,” Niruin says. “Can I go to sleep now, Guildmaster?”Mercer cracks his first smile in days. “Sure,” he says. “Let me know when you’re leaving.” He turns back to his maps.
The plan progresses smoothly. He has to assign another messenger since Garthar is getting exhausted running there and back all the time, so he puts Ravyn on it too. He’d successfully murdered the three Thalmor in Markarth and made it back unscathed, and while he was waiting for targets to crop up, Mercer may as well make use of him while everyone else was out thieving and gathering intel.They get news of Hel too, although she never comes to visit. She’s destroyed a tower in Whiterun province. She decimated an ambush on the road. The Thalmor tried to lay siege to the college and she threw their corpses into the sea.She sends news in the messages they pass with Garthar or Ravyn. New leads for them to pursue, thanks and supplies sent down from the students who are still diligently studying, even amongst the turmoil.
Then one day some familiar figures climb down the ladder. Mercer recognizes many of the mages from the time where they teamed up against Maven, but they’re not important because Hel is here, and she’s escorting another familiar face.“Enthir,” Mercer greets, nodding at the Bosmer.“Frey,” he returns, looking around the room. “Is Niruin around?”“I’ve sent him undercover. He’s been feeding information back to us, which I’ve been giving to you.”Enthir doesn’t quite wilt, but a little spark goes out of his normally bright eyes. “Oh. I’ll just…” he doesn’t bother to finish, wandering off to get into trouble, no doubt.Mercer doesn’t really care because Hel is there, and he’s reeling her in for a tight hug, brushing his lips along one sharp cheekbone, which seems to stick out more prominently than it was before.“You’ve lost weight,” he says, looking her up and down. She’s always been slender, but now she’s verging on gaunt. He supposes that’s what war does to someone.“That’s what war does to you. I don’t really have time to eat regular meals.” She grins to show it’s a joke, but the bags under her eyes distract him, so he can’t really laugh along.“Come on,” he says, leading her over to the Flagon.
He watches her as she eats Vekel’s stew in silence. Once the bowl is scraped clean, she puts the spoon down with a sigh.“Divines, but I’ve missed you,” she says, clutching at his hand on top of the table.He clutches back. “What are you doing here?” he asks. “Not that I’m not happy to see you—”“I understand,” she interrupts. “We learned that the Thalmor mean to set Riften afire. They’re used to using the Imperials to do their dirty work for them, but they know that a bunch of foot soldiers won’t be any use against College mages. We’re here to protect your city.”“It’s Jarl Laila’s city, not mine.”She smiles, and it makes her look marginally less tired. “We both know that’s not true.”A comfortable silence descends until it’s broken by a distant, echoing shriek.Mercer curses. “Falmer. I’ve been meaning to clear them out.”She stands, pushing herself up off the table. “I’ll take care of it.”“You need to rest.”“It will only take a moment. Killing’s become so easy recently. I must have been practicing.”Mercer snorts an inelegant laugh. “Fine. You can go take care of the Falmer. Would you like me to come with? Or should I stay out of your way?” He can’t keep the bitterness from leeching into his voice.She notices and frowns. “It’ll go faster if I don’t have to worry about burning you to death.”“You can make it so your fire doesn’t hurt me. You’ve done it before.”“That makes it less effective against enemies.”They hold a staring contest for a minute, neither one willing to concede, when Hel breaks.“Fine, but if I pass out halfway through, promise not to let them eat me.”He laughs. “I promise.”
They clear all the Falmer and Chaurus, and Hel finally relaxes, covered in filthy black blood from the giant, skittering insects.“Bath, then bed, I think,” Mercer says, leading the way to the bathing chamber. Hel trails behind, her eyes drooping.When they’re finally settled under the covers together, Hel murmurs sleepily into his hair.“You better make sure Niruin makes it out okay.”“Why?” He knows Niruin will be fine. He’s one of his best, and acerbic as he can be, he’s less confrontational than Vex, so he won’t give himself away.“Enthir will be devastated if he’s hurt,” she says. “I know you don’t like him, but they actually make a really sweet couple. You should have seen him when Niruin started visiting regularly.” He can feel her smile against his skin. “Enthir went around threatening everyone to be nice, and spent hours finding the perfect gift.”Mercer tries to imagine Enthir being nervous to see someone. He can’t quite wrap his mind around it. “Really? Enthir, nervous?”“Love makes fools of us all.”He exhales a laugh through his nose. “When have you ever acted foolishly because of me?” She always seemed suave and confident compared to the unsure mess he made of himself.It garners a sleepy chuckle. “What, you mean abandoning my duty as Arch Mage to spend as much time with you as I could? Pretending I couldn’t do any magic even if it meant I got hurt? Trying to spend time with you even when you told me to leave you alone? None of that was foolish?”He has to concede the point. “Fine. You’re right. Now go to sleep.”
The Thalmor come within the week. Hel confronts them outside of Riften by the lake, and the night lights up with fire. It glitters over the water. Beautiful and deadly, while Mercer watches from the safety of the city. Hel had forbidden him and the rest of the thieves from participating in the battle. Watching it now, he can see why she sent him home at the beginning of the war. He’d only be in the way.The battle is chaos, magic being flung everywhere, the flash of daggers or bound swords in close combat. Hel had trapped the enemy against the lake and their choices were to backpedal into the water and be electrocuted by the mages throwing lightning, or walk forward into Hel’s flames. Most tried the water. They didn’t get far.When it’s done, she comes back to Mercer, soot and blood on the hem of her robes. The blood isn’t hers.“We’ll rest a few hours and then we have to move on.”“To where?”“Hjaalmarch, near Morthal.”Mercer knows better than to talk her out of it. “Take any supplies you need before you go.”
After a quick nap, everyone’s getting ready to leave, and Mercer has to say goodbye to Hel. Again.“Be safe,” he says, leaning his forehead against hers.“You be safe,” she retorts. “I’ll see you when I can.”Then she’s gone, and Mercer immediately feels like a war widow. Nothing to do but distract himself with more work.
The next time he hears from Hel, it’s a request to meet her near Solitude. The war has been moving forward steadily, with the College winning every victory against the Thalmor. The Thalmor have even stopped sending troops up from the south and the they’ve been consolidating up near Solitude in a secret bunker somewhere. Perhaps Hel has found where it is.He meets her at her camp. They’re sheltering in a cave they cleared out. It has two entrances, a lookout spot, and it’s hidden from the main roads, so it’s as good a spot as any. The bedrolls are laid out near the walls and half the mages are sleeping. The others are playing games, sharpening weapons, or preparing potions.Hel greets him warmly. She looks much better than last time. Her hair has grown past her shoulders, almost to her elbows, and hangs like a fall of golden silk down her back.“Did you bring the clothes I asked you to?”“Yes,” Mercer answers, “although I don’t know why you asked me to bring formal wear.”“We’re infiltrating a Thalmor party.”“Won’t they recognize you?”“I’ve been wearing my mask to battle, and none of the Thalmor met me before. Ondolemar was the only one who would have been able to recognize me, and you take care of that. Thank you for that by the way.”Mercer nods. “So when’s the party?”“Tonight. It’s in Solitude. Shall we get ready?”Mercer bathes the travel off himself and dresses, then braids his hair out of his face. He prefers leaving it loose, but if he’s supposed to be dressed to the nines, he may as well look the part. He makes sure to don the pendant that Hel gifted him as a finishing touch.Hel comes up, her own fancy clothes on, her hair tied back in her own elegant style. She looks up then freezes in her tracks. “You look…wow,” she says, lurching back into motion to smooth her hands down his collar. They’re out in the open, but her troops are politely pretending not to notice them.He blushes. “You too.”She pauses, her hands flat against his chest before she pulls away. “We should get going.”
Hel has forged invitations to get them into the party. It was a couples only event, which is why Mercer’s here. She could have pretended with anyone else, but she confessed that she was unable to. Besides, this is supposed to be a low-risk mission. Look at some faces, chat some people up, get some information, then leave.Mercer puts on his best ‘superior noble’ face as they enter, making sure to have a slight sneer at all times. He spent the first sixteen years of his life growing up in a rich family. He knows how to act like it.Hel snickers silently at his side. He can feel the slight trembling against him as they walk into the party, and he has to fight to keep the smile off his own face.There are many partygoers, which will give them more chance of gaining information and also the cloak of anonymity. By mutual, unspoken agreement they part and begin to circulate.“I remember the last party I went to. It was at the Thalmor embassy,” some fancy Imperial is saying. “Smaller than this place, but more mysterious. Very exclusive.”“That must have been some party,” Mercer cuts in. “How did you gain access to such an exclusive event?”“It’s invitation only,” they say. “You have to know the right people.”“And I’m sure you know all sorts of right people,” Mercer schmoozes.“Oh, of course! As soon as you know the First Emissary, all sorts of doors open for you.”“And who is the first emissary?”“Why, Emissary Elenwen of course.”“Of course. I must have forgotten. Please, excuse me.” He finds Hel again, sneaking up beside her and looping his arm through hers. She adjusts to accommodate him automatically.“And who is this?” Hel’s conversation partners ask.“This is my betrothed,” Hel answers, pausing minutely.“Charmed,” the couple across from them says, holding their hands out to shake. “How long have you two been together?”“Almost a year and a half now,” Mercer answers easily, fondly remembering the day where they finally got together on the docks.“And how did you two meet?”“I…” Hel starts, looking at Mercer, “started out as his employee and we worked together so much that we just grew closer.”“Oh? What kind of work do you do?” they ask.“I procure goods.”“Interesting! What kind of goods?”“Would you excuse us?” Hel says, dragging Mercer away. Once they’re at a safe distance, she turns to him.“Betrothed?” he teases before she can speak.She blushes, the rosy color shining high on her cheeks. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”“I’m not mad,” Mercer says, brushing a tender kiss over her knuckles. Do you want to be betrothed to me? He thinks, but doesn’t ask. Now’s not the time. “How’d you make out?”“Not well,” she says. “No one’s talked about anything of consequence. Did you find anything?”“I found that the First Emissary’s name is Elenwen, and that she hosts exclusive, invitation only parties at the Thalmor Embassy near Solitude.”Hel’s face pales. “Elenwen? Are you sure?”“I’m sure. What’s wrong?”“Elenwen is a powerful mage. She rose to power in the Thalmor when I was still a child.”“More powerful than you?”“Not individually. But if she has back-up, it might be a fair fight.”Mercer nods and moves closer, hoping his proximity gives her comfort the same way her presence does to him. It seems to work, and she relaxes. The band picks up a song, and Mercer holds his hand out. “May I have this dance?” he asks, feeling his palms start to sweat. If she says no…She takes his hand, a light smile on her face. “I’d be honored.”
