Prim's eyes opened to darkness. Daybreak had not yet come, but the chirping of birds told her that it approached. It was not the birds that had awoken her though. Heavy footsteps passed along the wall beside her, muted by the snow, but clumsy and loud. A slow drag accompanied each movement, and a growl told her that the visitor wasn't human. She listened while slowly pulling back the blankets, and shifted toward the bed's edge. A hand touched her arm, drawing her eyes to Mercer. So he too had been awakened. He laid in the bed beside her, and motioned to the wall in confirmation.

She nodded and slid from the bed to silently remove her dress, slipping into her now dry clothing and buckling her armor. He quietly readied himself as well, their weapons drawn as Prim lifted her nose to the shutters. She smelled trolls and blood, and found Mercer so close that she brushed his arm when turning.

"Trolls," she whispered into his ear.

"Two or three."

"I don't know. I can't tell."

"It wasn't a question."

How long had he been awake listening to the sounds outside? Surely not much longer than herself, she decided. They were silent as shadows as they exited the room, the fire pit burning low, and dim light leaking around shuttered windows, hinting at the approaching dawn. People slept on their bed rolls along the room without stirring. So no one else had heard, and just as well. Prim noted that the front door was closed, but not barred, and wondered whether or not trolls had the intelligence to open doors.

"They might pass through," she whispered.

"They're being bold," Mercer replied. "If they find food, they won't leave."

"Oh, I think they've already found something. I smelled blood."

She'd barely finished speaking when a horse's panicked winy tore through the hair, following by splintering wood and chickens raising a ruckus. Kjeld and his father stumbled from their rooms, struggling to pull on boots in their rush. Others too were rousing and looking around in confusion, all while the grunts and cries of trolls overtook the horse. A final, high-pitched cry punctuated the air, and then there was nothing.

"Damn it!" Prim cursed, flinging the front door open.

The path to the stable had been cleared of snow, providing an open view of the building's broken door, its shattered planks swinging on hinges. Two trolls were dragging a now dead horse from inside, their squat but bulky forms covered in molted fur. Claws dug into the horse's flesh while a third troll climbed onto the stable's roof, tearing at a chicken. The remaining chickens were scattering like mad, struggling to leap over the snow that pinned them in, and finally funneling in Prim's direction. The movement drew troll eyes to her.

"Ugly fetchers," she hissed, raising her sword.

She began a cautious advance, thinking herself alone until Mercer suddenly took the lead. The man was fast, and did not wait for the trolls to take the initiative. The first one to charge was his for the taking, falling quickly to his dual-wielded sword and dagger. He slashed and stabbed in quick succession, the trolls screeching, and the one on the roof pounding the wood beneath itself in fury. Prim pulled a dagger free from her armor and threw it, striking the creature's chest and sending it tumbling over the back of the building. It would recover. Speed was the key.

"To your right!" she shouted, passing Mercer.

She left him to slay the other troll as she rounded the stable's back and skidded through the snow. The rear of the building hadn't been shoveled well, and snow tugged at her calves as she braced herself to strike. The troll, however, was gone, a trail of red leading into the pines.

"Shit," she breathed, unable to spot the beast.

A screech ripped through the forest, echoed by another. More were coming.

"Mercer!" she called, returning to the front of the stable. He kicked the corpse at his feet, sending it rolling to the edge of the shoveled path. Prim studied the numerous gashes covering the beast's body, and then the open cavity of the horse. Disgusting creatures, and Mercer agreed judging by his scowl and the wad of spit he left on his latest kill.

"Gods damn it!" Kjeld bellowed, running into this midst. His father was already inside the stable, assessing the damage and cursing the trolls for killing their only horse. Goats cowered in a corner, shaking and pressing into the wall as their owners tried to calm them.

"You need to get back inside," Prim stated, standing in the doorway. "More are coming."

"Let them!" the father spat, hefting an ax onto his shoulder.

But the two men had no armor, and their heavy, bulky weapons were ill-suited to the fast if graceless movements of trolls. Prim looked to Mercer for support, but the man was facing the wilderness, eyes squinting.

"They're coming," he intoned.