Mercer swirls Hel around the dance floor, one hand on her hip, the other clasping one of hers. She steps with him, almost as if they are one being, too used to moving in each other’s space. When the music changes to something softer, slower, Hel slides in closer, her hand sliding off his shoulder and down his back, her temple pressing against his own. Mercer’s hand slips off her hip and to her lower back, pulling her in until their chests are pressed against each other.It'd be almost indecent if there weren’t other couples doing the exact same thing. Mercer relaxes into it until all he can sense is Hel around him, so he notices immediately when she tenses.“Elenwen’s here,” she whispers as she goes rigid and pulls back. “Come on. We have to leave.” She disentangles them and starts dragging Mercer for the exit.“Helarys!” a voice rings out behind them and Hel freezes in her tracks. “Nice of you to show up to my party.”Hel turns, conveniently shunting Mercer behind her back. “Elenwen,” she says, sliding back a step. Mercer stops her as guards cover the exit.“This must be Mercer Frey, Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild and your…paramour. He’s handsome. You chose well.”Hel bares her teeth. “Don’t talk about him.”Elenwen clicks her tongue. “So confrontational. Is that any way to talk to an old friend?”“We’ve never even met,” Hel snarls.Mercer is frantically looking around for an exit. They’re covered by Thalmor agents.“No, but I’ve heard a lot about you from Maven Black-Briar before her untimely demise. I think you would be a valuable asset to the Thalmor.” Elenwen glides a step forward and Hel allows fire to crawl up her arms. Mercer can feel the heat from here.“I’ve just spent months waging a war against the Thalmor and you think I’m going to suddenly join you? You’re out of your mind.”Elenwen chuckles. It’s a chilling sound. “You’ll change your mind, or we’ll kill your sweetheart.”“Over my dead body!” Hel snarls, casting back a hand until she touches Mercer. He grabs it, then reaches into his boot for one of the daggers he’d stashed earlier.“That can be arranged,” Elenwen purrs. “Kill them.”Suddenly Mercer’s almost blinded by magic as Hel rings them in fire and wards."Where’s the closest exit?” she shouts above the sound of lightning shattering against her wards.“This way,” Mercer leads her towards a side door, blinking away bright spots and slashing with his dagger as a Thalmor soldier bursts through one of the wards. The soldier goes down as his throat opens underneath the cold steel of the dagger, his blood gushing over Mercer’s fancy boots.They scramble through the door, Hel throwing covering fire behind them, when they find themselves surrounded in a courtyard, tall stone walls stretching above them. There’s a door on the other side, and Mercer sprints for it, slamming against the wood when it turns out to be locked. He immediately drops to a knee and sets to unlocking it and it gives way with a click, even before he’s touched the tumblers.There are more Thalmor on the other side, aiming bows at him.“Hel!” he calls, stumbling back. She aims a gout of fire past him and at the soldiers, cooking them all in their armor. He can see her sweating, and he feels useless. This is why she didn’t want him embroiled in her war.There’s and explosion, and Mercer is thrown sideways against a wall, his head landing against it with a crack. He wakes up after less than a second. He’s on the ground, his head is ringing, and there’s still fighting going on as Hel tries to make her way back to him. She’s not fast enough, and Mercer watches in slow motion as Elenwen comes into view, raises her arm, then slashes down with all the force of a falling axe.Mercer feels the deadly force rock into him and his pendant shatters under the impact, burning shards of metal burying themselves through his clothing and into his chest. The force throws him back into the wall and his head smacks against the immovable stone for a second time, creating black spots in his vision and throwing off his balance. He tries to stagger to his feet, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hel throw herself in front of Elenwen’s next blast, her ward shattering as the Thalmor’s magic hits it.“Mercer,” Hel says, gritting her teeth. “I’ll give you an opening, and you need to get out of here.”“I’m not leaving without you!” he protests, shaking his head to clear his vision.“I’ll be right behind you.” She weathers another volley of magic and arrows, rocking back onto her heels. Her wards flicker again, and Mercer has to make a decision.“Fine, but you better follow.”“On three. One…two…three!” she unleashes a wall of flames that boil out of her hands and towards the Thalmor, and Mercer starts sprinting across the courtyard, dodging arrows and lightning bolts as best he can.He can feel Hel hot on his heels, hear her grunts of exertion as she deflects more magic. He doesn’t see Elenwen again as she raises her hand, feels a shove in his back as Hel pushes him out of the way, and hears a little ‘oh’ from Hel right before she crumples to the ground.He rolls back to his feet from where she had pushed him, calling out for her.“Hel!” he screams, reaching for her limp form, even as Thalmor agents flow towards them like an unending tide.A hand descends on his shoulder and starts dragging him away from her body, but a familiar voice is hissing in his ear.“Guildmaster, we have to go,” Niruin says, bearing him towards an exit.“But—” he tries to protest, his eyes still trained on Hel’s slack form as the Thalmor descend upon her, grabbing at her robes, wrenching her arms behind her back. Her hair has fallen out of its elegant sweep, obscuring her face. He can’t tell if she’s breathing.“There’s nothing you can do for her.” Niruin drags him from the fray, out a hidden side door, down into the sewers, and out of the city. Mercer stumbles along, still seeing Hel in his mind’s eye, crumpled against the cobblestones.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
He finally comes back to himself and takes over, leading Niruin back to the mages’ camp.They look up as Mercer stumbles inside with Niruin, in Thalmor armor, at his heels.“It’s fine. He’s a friend,” Mercer says, waving away their concern and sudden aggression.“Where’s the Arch Mage?” one of them asks.Mercer can’t answer.“It was a trap,” Niruin answers for him. “She’s been…captured.” He hesitates before his diagnosis, looking at Mercer with concern.“If she’s been captured we can rescue her,” one of the mages says.“We don’t know if there’s anything to rescue,” Mercer mutters, and Niruin looks at him askance. Mercer almost doesn’t notice, too busy still focusing on that memory of her lifeless body on the ground. He doesn’t think she was breathing. She certainly wasn’t moving. The gravity of it hasn’t quite hit him yet.“Let’s assume she’s still alive,” Niruin says. “She’ll probably be taken to the Thalmor Embassy where they have the interrogation facilities. You better move camp. The Thalmor might be on to you. We’ll head back to Riften and coordinate a rescue from there.”
The journey back to Riften passes in a haze. Mercer follows along after Niruin, but he doesn’t take in the scenery at all, too caught up in trying to analyze the attack that took Hel from him.It seems no time at all has passed when he walks back into the Thieves Guild. Niruin is immediately calling for Brynjolf to come out and help him, and Mercer feels his feet taking him towards his desk on muscle memory alone.“Mercer?” Brynjolf asks as he stares blankly down at the surface of his desk. “You okay lad?”Brynjolf never calls him lad. He’s older than Brynjolf is anyway.He doesn’t answer. Hel’s limp body flashes through his mind again.“Mercer?” a large, warm hand descends on his shoulder, but he hardly feels it. “Niruin said you haven’t slept in days. Aren’t you tired?”“No.” His voice is a whisper, a dry crackle, but he can’t summon enough feeling to care.“Come on, boss,” Delvin’s voice sounds and a new hand is around the back of his neck. It leads him to his bed. The same bed he used to sleep in with Hel. It looks too big and too empty, but he’s been sleeping in it alone while he’s been waiting for her to come home from her war. He supposes he can stop waiting.
When he wakes up, it’s with renewed determination and a clearer head. Maybe Hel isn’t dead. Maybe he can rescue her. But he’s not going to do it sitting on his ass. So he goes through the motions of life. Eating, drinking, bathing, and finally hunching over his desk, looking at that map where they put down all known Thalmor locations at the beginning of the war. Most of them are crossed out with only two remaining. Solitude, and the Thalmor embassy.Brynjolf finds him like a homing beacon. “How are you doing?” his voice is soft, and he’s tentative, almost tiptoeing up to him. Very different from the friendly, confident man he knows. Mercer knows it’s his fault. But he’s fine now.“Fine,” he answers. “Send Vex and Rune to scout the Thalmor Embassy. Get Delvin on intelligence. I need him to find out when the next party is and secure an invitation. We’ll have to send Ravyn. He’s the only one of us who joined after Maven, so he might be the only one the Thalmor don’t know about.”Brynjolf nods and heads off, his march purposeful, and Mercer turns back to his planning.
He tries to talk to Enthir to see if any mages will help them, but Enthir just shakes his head sadly. “We’re taking care of the last few Thalmor nests. Besides, no one survives Elenwen. You’d do better to mourn and forget about her.”Mercer punches him in his lying mouth, and the other mages have to pull him off. He knows she’s probably dead, but there’s no way he’s letting anyone else think it. Not until he’s holding Hel in his arms again (or her lifeless body).Enthir stands, spitting blood from where his lip has cut against his teeth. “I’ll give you that one because Niruin’s safe and Hel…isn’t. But she was my friend too, and the next time you try to lay a hand on me, I’ll knock you on your ass.”
It doesn’t take long to come up with a plan (even without the mages). Vex has scouted the embassy as well as she could from the outside and found a few points where they can breach. Ravyn will attend the party with a forged invitation from Delvin and distract the party guests and potentially the hosting Thalmor. The rest of them will infiltrate through the open-aired courtyard, climbing the wall and searching through the compound for anywhere they could be hiding Hel. They’ll escape back the way they came.Then it’s just waiting. Weeks, for the party day to creep up on them. Mercer spends it pacing and snapping at anyone that comes near. The mood through the Guild is similarly tense. Rune looks lost. Thrynn keeps sharpening weapons. Niruin’s arrows are a constant noise as they puff against the straw target. Even Brynjolf, usually so cheerful, walks around with a dark cloud hanging over his head. But time moves forward, and the day finally comes.
The day they go is bright and sunny, all the worse for them. Mercer was hoping for at least a few shadows to cover their activities, but they’ll have to make do. They can’t leave Hel in the tender care of the Thalmor any longer than they already have.Ravyn has no trouble getting into the party, and the rest of them slip around the back.They’ve brought their entire force. Niruin, Thrynn, and Rune, Vipir and Cynric, Vex and Delvin, Brynjolf and Mercer. Even Garthar has come along. They all care about Hel in their own ways, and they want to see her safe and to see their Guildmaster happy.The climb over the courtyard wall is easy, and each one drops into the bushes on the other side, scattering throughout the courtyard to better look for her. Mercer trusts each one not to get caught as he heads for the closest door. They sneak their way through the compound, clearing each room, leaving everything untouched besides.There’s no sign of her, and no sign of any intelligence laying around that will allude to her location. Suddenly he hears shouting and the sound of discharging magic, and he rushes out of the room, drawing his swords.The courtyard is chaos, his thieves are fighting the Thalmor. Ravyn is there in his robes, incongruously wielding bloody daggers as he slashes at the nearest Altmer.There’s also an Argonian there. Mercer almost attacks him, thinking he’s an Altmer because of his golden scales, but the crown of horns marks him as someone he knows. Someone everyone in Skyrim knows.“What are you doing here, Dragonborn?” Mercer shouts, cutting at one of the Altmer and laying him open from navel to throat.The Argonian shrugs and throws a fireball at one of the Thalmor while splitting another’s skull open with his one-handed war axe. “Information, mostly. You?”His voice is deeper than Mercer would have thought, but there’s no time to think about it now. “Rescue mission,” he returns, dodging a lance of lightning and slashing at another Thalmor.Niruin is sinking shafts into the archers, Thrynn is laying about with a greatsword, and Vex is swarming toward their soldiers, carving out their eyes with her dagger. It’s chaos, but soon the courtyard is empty and silent.The Dragonborn runs off toward another door without a word and Mercer hastens to follow. They may find her yet.They enter to find a landing that stands above a room. At the other end, he sees the start of prison cells and he rushes down the stairs, launching himself over the banister.The first cell is empty. He allows a stab of disappointment that Hel isn’t there. Dried blood is spattered on the flagstones, but he doesn’t have a spare thought to the poor wretch that used to be held there. There’s only one other cell, and he holds his breath as he moves to look in. She has to be in the other cell. She has to. He wavers on the blade’s edge of hope and fear.There’s a figure in the next cell, but it’s obvious it’s not Hel. They’re shirtless and male, with pale skin instead of golden. He can’t hold back the surge of disappointment and grief that threatens to engulf him, until he recognizes the occupant.“Rarnis?” he exclaims, bending at once to open the lock.Etienne looks up, eyes wide and white in his gaunt face. “Guildmaster?”Mercer nods and opens the door, moving to work with the manacles.“Etienne?” Rune’s voice sounds from behind him. He rushes forward, catching his guild mate under the arms as he falls forward without the metal cuffs holding him to the wall.Mercer frowns as he looks over at them both, at Etienne clutching Rune’s leathers, at Rune’s careful hold around his bony shoulders. He feels a curl of guilt settle in his stomach. Etienne Rarnis had been missing for months. No check-ins, no information or money sent their way, and Mercer had been too caught up in Hel to focus on it. And she’s not here. He doesn’t know what that means. She has to be somewhere.He throws himself from the cell, searching frantically for anything. Another block of cells. A notebook with her location. A lock of her golden hair. Anything.“Mercer!” Vipir calls, and Mercer stalks to his side, looking up at the platform above them.“So, we finally meet, Dragonborn,” Elenwen smiles, looking down at them from on high. She has two guards flanking her, both with bows drawn at them.The Dragonborn is ignoring her entirely, rifling through a nearby chest as the rest of the Thieves Guild slips into the shadows. Mercer seethes at Elenwen above them. This is the person that caused Hel to be captured, that left her crumpled on the cobblestones. He still doesn’t know if she’s even alive.“…Dragonborn?” Elenwen says, and the Argonian finally turns, tucking a few notebooks away in a bag.“What do you want?” he snarls, lifting his reptilian lip and showing off needlepoint teeth.“You were hoping for intelligence, were you not?” she asks. “Sadly, you won’t get away alive, and neither will your little friend.” Another guard appears, hauling a Bosmer with a dagger held to his throat. He looks terrified and furious, and Mercer drops his hand back to his sword hilt.The Argonian glares, then takes a deep breath. The sound that rips from his snout is sheer power. It strips the Thalmor’s weapons away, and Mercer doesn’t waste a second, lunging for Elenwen’s throat. He’s stopped by one of the guards, and Elenwen slips away as he’s hacking the Thalmor to pieces.The Dragonborn pulls the little Bosmer off the ground, shoving him towards Thrynn and unleashing fire upon the unfortunate guard. It reminds Mercer so much of Hel that he can’t help but watch, heart aching, when the third guard finds their sword and lunges for him. Luckily Brynjolf puts an end to that, and soon there are three Thalmor corpses, the Dragonborn, and practically the whole of the Thieves Guild standing beneath the wooden platform.“Did you find her?” Brynjolf asks, sliding next to Mercer.He shakes his head, grief already swallowing what little hope he had.“We’ll find her boss, don’t worry,” Delvin says. Considering he has Vex pressed up against his side, Mercer takes his reassurance with a grain of salt. Delvin’s not missing the love of his life.“Mercer!” Rune calls.“What?” he snaps. He’s not in the mood to be interrupted. He just wants to leave this place of lies and death and start working on gathering new leads.“Etienne has some information for you.”“There’s an exit in the storage room,” he says, pointing to a half-hidden trapdoor.“Is that all?” Mercer sneers. He knows he’s being mean, especially because Etienne looks half a skeleton, but he can hardly care when Hel is still missing.“You’re looking for someone?”“Her name is Hel,” Rune provides. “She looks like an Altmer. Yellow hair, yellow skin, yellow eyes.”“Gold,” Mercer corrects. “She’s gold, not yellow.”“She was in the cell next to mine. They…weren’t kind to her.”He glances at the brownish red stains on the floor of the first cell and his blood runs cold.“They moved her yesterday. Took her somewhere else. They knocked her out but she was still alive last I saw.”Mercer clings fiercely to the last little bit of hope that glimmers in his chest. “Where?!” he shouts, grabbing Rarnis by the shoulders, his nails digging into his bruised skin. “Where did they take her?”Brynjolf and Cynric pull him off when Etienne lets out a yelp of pain. Rune glowers and cradles him tighter, angling himself so he’s between Etienne and Mercer.“I’m sorry,” Etienne answers, voice shaky. “I don’t know.”“I do,” the Dragonborn says. “She’s probably in Northwatch Keep. It’s on the coast, a ways west of Solitude. I rescued a prisoner from there before.”“Then let’s go there now,” Mercer snarls, undoing the lock on the trapdoor by rote and yanking the door open, plunging down into the darkness.There are exclamations behind him, pleas to get him to slow, to stop, to think, but all he can think about is Hel. Her tired smile the last time they saw each other. Her body crumpled on the ground in Solitude with the Thalmor all around. Her blood on the stones of that prison cell.Then Mercer spies a gleam of familiar red in the tunnel and all the fight suddenly goes out of him. It’s a Stone of Barenziah. One of the twenty-four pieces he and Hel have been searching for almost as long as they’ve known each other. He picks it up, turns it so it shines in the daylight streaming from the other end of the tunnel, then swiftly pockets it. He’ll get her back, but he has to be smart about it. He waits for his Guild.
In the end, he sends half his people back to the Guild. With the Dragonborn, they have no need of all the fighters, and the Argonian says they’d only get in the way. He keeps Thrynn, Vipir, Niruin, and Ravyn, four of his best fighters. Brynjolf refuses to go back. He tells Cynric to keep an eye on Malborn, to help him wherever he needs to go. The Bosmer didn’t help them directly, but he’s obviously an informant, and he did deliver the Dragonborn to them, so he supposes befriending him isn’t a bad choice.
Northwatch Keep is cold and fortified. They come upon it in the night, all the better to hide in the shadows. Mercer could sneak in, climb over the walls, slit their throats, but that’d take too long, and the Dragonborn blasts his way through the gates with another Shout. They set about killing the Thalmor. The last bastion of Thalmor in all of Skyrim, seeing as Mercer and his Guild have rooted out every other piece of their corruption, and Hel’s mages had scoured them from the land. The rest had fallen back here, only to be set upon by the Dragonborn and a half-dozen thieves turned soldiers.Mercer shows no mercy, whirling through the Thalmor with all the rage and painful hope he’s built up on the journey here from the Embassy. He searches for Elenwen, but she’s probably inside the stone keep. With the Dragonborn hacking his way through the Altmer at his side, it’s only a matter of time.Mercer dodges away from a body that falls from a rampart as Niruin sinks an arrow through an enemy’s eye. Soon enough they’re at the door, and the Dragonborn shoulders his way through, as unstoppable as Hel when she’s acting as the Arch Mage.They tear down through the hallways, the Dragonborn clearing the way, the rest of them cleaning up behind.They finally make it to the belly of the Keep, where the prison cells are kept. He moves to charge forward, but the Dragonborn holds him back with a powerful, scaly arm. He sniffs the air suspiciously, hesitating, and Mercer’s about ready to stab him so he can go past, but Brynjolf standing solidly at his back allows him to keep his head, just for another minute. The Dragonborn finally nods and lowers his arm, and Mercer sprints ahead, terror seizing in his throat. What if she’s not there?She’s in the last cell in the row, and he almost doesn’t recognize her. If she was gaunt the last time he saw her, she’s practically skeletal now. Her cheekbones, high and angled in the way of the Altmer, are so sharp now it looks like he could cut himself on them. Her skin is just as markless as always, but it’s pale, and sallow, and her hair hangs limp over her face. It’s longer than he’s ever seen it, but it’s clumped with dried blood. He can’t see any marks on her body that would have bled, but…magical healing would have closed those without a scar. Rage boils in his belly, at her captors, at himself for allowing this to happen, but his fear outweighs it right now.“Hel?” he calls, hesitating now that she’s within touching distance. She doesn’t stir, thoroughly unconscious where she’s bound, hand and foot and neck. They collared her, and he allows the surge of anger to carry him forward. He picks his way through the door lock in record time and then his hands are on her, cupping her sharp face.“Love?” he asks, trying to rouse her. Her eyes open, as bright as ever, and she flinches away from him, slamming back into the stone wall, her chains clanking.She doesn’t seem to recognize him, and he freezes again until the perception switches back on in her eyes.“…Mercer?” Her voice is rough and quiet, but he breathes a sigh of relief at her speaking at all. Then her eyes widen and she clutches him back with weak fingers, her chains rattling with every movement. “You have to get out of here. Elenwen knew you were coming. She—”“I’m not leaving without you,” he interrupts.She shakes her head. “I’d only slow you down.”“I’ll carry you lass,” Brynjolf says. “And we have the Dragonborn with us. He’ll handle anything Elenwen can throw at us.”She hesitates, and Mercer starts unlocking all her chains.“Careful the collar’s—”He hisses as it shocks his fingers when he touches it, but he grabs at it again, gritting his teeth against the electricity that travels up his arms. He’s a Breton. He can take magical damage better than most.The collar clicks open and falls away, and Hel sighs, rubbing her chafed neck with a bony, shaking hand. She tries to stand but her legs can’t take her weight, and Mercer rushes to support her, rage surging beneath his skin. At Elenwen. At the Thalmor. At himself.Then the door to the dungeons opens, and a familiar, hated voice rings out.“Well, well, well…it looks like you’ve finally found her,” Elenwen says, stalking in with a contingent of guards at her back. They’re all mages, judging by the robes, and the Dragonborn hisses. Mercer bares his teeth, allowing the anger to consume him. He’ll have her head off by the time this is done. “Too bad you won’t live much longer.” She pauses for effect, smiling at them.Mercer hears Hel’s breath hitch, feels her thin fingers graze the small of his back, as if to feel that he’s still there. He can’t reach back to reassure her because he’s clutching both his blades, but he moves slightly so he’s standing between her and Elenwen.Thrynn growls, hefting his greatsword, Brynjolf tensing with his dagger at their side. The Dragonborn has his needle-like teeth bared, flames ready in his palm, Niruin’s already drawn his bow, Ravyn is calm and ready as always, and Vipir has his sword ready, even if his eyes are wide with fear.“Kill them,” Elenwen says, almost casually. The mages fire.They’re mostly storm mages, shooting lightning, but others throw ice spikes, fire, or summon atronachs.It’s chaos, and Mercer gets separated from Hel almost immediately. He tries to find her again, but he can’t see her past a frost atronach he’s fighting. Then an enemy mage next to him gets obliterated by a fireball, which washes over his side, not even singing him and leaving behind a gentle warmth.He redoubles his efforts. Weak as she is, she’s still fighting, and he needs to make sure they make it out of here. He dodges a bolt of lightning, cuts through a Thalmor, saves Vipir from a flame atronach, feeling the scorching heat against his flank when he turns away, growling at the pain. He’s a Breton. He can handle it.The Dragonborn is a golden whirlwind of power, obliterating the mages with his one-handed axe in one hand and magic in the other, his tail whipping out as he spins from one enemy to the next, running the mages down as they desperately try to backpedal away from him.Thrynn takes a lightning bolt to the chest and goes down, falling into a dark-haired heap on the hard stones.Hel is suddenly there, kneeling at his side, healing him with one hand while flinging fire with another. His view is blocked by another Thalmor, and he slices at him with both blades, moving onto the next before the body drops.He spots Elenwen, matching the Dragonborn spell for spell, until he Shouts and flings her off her feet.Mercer capitalizes on it, sprinting towards her as she pushes herself to her feet, slicing down as powerfully as he can. She gets a ward up just in time, and the reverb knocks one of his swords from his hand. He compensates immediately, trying to get in under her guard as she rolls fluidly to her feet.Elenwen isn’t smiling now that Mercer’s got her pinned against a wall, testing her wards and reflexes. It’s only a matter of time until he gets around them. An ice spike shatters against his shoulder, staggering him, and Elenwen’s able throw a wall of lightning at him, making him backpedal, and she slips away.He charges after her, knowing that if he has any hope of winning, he can’t let her put any distance between them. He catches up to her again only to take one of her lightning bolts to his chest. It staggers him as he feels his lungs seize, but he shrugs it off and bulls his way forward, gritting his teeth. He’s a Breton. He can take more magical damage than anyone else in the room.He catches up to Elenwen again, testing her wards, moving his feet as he tries to feint then dodge to the other side.He doesn’t get anywhere, and he growls, moving faster, hitting harder, trying to find any weaknesses in her defense. She hasn’t been able to get another shot at him, but he hasn’t been able to damage her at all. From the look of her, she could hold this ward all day.“Mercer, move!” Hel’s voice sounds behind him and he spins aside, just in time for Hel to unleash a blast of fire, powerful enough that it shatters Elenwen’s ward like glass. As soon as the fire dissipates, he dives back in and swings, putting all his power behind the blow. The Thalmor’s head thunks to the ground and bounces away.Mercer waits long enough to watch her body slump over, his teeth bared in a rictus of a smile as satisfaction blooms in his gut. He turns, intent on taking Hel into his arms, on celebrating their shared victory, but she’s not there.“Mercer!” Brynjolf calls, his voice filled with panic. He’s holding Hel, her head lolling limply over his arm.He runs, sliding to his knees. He hardly notices the rest of his thieves gathering around him.“Hel!” he calls, tossing his sword away with a clatter and taking her from Brynjolf’s arms. She’s cold, and he feels a spike of fear. She’s never cold. She’s always been warm, better than a hearthfire, and he doesn’t know what this means. She’s dying, his traitorous mind supplies. He shrugs off the thought and inspects her, but he doesn’t find anything. No fresh blood, no new wounds. Nothing.“Heal her,” he pleads, looking to the Dragonborn who’s standing there with a sympathetic gaze.He nods, comes forward, and covers her with healing, golden light. Her eyes don’t open. She remains limp and unresponsive in his arms, her breathing so shallow, he has to strain to feel it.“Why isn’t it working?” Brynjolf asks, voice just as desperate as Mercer feels.“She isn’t injured. She probably just needs rest.” He looks her over again. “And food.”Mercer nods, his panic subsiding a little, his worry taking over.Brynjolf stands. “Thank you, Dragonborn,” he says. “If you ever need anything, the Thieves Guild is yours.”Mercer nods. He’s not going to argue. Not when the Dragonborn led them to Hel and helped destroy the last of the Thalmor in Skyrim.“Tee-Ra,” he answers. “My name is Tee-Ra. And it was nothing. No thanks necessary.”There’s conversation over his head for a bit as he holds her, trying to warm her up. She sleeps on, thoroughly unconscious.“Come on,” Brynjolf says, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
They steal two carts. Thrynn’s not breathing right, and Vipir had a nasty gash on his leg that the Dragonborn healed, but the memory of it pains him, and Hel still isn’t awake. There’s no way they’re walking or riding back.Hel’s still cold. She doesn’t seem able to produce any warmth, but she doesn’t shiver at all. No noise, no nothing. She may as well be a corpse, but for her shallow, even breaths. Mercer would be holding her the entire time, but he’s too keyed up to sit still, and anyway he runs cold. So Thrynn, weak as he is after he took that lightning bolt straight to his chest, takes his place, curling up with Hel in the bed of the wagon.He sent Niruin over to WInterhold to summon Enthir down to the Guild. Hopefully, he’ll be able to heal Hel of whatever’s ailing her.