Prim braced herself as a troll plowed around the building, sending an eruption of snow ahead of it. There were others. She wasn't sure how many as she sliced at the one charging her, neatly cutting and warding off its arms before they could strike. Damned troll hide was thick as leather armor, and she swung hard to inflict mortal damage. There was no time to check on Mercer or the others, although she heard screaming from inside the Braidwood Inn and Kjeld shouting for his son to follow him. The two took off running as she turned and drove her blade deep into the back of the troll fighting Mercer.

She yanked the sword free and turned to the inn, where a tumult of screaming and shouting continued. Divines, but had trolls gotten inside? She began running for the building.

"Prim!"

She smoothly spun on her feet to face the stable, eyes widening at the very large, very angry troll that was leaping from the building's roof. Its mouth was open in a roar as it launched into the air, sailing directly for her. She threw herself sideways into snow that swallowed her, the whiteness burying and blinding her. She kicked wildly at the unseen creature so near her, and scrambling to her feet, breached the snow just long enough to see and duck beneath a clawed limb.

Blood sprayed across her face, but it wasn't hers. No, Mercer was cutting into the troll, alternate weapons slashing across the creature's chest. Hair flew across his face as he swung his weight into a final blow that felled the beast. The body collapsed in the snow beside her, and so near, its stench was overpowering.

"The inn," she blurted.

She jumped to her feet, passing Mercer at a sprint and bursting through the inn's open doorway. The screams had died, and a very dead troll was slumped over the fire pit, its charred flesh and fur poisoning the air. Her face contorted in disgust as she swallowed a gag and sheathed her sword. Deep ax wounds marked the corpse, the creature clearly dead, and all present looked unharmed. Several men grabbed limbs and dragged the troll outside, tossing it down the hill on which the inn sat while chickens continued to scurry about the common room.

"Was anyone hurt?" Prim worried.

"I think we're fine," Iddra quivered. The woman already had a bucket of water, and began scrubbing at the mess the troll had left, hands working feverishly until her husband rubbed a hand across her shoulder. The people were shaken, but all seemed well enough.

"Thank you," Iddra's husband spoke. "For your help."

"We need to remove the bodies before wolves come," someone stated, the sentiment echoed nervously by all present. The discussion continued as Prim fought back the stench of troll, her wolf utterly revolted. Some creatures were simply unfit for eating, even for werewolves.

Mercer entered the inn behind her, his weapons spotlessly clean.

"The only good troll is a dead one," he lowly commented. He looked unfazed, but she'd expected nothing less. He rolled his left shoulder, frowning, and met her eyes. Through the doorway behind him, daylight was creeping across the horizon. "We're eating and leaving," he stated. "Make sure you're ready to go."

"But sir," Iddra protested. "You and your friend deserve something more for your help. We could spare a goat and have a proper meal. Isn't that right?"

She looked to her husband, who hesitated, but then nodded.

"We can spare an animal for the occasion," he decided.

Mercer did not look inclined to wait, his frown deepening.

"Thank you," Prim buffered. "But I'm afraid that we should be on our way. Bread and cheese is fine, and if you could pack some for the road."

Iddra assured her that provisions would be readied, but she was barely listening. Mercer was already in their room and buckling his bag. He seemed more at ease, as though the fight had afforded a much needed outlet, and perhaps it had. He brushed hair from his face, and she caught a smear of blood at the edge of his forehead. She reached out without thinking, wiping it away. There was a light scrape near his scalp, easily missed but for the drop of blood it had drawn.

"You're bleeding," she stated.

He touched his forehead, checking the splash of red it left on his finger.

"Less than nothing," he dismissed.

"Just a moment," she frowned. "Let me see."

She again reached a hand toward his head, and he turned, denying her the opportunity. He dropped his bag on the floor with an air of impatience, leaving her frown to morph into a full glower. Even minor wounds were meant to be attended to lest larger problems arise.

"It will only take a moment," she informed him.

This time he did not pull away as she brushed his hair aside. His eyes even closed as she followed the inflicted scratch, the red line shallow enough that it would quickly heal. His hair was softer than she would have expected, and with his eyes closed, he couldn't see how her gaze lingered on his face. I'm a thief, she thought. Stolen gold. Stolen glances. Second nature now.

"I saw staunch weed in the storeroom," she said, stepping back. "I'm sure Iddra wouldn't mind."

His arm shot out, pressing against the wall and blocking her path. Surprised by his resistance, she halted, staring at him in question.