She wakes up with a gasp and a flail after they’ve passed Whiterun. Thrynn tries to hold her, but she panics and shoves, and he doesn’t want to hurt her. She ends up rolling out of the back of the wagon and landing in the dirt of the road with a groan.Mercer is at her side immediately, helping her sit up, trying to be as gentle as possible. She’s frail as a bird, still covered in dried blood and healing bruises, and now spattered in mud as well.She flinches away from him, just briefly, and he tries to pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does.Everyone is hovering around, and Mercer glares at them all until they retreat to give them a bit more distance.“Hel?” he asks. “How are you feeling?” He’s not great at comfort, but he tries to imagine what she would do if their roles were reversed.“Perfect,” she says, trying to grin, but she just looks tired, and tucks her face into his neck so he can’t look at her. She makes no move to stand, just leans into him, and he can feel her bony shoulder pressing into his chest. When he hooks an arm around her, he can practically feel every rib beneath the filthy rags the Thalmor stuck her in. He swears, as soon as they’re home, he’s giving her a warm bath, fresh clothes, and a hearty meal.He lifts her back into the cart, and she hooks her fingers over his bandolier. Her golden eyes shine from the dark pits sunk into her gaunt face, and they’re the only things that look remotely like the half-elf he loves, and even those are filled with pain and exhaustion and remembered fear instead of her usual mischief and good humor.He freezes, and she tugs a little. “Stay. Please.”He nods and joins her in the cart, sitting against the back and pulling her against his chest. She snuggles in with a sigh and presses a dry kiss to his throat before tucking her face against him again and relaxing fully.He has to hold back hot tears. After all that fear and desperation, she’s here, relatively safe in his arms. He buries his face in her filthy hair and relaxes for the first time in weeks.
They’re home, finally, and Brynjolf waits at the bottom of the ladder as Hel makes her shaky way down. He grips her by the hips and helps her step down, and Mercer tries not to let his jealousy get the better of him. She’ll be back in his arms soon enough, and it’s good that Brynjolf’s here, and helping. He scrambles down after, hopping off the ladder halfway and taking over from Brynjolf.She sinks into his side with a pleased hum, and he tries not to flinch at the feeling of all her bones stabbing into him. He must not be entirely successful, because she tenses and pulls away, doing her best to stand on her own shaking legs.He doesn’t let her, following her steps sideways, guilt sinking in his belly.“Welcome back,” Delvin greets, coming forward to greet her.Hel smiles. “Delvin! How are you?”“Better than you, apparently.”She laughs, but Mercer can hear the uncomfortable note in it, and he glares at Delvin.“Piss off, Mallory,” he snarls, guiding Hel towards the baths. He’s going to fulfill his promise. Bath, clothes, food. Then sleep.She rested on the road, staying in the cart, cuddled up to either Mercer or Thrynn for warmth. Thrynn is doing a bit better, but he complains about his chest aching. Hopefully Niruin will bring Enthir soon, and he can heal everyone. Once Hel is feeling better, she might be able to take a look. For now, she needs to take care of herself and Mercer’s determined to help. If he can figure out exactly how.He starts by helping her to the bathing room, but she freezes when he reaches to remove her clothes. He stops immediately.“What’s wrong?”“You should go.”His brow furrows. “I’m not leaving you alone. You can hardly stand up by yourself.”She shakes her head and pushes at him, gentle but insistent. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”“Like what?” he says, a little bite coming into his voice. “Like you were tortured? That’s stupid. Anyone with eyes can see you look horrible. Taking your clothes off isn’t going to make a difference.”She flinches away from him and averts her eyes, her face going terrifyingly blank.Mercer replays his words in his head and curses silently. He’s such an idiot. “Hel,” he coaxes, stepping back towards her but not reaching out to touch her again. Not yet. “No matter what you look like, you’re always going to be ten times as good looking as me.” It’s not even an exaggeration. Mercer’s constant frowning has given him wrinkles, and he was never handsome to start with. Coupled with his grey hair, he looks older than he really is. He doesn’t mind, but Hel has always been the prettier one in their relationship.That gets Hel to look at him sharply, and she closes the distance herself, cupping his face with long-fingered hands. He can’t help but lean into her touch, closing his eyes and turning so his nose brushes against a slender wrist.“That’s not even remotely true,” she says. “You’re beautiful.”“You’re beautiful,” he returns, holding her hand gently to his cheek. “Nothing will change that.”“You might change your mind after I take my shirt off.”Mercer snorts. That’s highly unlikely. Whenever Hel takes her shirt off for him, it makes his brain short-circuit. “Why don’t you try it and see?” he teases, tugging lightly at her tattered hem.She grins, and it makes her gaunt face transform into something brighter, with a flash of rosy color rising to her cheeks. He relaxes, and she pulls off her shirt.It makes his breath hitch, but not for the usual reasons. He can count every rib, and her once unblemished, golden skin is covered in purple bruises and livid scars.“Mercer?” she asks, voice unsure.He clears his throat. “Like I said. Beautiful.” Elenwen got off too easy. Beheading is a quicker death than most.But Hel relaxes, smiling, and he guides her into the bath.He washes her back with as much gentleness as he can. She has new scars now, ones that have healed badly. He recalls the first time she healed him. He had gotten a slash to the chest from a saber snow cat, right before he fell through the ice into the northern sea. He’d been more worried about the hypothermia than the claw marks, but she had healed him of both with the use of a potion. The deep slashes had closed without scars because that’s what magic does.For Hel to be imprisoned in a keep with an army of mages, for them to heal her and leave the scars, it was deliberate and cruel. He shoves down the growl of rage that wants to escape. They’re all dead now. They can’t hurt her anymore, and the Thalmor isn’t going to be sending anymore agents out to Skyrim. Not when they were so soundly defeated.He presses a kiss to her shoulder, directly over one of the raised marks on her previously unblemished skin. Dull knife, his mind supplies when he views the uneven edges. He vows to learn every one. To map her new skin just as he had mapped her old. They have time enough now.
She looks better with the filth washed away, her long golden hair brushed out and braided in a simple plait by Mercer’s clever fingers. He’s always been broader at the shoulder than her, but now, with how much weight she lost, his clothes are hanging on her. She doesn’t seem to mind. Every so often, she pinches the collar of her borrowed shirt and brings it to her nose, inhaling his lingering scent and flashing him a smile.He returns it each time. The rage is still there, but fading with every moment in her bright presence. The rest of the Guild is relaxing as well. The war against the Thalmor is over and won, and they can go back to their normal business of thieving.As soon as Vekel sees how skinny she is, he gives her a heaping bowl of stew, which Mercer almost throws back at him.“She needs broth, not stew,” he snarls. “She was starving, idiot. You can’t give her something so rich.”Hel is chatting with Etienne. He had a few days head start on his recovery, and despite being held by the Thalmor for so long, he wasn’t as bad off. Apparently they started ignoring him as soon as they brought Hel in, and he was able to eat and sleep unmolested for weeks.Brynjolf joins them, and pretty soon Hel is laughing along with everyone else.“Hey,” the red-headed Nord says. “Thrynn says his chest still hurts him. Do you think you could take a look?”Hel hesitates, and Mercer intervenes.“Let her rest,” he snaps. “Thrynn will be fine. Get him a healing potion.”Brynjolf holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. I’ll tell him.”Mercer sits back, but he gives Hel a worried glance. She’s never hesitated to help any of them before.
When she’s eaten her fill and they’re comfortably lying in bed, Mercer’s face tucked into her throat just the way he likes, he probes.“How are your magic reserves doing?” he whispers, his lips tickling against her skin.Her silence is telling. She may have fallen asleep, but her muscles haven’t slackened in the right way, and she’s still shivering minutely as Mercer does his best to warm up the layers of blankets above them. She’s still not producing much heat by herself, and her magic might have something to do with it.“Hel?” he prods, stroking a hand down her back.“They’re empty,” she confesses, her voice vibrating pleasantly through his chest. He spares a moment to revel in the feeling, something he wasn’t sure would ever happen again. Then the words register.“How?”She has the strongest magic in all of Skyrim, with the deepest well.“That collar you took off?” she starts.He hums. He remembers it. It had a shock enchantment on it.“It was a siphon. It drained my magic dry. They had it on me the whole time I was there. It’ll take a while for it to come back.”“But it will come back?”“Eventually.”“Can we do anything to make it come back faster?” he asks. For months, he thought she didn’t have any magic at all. She’s still a good fighter and a great thief, but her magic is a part of her. A part she’s trained all her life, something she takes pride in. Without her magic, she can’t be the Arch Mage anymore.“Good food. Rest. Some magic stuff.” She pauses. “Did you invite Enthir down here?”Mercer nods.“Good,” she sighs and presses her face into his hair. “This still doesn’t feel entirely real. I keep thinking…” she pauses, and Mercer waits patiently. “I keep thinking that this is all a dream, and I’ll wake up back in that cell.”“This is real,” he says, stroking down her back again, tightening his other arm around her. He’s never letting her go again.“I know.” Her own arms tighten back, and Mercer falls asleep with Hel’s scent, sunshine and wildflowers, surrounding him.
The day Enthir and Niruin arrive, Mercer’s working. Hel is sitting with Etienne on her old bed, Rune hovering uneasily around them as he fusses. Honestly, Mercer would be doing the exact same, but Hel had reassured him and sent him off to run things, and he’d gradually relaxed back into his role as Guildmaster, just so long as he could keep an eye on her.Now, the door opens, and Niruin and Enthir come through, Niruin glaring around as if daring anyone to come bother the mage. Hel notices immediately, standing from the bed with a helping hand from Rune, still a little weak even days after staying in the Guild and receiving all the care she didn’t have with the Thalmor.“Enthir,” Hel greets warmly, holding her arms out.Enthir shuffles into them like a chastised child, hugging her back and pressing his face into her shoulder. Everyone politely pretends to not notice his shaking shoulders as Hel murmurs reassurances into his ear. When he pulls back his eyelashes are wet, but Hel wipes the tears from his cheeks and whispers to him some more before pulling him from the room with a nod to Mercer.He grips the desk so he won’t run out of the room after her. Just last night she woke up from another nightmare, flinching away from him until she remembered where she was. As much as he relies on Enthir professionally, he doesn’t trust him personally, and definitely not with Hel, but she trusts him.He was the only one she trusted with both sides of her secret at the very beginning. The one where she was both the Arch Mage and a member of the Thieves Guild. Mercer is going to have to deal.Niruin, thankfully, comes up to distract him, still frowning in the direction that Enthir and Hel left in.“He was worried about seeing her the entire journey here,” Niruin shares.Mercer tries to imagine Enthir, smirking and obnoxious as he usually is, worried over anything. “Why?”“He thought she was dead, so he didn’t even look for her. He couldn’t believe it when I told him we’d found her alive. He thought she’d resent him for allowing her to be tortured.”Mercer resents Enthir for not helping him rescue her, he resents himself for leaving her there for so long. To all appearances she’s recovering splendidly, hardly a hitch in her step, but Mercer knows differently. She still shakes apart in his arms at night, even if she tries to put on a brave face for him.He snorts at the thought of Hel resenting anyone. He’s never seen her unfriendly to anyone that wasn’t an enemy, and Enthir is one of her closest friends.“He shouldn’t have worried,” Mercer dismisses. “She doesn’t hold grudges against her friends.”Niruin raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you sure about that? Because she doesn’t seem to like me anymore.”Mercer stares at him. “…What.” There’s no inflection. It doesn’t make any sense. Hel never stopped liking Niruin.Niruin explains. “We used to practice archery together, and then I guess she got too busy. And then I started seeing Enthir and well…” he trails off, and Mercer glares at him.“You think she hates you?” he asks, incredulous.“…Yes?”Mercer scoffs. “You’re the one who doesn’t like her. You’ve been…” he struggles for a word that isn’t a direct insult. “Standoffish since you shacked up with Enthir.”“Standoffish?” Niruin repeats, looking offended anyway. “She lied to us. She betrayed us. And then she had the gall to look offended when I called her out for it. Plus, she keeps giving Enthir and me these looks.”“What, like she’s happy for you two?” Mercer sneers. “Like she’s been rooting for you two since you got together?”Niruin pauses. “…what. Really?”Mercer just glares at him, daring Niruin to contradict him, to insult Hel again, but he just sighs and looks away, evidently conceding defeat.“Fine. I’ll be less standoffish,” he sneers.Mercer just nods and waves him away. He has work to do, and he trusts that Niruin and Hel will be fine, mostly thanks to Hel and her ability to charm people and smooth things over.
After Hel’s time with Enthir, she looks much better. Her sallow cheeks have gained a bit of color, and she’s walking more easily. Enthir follows at her heels anxiously, a hand fluttering at her shoulder. She ignores him, heading straight for Mercer.“My love,” she says, her smile brighter. She’s almost back to her old self, or so she appears despite the sharp bones poking out from her skin, but the nervous way Enthir still shadows her steps, the worried look he shoots Mercer, contradicts that.“What are you working on?” Hel asks, sliding up to the other side of his desk.Mercer chews on his tongue so he won’t blurt out the wrong thing, an order to go rest, a probing question into her health and magic. She’s been very clear she doesn’t want to talk about it, but he craves reassurance. He indulges her.“Accounts,” he grunts. Same as always. Accounts and intelligence.“And how are we doing, accounts wise?” she asks.“Fine.” They’re a little light in the coffers now. They haven’t been proper thieving for a long time, since the war against the Thalmor began, and continuing to pay the cost of food and goods for the Guild members has taken its monetary toll. Still, they’ll be back to rights soon enough now that the fighting is done.“Hm.” Hel flashes him a knowing look, as if she doesn’t believe him, but she doesn’t try to wheedle the truth out. “Alright,” she concedes. “I think I’ll go make some potions. I haven’t been for a long while, and I’m sure we’re out.”“But your magic—” Mercer immediately protests.“Alchemy doesn’t require magic,” she interrupts reassuringly. “Just skill. And I’ve had plenty of practice over the years. It’s not difficult work.”Mercer nods reluctantly, and she leans across the desk to give him a kiss on his cheek before springing off towards the alchemy table. He watches her go, then his attention snaps to Enthir.“How is she?”Enthir shakes his head. “Her magic is depleted. In people gifted with magic, like her, it’s as much a part of them as their blood. She’ll be weaker until she’s regained her magicka.”“But she will regain it.” It’s not a question. It has to happen. The thought that she won’t get better doesn’t bear thinking about.“Yes,” Enthir assures him instantly. “She’d heal faster if she were surrounded by more magic. It’s easier to absorb it ambiently in magically charged places. She should come back to the College.”Mercer sets his jaw. He just got her back. He’s not letting her leave him, and he can’t go with her. Not when he has to lead the Guild now that they’re back to proper thieving. “No.”Enthir narrows his flat black eyes. “You don’t get to make that choice for her.”“Then ask her. If she has to choose between returning the college without me or staying here, you know what she’ll say.” There’s still a niggling little voice that tells him he’s not important, that she’ll leave him when something better comes along, but it’s almost silent, and it’s easy to squash it. She’s shown time and time again that she’ll stay with him, given the choice. Until she finds out about Gallus—he crushes that thought. He’ll tell her. When the timing’s right. Her recovery takes precedence.The Bosmer scowls. “Fine. But I’m staying until she’s completely healed.”Mercer nods. He won’t throw Enthir out. As much as he dislikes him personally, he’s loyal and helpful, and he won’t risk Hel’s health just to be rid of him.
Everyone’s sitting around the Ragged Flagon for dinner. Hel’s up to solid food, and she and Niruin, of all people, are engaged in a lively conversation. Apparently he came over to talk to her while she was working at the Alchemy station, and they’ve ‘made up’ or whatever Mercer wants to call it.Enthir’s there as well, a casual arm around Niruin’s shoulders, which Niruin allows. Mercer knew they were close, but Niruin takes his professional life very seriously, and Enthir is a bit of a sleaze. Despite that, it looks like they’ve become a solid couple, and Mercer approves. Not that he has any say over his thieves’ personal relationships.He sits down beside Hel, checking her over automatically. She looks good. Tired, but good. He relaxes and leans in until their shoulders brush. She’s warm.
“Did you not like your pendant?” she asks. They’re in bed together, Mercer shirtless like normal, Hel wearing it for him.“No, it shattered,” he says. “Right before Elenwen took you. She broke it with a spell.”“Oh.” Hel frowns, and she looks scared for a moment before she shakes her head. “I’ll just make you a new one.”Mercer recalls it, remembers how it hummed with her magic. He wonders if she’ll have enough replenished magic to recreate it. “You don’t have to.”“I want to.” And that’s the end of the conversation.
“Mercer!” Cynric’s panicked shout echoes from down a tunnel, and Mercer instinctively looks around for Hel. He doesn’t see her. He runs, spotting Cynric kneeling over Hel’s prone form, in front of the Enchanting table, and runs faster.He lurches to a stop, dropping to his knees beside her and checking her over. She’s not bleeding from anywhere, no limbs are held at an unnatural angle.“What happened,” he demands through gritted teeth, his voice hard and flat.“I was watching her enchant something, and she just collapsed halfway through.”“Get Enthir!” he orders, examining her golden face. Her cheeks have filled back out thanks to Vekel’s steady diet of healthy food and copious amounts of rest. Her eyes are closed and her breathing slightly shallow, and he presses two fingertips into her throat to feel her pulse. It’s faster than it should be, and he smacks her cheek lightly, trying to rouse her.Her eyes flutter open, and for a moment she blinks in confusion, then she’s sitting up, Mercer’s arm a support around her back, when Cynric returns with Enthir and Niruin.“What happened?” Enthir demands, kneeling on Hel’s other side.“Overextended myself,” she answers, brushing off Mercer’s support and standing somewhat shakily, using the table to haul herself up. “I finished it though!” she crows, picking the pendant up and presenting it to Mercer.It’s gold, with flawless diamonds, and it’s definitely not his color, but it reminds him of Hel. Like the last one, it’s warm and alive in his palm. He clenches his fingers around it in a fist.“What in Oblivion did you think you were doing?!” he demands, snarling at her, his fear coming out as anger like always.“I said I’d make you another. I did.” She’s still grinning, that easy, infuriating smile that made him hate her when they first met.“You’re still recovering,” Enthir interrupts. For once, he and Mercer are on the same side. “You shouldn’t be using your magic until you have more of it.”She rolls her eyes. “I’m sick of sitting around doing nothing. I’m feeling much better. I want to go out.”“And do what?” Mercer snaps. “You can’t fight, you won’t be able to heal yourself if you get hurt.”“I was stealing things just fine when I was pretending I didn’t have magic,” she retorts in the same tone.Mercer pauses briefly. She doesn’t snap at him. He’s the emotional, angry one. She’s soothing and reasonable, and he eventually caves to her whims. But he needs to win this argument. “But you still had magic to protect and heal yourself. Now you won’t have anything.”“What, same as you?”“You’re not as good of a fighter or a thief as I am!” he roars, throwing his hands up, ignoring the fact that he can heal himself some and turn invisible with some small magic.“No one is,” she shouts back. “It doesn’t mean I’m bad at it.”“You’re not going out, and that’s final!”She huffs and stalks off, slamming the door on her way out of the Cistern.Mercer rounds on Cynric, who’s still hovering nearby. “What are you waiting for? Go keep an eye on her!”Cynric scrambles after her, and Mercer runs his hands through his hair, tugging on the grey strands and letting out a muffled scream in frustration.“I’m not wrong,” Mercer confirms, turning to Niruin and Enthir. “She’s being unreasonable.” He second guesses himself. “Right?”Enthir agrees immediately. “She knows she shouldn’t be doing magic yet. She needs more time to recover. She—” he cuts himself off and takes a hard breath. “She almost died. She can’t even summon a fireball. She’s the Arch Mage, but she can’t perform her duties or teach her classes. And she wants to go thieving.” He spits the word like a curse, and Mercer feels a pang of offense, but he and Enthir are finally in agreement.He nods tightly. He should probably give her some space, but she’s never stormed off in a huff before. Never shouted back at him. Whenever Mercer was being controlling due to fear, she weathered it easily and eased him into her ideas, eventually bringing him into a compromise that benefited them both. He doesn’t know how to be the reasonable one.Maybe he’ll take a page out of her book and find a compromise.He pulls the pendant on and shoves it beneath his shirt. She made it for him, so he’ll wear it.
He finds her sitting on the docks, her feet skimming the water, her head pillowed on her arms as she rests them over the first railing.Cynric oscillates nearby, but Mercer waves him off.He eases himself down next to her, keeping a bit of distance between them. He wants nothing more than to press against her unabashedly, sharing heat like they used to. She shivers, and he’s reminded of the fact that she’s not generating as much heat as she usually does.“I’m sorry,” she says, staring out over the water. A fish jumps, and Mercer watches the drops glitter as they arc through the air. “You’re right. I’m not ready to go out. I’m just sick of sitting around feeling useless.”“You’re not useless,” he contradicts. “You’re still recovering.”“Not fast enough.” She kicks the water, and it sprays out in a glittering stream.Mercer frowns, but she’s not done.“I wouldn’t mind, but everyone keeps staring at me with pity.” She spits the word, and Mercer holds back a flinch at her harsh tone. She doesn’t shout. Not at him. “Even you,” she says, looking sideways, her golden eyes burning at him.He meets her gaze. “I don’t pity you.”She snorts and kicks the water again, looking back over the lake. “You have some anger mixed in, but most of it’s pity. Every time you spot one of my new souvenirs, courtesy of Elenwen and her torturers, I see it.”Mercer sighs, guilt sinking into his stomach. He’s tried to hide it, but he can’t.“It’s my fault,” he says. “It’s all my fault. You got captured protecting me. If I’d been faster—”“Mercer,” she interrupts, closing the space between them and holding his hand.He shakes his head but doesn’t shake her off. “I’m supposed to be comforting you,” he says, clutching at her fingers.She laughs, but it doesn’t have any humor in it. “If someone cut your hands off and it took them months to grow back, could you be comforted?”Mercer tries to imagine that. No fighting. No thieving. Every movement hindered. Is that how she feels, without her magic? Is that what she went through when she was hiding her true self from him?“No,” he finally answers.She looks at him, scanning his face for something. She must not find it because she drops his hand and looks back out at the lake. “You don’t have to stay here with me.”He doesn’t know if it’s a dismissal or a complaint, but he doesn’t take the invitation to leave. “I want to be here with you.”“Don’t lie to me.”“I’m not.” He doesn’t know what she’s on about.“I’m weak. Useless. A burden. And hideous. Did you really think I wouldn’t find a mirror eventually? I’ve seen myself. Why didn’t you tell me I looked like a draugr? Or some mauled carcass?”He rears back in shock. “Because you don’t! You aren’t! You look like you. Just…” he flounders. “Skinnier. With a few new scars.”She barks another humorless laugh. “Right, because you love me for my skeletal figure.”He growls in frustration. “I love you for you. Because you challenge me, and vex me, and push me in a way no one has before. Because you comfort me and love me, also in a way no one else ever has. Because you see me, and you still want me. Because you chose me over everyone else, and you keep choosing me even after I mess things up.”She stares at him, just for a moment, and then she practically tackles him in a hug, burying her face in his neck.“I love you, so much,” she says into his skin. “I’ll always choose you. No matter what.”“I love you,” he returns easily, gathering her close, holding her gently.She huffs out a breath and clutches at him, and he takes the hint, tightening his grip. The railing is digging into his shoulder, but he doesn’t care. He has her in his arms.
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Things are easier after that. She recovers, the nightmares fade, Mercer, as promised, presses kisses to every scar until she’s arching wantonly into his touches. It makes him grin against her skin. She wants him. She could have anyone, and she chose Mercer Frey.Now that she’s better, they’re receiving rolled eyes and wrinkled noses at public displays of affection, but they’re a little oversaturated at the Guild nowadays. Delvin and Vex have finally straightened themselves out, and Delvin showers her with affection every chance he gets. Enthir is still in residence, and he and Niruin sneak off almost every day. Surprisingly, Rune and Etienne have formed their newest couple, and Mercer’s walked in on them making out in the training room. Twice. He can’t begrudge them, not when Etienne went through the same thing Hel did, and Rune’s been taking care of his recovery just like Mercer has with Hel. He supposes it was only a matter of time.“When are you coming back to the college?” Enthir asks one day as Hel is lounging on the edge of the Cistern, making eyes at Mercer. She’s kept her hair long, and it flows loose and golden down her shoulders and chest, almost to her waist now. He’s hard-pressed to continue his work, knowing she’s warm and willing, especially as they’ve gotten the first taste of winter winds down from the north. Soon the roads will be impassible, and Enthir and Hel need to return to the College if they’re going to get there at all.She sighs and turns to the Bosmer, and Mercer doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not listening.“Don’t remind me,” she grumbles, rubbing a fatigued hand down her face.“We need to leave soon or else the snows will trap us here all winter.”“I know,” she sighs. “Fine. We’ll go in two days. Mercer!” she calls, waving him over.He obliges, dropping down beside her and hooking an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple then brushing his lips over the tip of a sensitive ear.“Yes?” he asks, lounging back again.Enthir wrinkles his nose at Mercer’s display of affection towards his Arch Mage, but he doesn’t comment. He and Niruin are just as bad, if not as mushy.“How would you like to spend the winter at the College with me?” she asks, turning to him with warm golden eyes.He’s been waiting for her to ask. “I’d love to.” After the horrible year they’ve had, he’s looking forward to spending his winter as the Arch Mage’s bed warmer. It’s not like he’s needed much in the winter anyway. He can balance the accounts by taking a few papers with him, or he can leave the task to Delvin and Tonilia.Hel smiles, her full cheeks taking on a pleased glow, and he can’t help but press a kiss to that rosy blush.Enthir lifts his lip in a snarl. “Great,” he sneers, “I’m going to have to spend all winter watching that, aren’t I?”“You’re welcome to invite Niruin,” she teases, leaning back into Mercer, her signature warmth leeching into him.Enthir leaves in a huff, but he’s got that spring in his step that Mercer knows means he’s going to look for their resident archer.
The journey to Winterhold is quick but harrowing. They have to hide from three dragons on the way. Hel’s only at half strength, which is half again stronger than anyone else. Still, they’d rather not have her collapsing from the strain of fighting a dragon, even if Enthir and Niruin are both around to help with the ranged attacks.It reminds him of their first journey north together, when he’d directed them through Windhelm and she’d spent the whole time clinging to him.With three elves, they’re taking the long way around through Falkreath and Whiterun. Better safe than sorry.
They make it to the College just as a blizzard descends and almost blows them off the path. Good thing the Arch Mage got the bridge railing repaired. Mercer cuddles close to Hel, leeching off her warmth. Her signature heat had returned with her magic, and he presses himself against her side shamelessly. She hooks an arm around his shoulders and leads the way through the gates.Enthir and Niruin peel off towards the instructor’s hall, and Hel leads Mercer into the main Atrium, turning for the door that leads to her quarters.It’s the middle of the afternoon and a class is in session. It’s full of older students and their magic looks powerful and experienced, but when one spots Hel they shout a greeting to the Arch Mage and the whole class converges on them with excited chatter.She smoothly steps in front of Mercer, keeping him away from the spotlight as the students swarm around her. She answers the questions with a smile, and they beg her to join them.She turns to Mercer with an apologetic grin. He sighs and holds his hand out for her bag.“Take your time,” he assures her. “I’ll entertain myself.”
Her door opens at his touch, enchanted to welcome people friendly to the Arch Mage. He unpacks for them both, takes a relaxing, warm bath in her enchanted tub, and settles into her comfortable bed with a sigh. Days on a frigid road have made his old bones ache, and the down mattress feels nicer than anything else. He dozes until the door opens again, and Mercer rolls over, the blanket draped over him slipping away from his bare skin as Hel comes inside, a satisfied smile on her golden face.She spots him, unclothed, waiting in her bed, and freezes, but not for long. Mercer grins, all teeth, and pushes the blanket back further.
The days pass in languid pleasure. Mercer had never felt entirely at ease at the college, always rushing there for discussions with the Arch Mage, or as a waypoint for a job to somewhere else, but now it felt welcoming and warm.Onmund, that one Nord that’s in love with Hel, still gives him sullen looks, but everyone else seems wonderfully receptive to him. Even the grumpy librarian sends him polite nods occasionally.He tries to join in on classes once in a while, learning a bit more about alchemy or enchanting or conjuration. He’ll never be great at it, but he has learned more than he knew. It’s given him a new appreciation for Hel and her skills.
Some days, Hel comes back charged with magic, still clad in her Arch Mage robes, and shoves him onto the mattress, climbing on top of him with all the grace and focus of a hunting saber cat.Mercer lives for those times, his nerves sparking wherever their skin touches, her hands trailing fire and pleasure in their wake. He surrenders to her completely, squashing the survival instinct that tells him to flee. It’s not hard. Not when it’s Hel above him, her thighs bracketing his own.
One day, after a particularly vigorous round of lovemaking, they’re lying side by side, shoulders brushing.“Hey,” Hel says, nudging his foot with her own.He hums, too blissed out to move. His body feels well-used and heavy, and he feels like he’s sinking into the plush mattress.Hel rolls to face him, mussing the blankets even more, her golden hair slipping over one bare shoulder and tangling near her elbow as she props her head on a slender palm.“Remember a long time ago, we said that after we defeated Maven, we’d go to Solstheim together?"The question wakes him up. “Yes?”“I’m ready for that. As soon as winter’s over, we can go.”Mercer blinks, then his face splits into a grin. “Really?” How did he get so lucky?“Really.”He surges up and kisses her, and she releases a joyous laugh before kissing back. When he flops back down and holds his arms out, she’s already shifting over, draping an arm over his chest, laying her head on his shoulder, slotting a leg between his own, her thigh warming his hip.He wraps his arm around her shoulders to better keep her there and drops a kiss on her hair. He can’t imagine his life without her anymore.
“Mercer, get your coat!” Hel calls, finding him harvesting ingredients in the enchanted garden. She’s already dressed in thick, comfortable looking furs, a heavy hood pulled over her hair.He straightens up, cocking his head. “Where are we going?”“I got a lead on a Stone of Barenziah. It’s not too far. Over in Hjaalmarch.”He blinks. “It’s the middle of winter. We’ll freeze to death.”“I have my magic back. I’ll keep us warm.”He imagines it. Trudging through feet of snow with Hel, sharing warmth at night, facing down threats together. It’s been so long since he went on a solo job that he’s almost forgotten what it’s like. He’s not mad about it. He doesn’t miss lonely days on the road and cold nights alone.“Fine,” he agrees. “Give me ten minutes.”
The path is surprisingly easy. He thinks Hel’s smoothing the way with magic, and he’d worry for her strength, but the College has revitalized her to her former strength. This time, when a dragon flies overhead, she doesn’t push him toward the nearest cave. Instead, she stands her ground and shoots, her fireballs knocking the dragon from the sky. Another kills it, and she leaves the smoking corpse there. The scales and bones would be too heavy to carry in this weather.They eventually make it to their destination, an old prison by the name of Rannveig’s Fast. It’s a huge ruin, and Mercer thinks he sees pale shapes moving through the snow. Ice wraiths? Or something else?Another dragon roar sounds from the top of the mountain, and Hel readies another fireball, but Mercer rushes forward, intent on making it inside before it spots them. As impressive as Hel’s display of strength is, he wants to be out of the wind more than anything.A ghost rushes at him, waving an ethereal axe and chanting.“I’m sorry! I don’t want to do this. I’m sorry!”Mercer flinches, his breath quickening. Still, he readies his sword and makes short work of it, and it collapses into a pile of glowing goo. He grimaces, and Hel appears at his back.“Bound ghosts,” she says, wrinkling her nose behind her scarf. “Come on.”Hel eliminates all the ghosts before they can even get near them, and Mercer’s absurdly grateful. Each one looks like Gallus come back to take his revenge upon him.They descend into the crypt, more ghosts practically emerging from the stone walls to attack them. Cold mist swirls around their ankles, and Mercer tucks close to Hel’s back. Close enough that he can duck behind any wards she erects. Even though he has the new pendant, it’s not as powerful as the first one. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her. She almost worked herself to death creating it, but it only really protects him against spells and not physical attacks. He doesn’t blame her. She was still recovering her magic back then.They destroy all the ghosts in their path, and Mercer eventually settles, so he’s taken by surprise when Hel spots a treasure chest, takes a step forward, and promptly falls through a floor trap.She curses on the way down, landing heavily in shallow water. The doors snap close as soon as she’s through, so Mercer can no longer see her. He’s tempted to throw himself down there after her, but then they both might be trapped or hurt.“Hel!” he shouts, pausing at the edge of the trap, leaning over it. “Are you alright?”He hears the rush of her fire magic, the sound of a masculine scream, and then she’s answering.“I’m good!” she shouts back. “There was some creep down here, but I killed him. I think I might need you to unlock the door for me. I’m trapped in a cage.”Mercer grins. “Oh? Even after all that thieving, are you not good enough at lockpicking to do it yourself?”“I forgot to bring lockpicks, and I don’t really want to check the wet, bloated corpses in here with me.”He grimaces. “I’ll be right down.” He turns away and searches for a second entrance, which he spots in the side of the wall. He goes down the stairs, dispatching a ghost face to face with a growl. He comes out into a dungeon of some sort to rows of cages, and he’s uncomfortably reminded of searching for Hel and not finding her in the Thalmor Embassy.“Hel?” he calls.“Here!” she answers, her voice distant and echoing.He moves through the space, both swords drawn, but there are only corpses in various stages of decay locked in the cells.“Mercer?” Hel’s voice calls again, sounding somewhat closer. “Could you hurry? I don’t really like cages.”He curses to himself, moving faster. Of course she wouldn’t like it, having been trapped for weeks by the Thalmor. He rounds a corner and finds her, crouching to open the lock and letting her out.She rushes out as soon as the door’s open, grabbing his arm and dragging him over to the nearest table, stepping past a burnt corpse on the ground.“Look, here’s the stone!”He takes it from her, examining it for a moment before he hands it back to her, ghosts and cages forgotten for the moment. He leans in, pressing their shoulders together affectionately before scanning for anymore threats. There are none, and they make it out of the crypts with no more enemies or incidents.As soon as they’re back in the cold air, Mercer shivers, the wind cutting through his guild leathers. Hel moves closer, the heat radiating from her warms him.“What’s wrong?” she asks, and he blinks. She knows him too well.“Why would you think anything’s wrong?”“You’re quiet.”“I’m a thief. We’re supposed to be quiet.”“Yes, but usually you’re joking, or making comments, or telling me off for being overconfident.”She’s got him there. He usually yells at her for rushing ahead. Not that she can’t take on any threat they come across, but he worries. Mercer’s possessive. Sue him.“It’s the ghosts,” he bites out. “They remind me of someone. That’s all.”She watches him, her golden eyes glowing in the light of the setting sun.“…okay,” she says, letting him have his secrets. Still, she keeps close as they make their way out of the ruin, their pockets filled with pilfered gold.
They’ve been back at the College for a few days, but Mercer hasn’t felt any better. Hel hasn’t pushed him, and he’s grateful for it. He’s trying to throw himself into magical studies, and Mercer gets a lot better at illusion spells, practicing on his own in the enchanted garden while Hel teaches classes.His tentative relaxation is interrupted by the arrival of a letter. Spring is still a month off when it arrives.He doesn’t open it, thinking it’s nothing important, and he’s busy working on alchemy in any case. He finally gets a moment as Hel is bathing, and he sits on the end of the Arch Mage’s bed, their bed, and opens it.
Meet me at the place where he died, so I can kill you. Or I’ll kill everyone you’ve ever loved.
It’s from Karliah. Even after twenty-five years, he recognizes her handwriting. She’s summoning him to Snow Veil Sanctum.Hel walks out of the bathroom, toweling her hair dry.“Hey, so I was thinking…” she pauses when she takes in Mercer’s stricken expression. “What’s wrong?”He schools his face. “Just some bad news. I’m fine.”She watches him quietly for a moment, but Mercer maintains his calm expression, and she drops it.
He watches her while she sleeps that night, soft and trusting in his arms. Should he tell her? What if she rejects him? What if she doesn’t believe him? What if…he can’t keep going in circles like this. He has two options. Either he tells her, or he leaves.No more secrets. They promised each other. Fear roils in his gut, and every instinct screams at him to run. What should he choose? Trust? Or fear?Fear wins.He slides out of bed, doing his best not to wake her. He’s a master thief, he succeeds. He presses his lips to her hair one last time, and she smiles, even in her sleep. Then he slips away.He’s already in Snow Veil Sanctum by the time the sun rises.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The journey through Snow Veil Sanctum is quick. He makes liberal use of the skeleton key and slaughters all the draugr in his path. He stumbles into a few traps, mostly because Hel’s sharp eyes aren’t here to point them out, but he manages to escape relatively unscathed each time thanks to his quick reflexes and the amulet that hums against his chest. The one Hel made for him, even when she wasn’t at full strength. It’s easy, even if it feels a bit lonely without Hel sneaking at his side.He makes it to the final door, which opens with a groan of protest. Mercer freezes and does his best to peer into the darkness. He can’t see anything, and he wishes he had thought to study detect life spells at the College with Hel. He wishes she was here, then remembers what a disaster it would be trying to speak to her about this. He takes a deep breath. He needs to deal with this if he wants to see her again.He darts in, quick and silent as a flickering shadow, and the door slams shut behind him, casting him in complete darkness. He blinks, trying to feel his way back to the wall, his feet skating just above the ground, when something impacts his stomach.He finds the wall as he slams back into it, the amulet at his chest buzzing madly. He slides down the stone, his legs giving out beneath him, his lungs struggling to draw air. The pain starts as an afterthought and ratchets up until it makes his ears ring, although that might be the blood loss.He’s on his side now, slumped back against the wall, his arms useless in front of him. He can’t feel anything but the pain, can’t even move his head to look at his belly and whatever hit it. He thinks it’s an arrow. A poison tipped arrow, judging by the rapid spread of complete numbness.A torch flares to life, and Mercer blinks in the sudden brightness. The figure holding the torch is a familiar face, but one he hasn’t seen in 25 years.“Hello Mercer,” Karliah greets him, bending over him so he can see her face. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.”He tries to respond, to move even the tiniest bit, but he can’t feel his body at all. He thinks he might get a twitch of his fingers, and he knows he doesn’t have much longer. He can see the spread of blood from here, the way the bright red liquid shines under the torchlight as it oozes out of him, rolling across the floor in a spreading puddle.“I heard you finally found love, after all this time. You don’t deserve it. Not after what you did. Not after you killed Gallus.”Mercer can’t respond. He’s sorry for Gallus. He’s always been sorry. He didn’t mean for it to happen.“I thought about killing her. About murdering your love the same way you murdered mine,” Karliah says. Her face is in shadow, her eyes shining dark in the torchlight.Karliah’s words get another twitch of his fingers as he tries to surge up and attack her.Not Hel! He thinks. You won’t take her.It’s useless. What little sense he has starts to fade as his head grows light with blood loss.“Don’t worry,” Karliah continues. “The only thing she did wrong was fall in love with a betrayer and a murderer. It can’t be helped when you’re such a talented liar, Mercer.”He can’t dispute it. He betrayed Karliah. He betrayed Gallus.“I knew I wouldn’t be able to defeat you in combat. You’re a great fighter Mercer. You always have been. I’m sure the years have just made you better. So I laid this trap. Not much of one when I knew you’d walk right into it, but here we are. I could finish you off now, but I’d rather let you suffer and die here in the dark, alone, where you killed him all those years ago. Goodbye Mercer.”Karliah leaves, taking the torch with her, and leaving Mercer in complete darkness once more.He closes his eyes. There’s no point in trying to see when there’s no difference between having his eyes closed or open. He remembers Hel. Remembers her laugh, her voice, her golden form, sneaking through dungeons, finding the Stones of Barenziah. He remembers her smiles, her warmth, her love…and then he stops remembering anything at all.
He wakes up. His chest and stomach hurt, but at least he can feel his limbs again. When he blinks his eyes open, there’s mid-morning light shining through the tree branches and into the tent that he’s in.He feels familiar heat at his back, a warm hand on his chest over his heart, and he tries to turn over. He manages to flip onto his back but can’t seem to get the strength to turn over all the way. It doesn’t matter, since the warm body behind him jerks awake and Hel’s face appears in his vision. Her mouth is lined, her eyes have dark bags underneath them, and he almost chuckles. She looks like him.“Hey,” he greets, just a murmur, and suddenly he’s out of breath.The worried furrow between her brows smooths out in relief, right before her eyes fill with tears.“I’m so glad you’re alive,” she says, her voice tight. She wipes her tears away with one hand, the other rubbing over his sore chest, healing light flowing from it.He tries to grab her hand, to intertwine their fingers, to feel her after thinking he’d never see her again, but his arm, despite having regained feeling, is too weak to raise all the way toward her. It moves thought, which is more than it did earlier after Karliah…Karliah! She’s probably gone to the Guild. He needs to warn them, or find them, or do something.He tries to sit up, but he has no strength, and Hel’s gentle hand presses into his sore chest, the healing light starting to fade. His chest feels better, his lungs deeper, and he can finally catch his breath.“The Guild…” he tries to sit up again, but Hel keeps him down.“Easy,” she says. “The Guild will be fine. We can travel back to Riften if you want.” Her voice is soft, her eyes still worried, and Mercer pauses. He doesn’t have time to discover why she’s acting off.“We need to go there now,” he protests, trying to shove his way to a seated position.She helps him sit up, but she’s frowning. “You’re not going anywhere. You died Mercer. You stopped breathing. Your heart stopped. I had to shock you to get it started again, and even after that you’ve been asleep for three days. What could possibly be so important that you need to go back to Riften immediately?”Oh. That would explain her strange mood. He remembers how devastated and angry he was after he rescued her from the Thalmor. How close to death she was. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he found her and she’d died.“How’d you find me?” he asks. He left her with no note, no explanation.“Your amulet had a tracking charm built in. I’m sorry it didn’t protect you like it should have.”He shakes his head. “It’s fine. I think it saved my life. I could feel it working after I got hit.”“What were you doing in that dungeon anyway?”She still doesn’t know. There’s no way she could. He still doesn’t want to tell her, but there’s no avoiding it now.“I got a note from Karliah asking me to meet her there. She’s probably reached the Guild by now,” Mercer explains.“You mean Karliah, the one who killed the previous Guildmaster and betrayed the Guild? Is she the one who shot you with that poisoned arrow and left you to die?”Mercer nods, and Hel’s previously careful demeanor turns to rage.“I’ll kill her,” she grits out, her teeth bared in a snarl, her eyes burning in promise.“I deserved it,” Mercer pants, his head dropping to Hel’s shoulder, fatigue washing over him again.“Mercer!” Hel calls, her hands lighting with healing light again. The fatigue doesn’t quite leave, but it lifts slightly as she encircles him with warm arms, her hands moving over his chest and stomach again.He sighs, pressing his face into her throat in his favorite position, breathing her in. He thought he’d never get to see her again, but he’s too tired to actually feel any fear or shock from his near-death experience. Or actual death, if what Hel says is true.“What do you mean, you deserved it?” Hel asks, her voice hushed, the healing light fading again as Mercer’s breaths come easier.“Karliah didn’t kill Gallus,” Mercer murmurs, his lips brushing Hel’s throat, tasting her skin. “I did.” He falls asleep, succumbing to the bone-deep weariness washing over him once more.
When he wakes again, Hel looks more tired than ever, and moonlight is shining through the gaps in the tent flaps now.“There you are,” Hel says, her worried face relaxing again. “Are you feeling alright?”“Better,” he answers. The pain is gone, his breaths are deeper, and he feels more awake. He manages to sit up by himself this time then struggles to his feet. Hel shoots up with him, her hands hovering around him, ready to catch him if he should fall, and he does his best to send her a reassuring smile.“I’m fine,” he says, his legs shaking slightly, his head lightening temporarily at his change in position. It clears, and he ducks out of the tent, breathing in the freezing night air of midwinter. Hel must have cast some warming charm on the tent, and he’s grateful, but they have to get moving. “We need to go back to the Guild. Karliah’s probably already there.”“It’s been almost four days,” Hel says. “Of course she is. But I trust the Guild to be able to handle themselves if she attacks them.”“She won’t attack them,” Mercer says, already shivering. Hel moves in, and he gratefully leeches some of her offered warmth. “She’ll tell them the truth.”“That you killed Gallus.”Mercer flinches at the memory that flashes. Of Gallus’ sword aimed for his throat, of his blank stare after.“Yes,” he answers, looking to her warily. She’s staring back at him, but her eyes are soft, non-judgmental.“I suppose you had a good reason,” she replies.“I…yeah. Kind of.”“Then you can tell me about it on the way down to Riften.”“Really?”“If you think I’m going to let you go alone after how I found you—” she cuts herself off and heaves in a breath. “I can see this is important to you, and I’m coming with you.”
They make it to Windhelm at dawn. Mercer’s flagging, but Hel supports him and drags him along, determination and worry on her face. She pays the carriage driver and helps Mercer into the bed, arranging blankets around him until he’s secure and warm. He’d be embarrassed about the position in front of a complete stranger, but he’s too tired to care.Hel settles in beside him, keeping him warm, pressing glowing hands to his chest and belly.“Stop,” Mercer orders, shoving her hands off of him. “You’re going to exhaust yourself.”She puts them back. “I’ll be fine.” She has dark circles under her eyes, exhaustion dragging at her shoulders.He shoves them off again, and she concedes defeat with a huff, sitting back against the side of the cart.“Fine, I’ll just wait until you go to sleep.”Mercer’s done basically nothing but sleep for days. He’s pretty sure he can outlast her.She falls asleep, and he pulls her down under the blankets with him and snuggles in, closing his eyes. Divines, is he tired.
The carriage driver’s voice wakes him. “Hey,” he hisses. “Bandits ahead.”Mercer sits up, reaching for his sword, but Hel’s right there beside him, her golden eyes sharp and peering over the front of the carriage.“I’ve got it,” she says, waiting for the driver to stop and hopping out of the carriage, her hands lighting with fire. The bandits don’t even get three steps when they become smoldering piles of ash on the ground.She rejoins Mercer in the back, hunkering back down into the blankets with him. The driver moves on, casting a grateful glance over his shoulder, fear at the edges of his eyes. Hel ignores him, instead facing Mercer and reaching out to lightly touch his cheek with her fingers, her expression relaxing as she watches him breathe.Mercer felt the same when Hel first got home after her stay with the Thalmor, and he grabs her hand, intertwines their fingers and presses a kiss to her warm knuckles.“So…Gallus,” she says, casting a privacy charm over the two of them.Mercer freezes and pulls his hand back, averting his gaze. “Right. I promised to tell you on the way.” He gathers his thoughts and begins.
Mercer had met Gallus in a seedy tavern, not long after he’d run away from home. His mother was cold and distant, his father hated his very existence, and he’d finally railed against the expectations they’d forced on him. Of him becoming a powerful mage. Of him rising to a high position of political power. He didn’t want either of those things. He wanted to be an explorer, but exploring was for children of poor families, not the only child of two powerful, wealthy parents.He'd never gotten along with anyone. Not really. Even as a kid he was too blunt, too abrasive to make proper friends. Gallus hadn’t minded.There Mercer was, in a tavern, skinny and penniless, having run out of the last of his money he’d stolen before he’d run away from his parents’ house. He was looking for an easy pocket to pick so he could buy himself a drink and a meal. He was so thankful he’d reached for Gallus’ pocket.Gallus had caught him before he could even make contact with his coinpurse, and he wasn’t even angry! In fact, he was laughing. He’d scruffed Mercer like a naughty kitten and pulled him up into the seat beside him, buying him a drink and dinner, and engaging him in conversation. By the end of the night, Mercer had his first friend, and Gallus had his first follower.They stole from the rich and gave to the poor, and only kept as much as they needed to survive, and a little more to grow their dream. Well, Gallus’ dream. Mercer was along for the ride, through thick or thin. Gallus was a great conman, a better thief, an excellent fighter. The only thing he seemed to be bad at was singing, although not for lack of enthusiasm. And when you’re drunk off victory and spoils, who really cares if you were on key?Gallus saved him. Gallus was his friend, his leader, his brother, and Mercer loved him. Then Karliah had come along, another stray needing a place to belong, and their duo had become a trio. At first, Mercer had been jealous, worried Karliah was going to take his place, but Gallus had still paid just as much attention to him, not pushing Mercer away, but bringing Karliah in. And so Mercer had gained another friend.From there, their group had grown swiftly. They got Brynjolf, young and orphaned, all skinned knees and perpetual smiles, and he’d grown up with them. Looked on Gallus and Mercer like older brothers, on Karliah like an older sister. Delvin had found them somehow and brought with him his own connections, and so their little Guild grew into an empire. The happiest day of his life was when he, Gallus, and Karliah all took the oath to become Nightingales. Bonded together forever, in life and death.Then Mercer had gotten the letter.
His parents were dead, and they hadn’t written him out of the will. As the only child, he’d inherited everything. All their riches, all their wealth. Mercer had spoken little of his past. That he came from High Rock. That he had no friends. That his parents hadn’t loved him. Not really. Not in a way that children aught to be loved. The rest didn’t matter.Mercer wanted to share the news, to tell his friends the great boon they’d been given, but he didn’t know how. Gallus and Brynjolf were the talkers, not him, and he didn’t know how to tell them without sounding like an ungrateful, spoiled brat like so many of their targets. The targets that they made fun of almost daily. He didn’t want to lose his friends, but he couldn’t let the inheritance just rot either. He vowed to use it to benefit his friends, to benefit the Guild, so he started sneaking parcels of it into the treasury and spending as much as he could as quickly as he could.He sold his parents’ home and land for gold. He was never going back to High Rock, not if he could help it. He started buying things, like the largest manor in Riften, and filling it with treasures. He couldn’t spend his parents’ money fast enough, so he padded out their take with it, giving it to the Guild.Then Gallus caught him.“Mercer,” he’d asked, “what were you doing in the treasury?”Mercer’s hands and pockets were empty, having just dropped off another sack of gold and jewels.“Nothing,” he’d answered. He couldn’t let Gallus know that he was just another spoiled rich kid. No matter that he’d been with Gallus for years now. No matter than Gallus was his closest friend in the world. His brother in all but blood. They’d bonded over being poor orphans together. It was the very foundation of their friendship, and Mercer couldn’t destroy that now.“Hm.” Gallus had narrowed his eyes but left it, and Mercer thought that was it. Eventually, he’d reveal his true past and try to soften the blow with he gift he’d made. Of the manor right next to the Guild, filled with all the comforts his friends never had growing up.But he never got that chance. Gallus had watched him, and Mercer hadn’t noticed. He’d thought he was in the clear. Mercer finally invited Gallus to Snow Veil Sanctum under the guise of a treasure hunt. But he was really going to reveal everything to him. His past, the inheritance, what he’d been up to lately, but it didn’t happen.Mercer had waited anxiously in the Sanctum for a while when Gallus appeared, clutching Mercer’s hastily scrawled note in his fist.“Gallus, you’re here!” Mercer had greeted, smiling at his friend. The smile dropped off his face at Gallus’ hard expression. “Gallus?”“Hello Mercer,” Gallus greeted him, voice even. “Why have you called me here?”Mercer shifted uneasily. Something was wrong. “…Why do you think I called you here?”Gallus glared at him. “To tell me you betrayed us? That you’ve been stealing from us for months?”“Wha—no!”“Is this why you wanted to be in charge of the books? Is your pay not enough for you? You had to skim from the treasury too?”Mercer was only in charge of the books because he was educated in arithmetic. He’s the only one who knows what he’s doing. “Gallus, that’s not—if you’d let me explain—”“You’re done explaining,” Gallus snarled, pulling out his sword. “I know what I saw. What I’ve seen you doing. You’ve been buying things, and I know you’ve been getting the money from our vault. I know you stole the skeleton key from the Twilight Sepulcher! You betrayed us Mercer. You betrayed me.”Then Gallus, his best friend, who was full of light and life and kindess, attacked him with intent to kill.The fight was hard and bloody. Mercer almost died more than once, but he’d always been faster than his friend, and he was able to twist away at the last moment, avoiding an otherwise fatal blow. Gallus never slowed, hacking at Mercer with anger behind every powerful sweep of his sword.Mercer couldn’t blame him. He still can’t. Not when Gallus thought he was defending his home. Not when he thought his best friend, his brother, had betrayed him and everything they stood for. Mercer reacted defensively, trying to dodge and parry, until it became clear that Gallus was going to kill him if he didn’t do something about it. He tried for nonfatal wounds, something to slow him down, get him to pause so Mercer could explain. A glancing blow to the shoulder changed to a death blow to the throat when Gallus stumbled over uneven ground and straight into Mercer’s sword, and by then it was too late.“No!” Mercer cried, falling to his knees beside Gallus, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his neck with his hands. It was useless, Gallus’ blood gushing hot and wet and red over his hands, onto the dusty floor of the Sanctum.Their eyes locked, Gallus’ the warm brown that Mercer had come to know and love, before the light faded from them.Then footsteps had sounded on the floor, light but there, and Mercer had jerked his hands away, had stood up, gripping his sword through the slick slide of Gallus’ life blood, and Karliah had walked in, her gaze jerking between Gallus’ lifeless body and Mercer’s bloody sword.“No!” she cried, falling down beside Gallus’ corpse, reaching for him. “What have you done?”“I didn’t mean to—” Mercer stuttered, his breath coming too fast. He was still bleeding from a dozen small wounds, all close calls from Gallus’ sword.“You killed him!” Karliah shrieked, her face a mask of rage and pain. “He’s dead because of you!” She collapsed, sobbing, over Gallus’ still chest, and Mercer had realized something. He just lost his brother and sister both. He couldn’t lose the remains of the only family he had left. Brynjolf and Delvin and the others. If Karliah got there first, she’d tell them what happened. He’d be outcast, exiled, probably hunted. But if he got there first, he’d be able to spin the story the way he wanted, to keep his family, or at least what was left of it.He ran, ran as fast as he could back to the Guild, and told everyone that it was Karliah. That Karliah had betrayed everyone, had betrayed the Nightingale oath, had killed Gallus and almost killed him, and the Guild had believed him. Why wouldn’t they?And Mercer, feeling like a monster, had done the last thing that Gallus had accused him of. He’d stolen the Skeleton Key from the Twilight Sepulcher, and thus started the fall of the Skyrim Thieves Guild.
Mercer finally stops talking, his chest aching from the tale, and watches Hel with wary eyes. Will she even believe him? Will she hate him too?But she’s looking at him with sympathy in her gaze, her arms reaching for him, pulling him close, one warm hand coming to rest on the back of his head and running long fingers through his hair.“Oh, Mercer,” she says, her voice soft. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”It’s like a dam breaks, and he’s crying into her chest, great, wracking sobs that leave him gasping for breath. She holds him for what seems like hours, and finally Mercer composes himself enough to sit back and wipe away the tears.“So, what do we do now?” Hel asks.Mercer shakes his head. “If Karliah’s gotten to the Guild, I’m done for.”“Not if you tell them the truth,” Hel says. “Not if they believe you.”“What if they don’t believe me?”She shrugs. “Then it doesn’t matter. I believe you, and you can come stay with me forever if the Guild kicks you out.”“Enthir and Gallus were best friends. I don’t think he’d like me there.”Hel’s mouth twitches, whether in a smile or a frown, Mercer can’t tell. “Enthir can stuff it. I’m the Arch Mage. Besides, I think he’d be happy to continue receiving your products if you still wanted to go thieving.”Mercer snorts at the mental image of himself stealing from the destitute citizens of Winterhold, and Hel’s face breaks into a smile. She always knows how to make him feel better.Just then the carriage rumbles up to Riften, and Hel frowns, her eyes narrowing at the unusual quiet of the streets.“We’re here. Are you ready?” she asks, looking to Mercer, her gaze strong, her mouth still wearing the ghost of her smile.Mercer’s not ready. He doesn’t think he could ever be ready. “Yes. Let’s go.”