"We have been trapped in this cursed inn for more than two days," he stated. "We are eating and leaving, and that's the end of it." He retracted his hand and slung his pack over one shoulder. She did not miss that blankets were missing from the beds, and that his pack looked quite a bit larger. Was he preparing for nights outside in the northern land? She'd never been there before, but had heard stories. Vilkas called it a desert of ice.

"I'm surprised you didn't insist on the goat," Mercer muttered under his breath.

"They were just trying to show their gratitude," Prim countered.

"They have nothing to offer, and if they did, I could simply take it."

"Of course a good meal isn't reward enough for you." She stood in the doorway, angled so that he could pass if he wished, but not without inconvenience. He stalled beside her, and she tilted her head in thought. "What exactly would a master thief consider a worthy reward?"

She meant the comment partly in earnest and partly in jest. It was supposed to be a taunt, yet her tone failed in its delivery. She internally floundered as his gaze sharpened, heat rising along the collar of her tunic. Such a searing stare, and that wasn't anger she sensed. She had no idea what to expect as he drew too close for comfort, passing so close to her that she drew back against the doorframe.

"Ask me again when you really want to know," he drawled, voice dangerously level.

Prim counted as he walked away, and then joined him at table near the front door, Iddra bringing them the last warm meal that they were likely to have for days. There was bread and cheese, and hot porridge too, and Prim shoveled the mush into her mouth. Eating slowly wasn't appealing when troll still lingered in the air to sour her appetite, and how one creature could smell so foul was beyond her. Mercer actually paused to survey her haste, so quickly did she inhale her food. She finished before him, and handled packing enough food for several days. They would likely need to hunt.

By the time their supplies were packed, Mercer was ready to leave. She shouldered her pack and said farewell to each of the locals, saving an embrace for Iddra. She was almost sorry to step outside, not because of the cold or the thick snow, but because she already felt the shift in the wind. Mercer had engaged in more idle conversation in the last two days than she'd ever heard, speaking of things beyond the guild and even sharing a bit about himself. Now they were back on the road, returning his focus to Karliah, and the suspended world of the inn already gone. Such a brief time, yet she clasped it tightly, relieved that no one had accompanied them since another's presence might have sealed his lips into discontented silence.

They would be alone on this journey for days yet, but the door already seemed to have closed. Of course it had, but that was the way of things, and in life, she would collect her pearls, however imperfect. She still squirmed thinking about Nocturnal's hand hanging over him, much like Hircine waited for her.

"Safe journey!" Iddra waved. The woman stood in the doorway while Prim descended the front steps. "Where are you heading?"

"North," she answered.

"Not up above Windhelm, I hope. The path is impossible in winter. There are snowdrifts and avalanches. You'll never make it through the hills until after the spring thaw!"

"We'll be fine."

"It's too dangerous!"

Prim merely smiled and waved over her shoulder as she marched through the snow. The woman clearly didn't understand Mercer's determination, although she did wonder if the guildmaster had heard the shouted advice. Even the most capable travelers knew when not to pit themselves against nature. What was one person shaking their fist at the heavens worth anyway? Nothing, she thought, but she'd be damned for belittling such defiance.

They made slow progress northward, over the river below Windhelm, and bypassing the city's stone walls. The battlements dominated the landscape, imposing a sense of control on the wilderness, although the impression was short-lived. Civilization faded from view as Mercer led the way upward and onto tundra, rolling hills looking deceptively smooth in the snow. She wasn't entirely sure that they were hills at all, but perhaps the snowdrifts Iddra had mentioned, the wind building white fortresses against rocky outcroppings. She remembered stories from the halls of Jorrvaskr, stories about the unwary mistaking snow for solid ground and tumbling to their injury or death.

"There are crevices in the tundra. Worn out of the rock. They disappear in winter."

"Step lightly," Mercer warned.

Her gaze rose to the mountains west of them while she bundled hands inside her cloak. It would soon be dusk, and they'd made more distance than she'd thought possible. Her legs felt the strain of hard travel, and divines, but turning wolf would have been very comforting and warm.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, sinking into the snow up to her thighs when feet found a hole. She scowled and climbed free, knowing it would be a damp and miserable night. Cursed man and his determination! A vibration in the ground made her pause as they passed against a snowdrift, its crest towering above them and frozen solid. She inhaled and looked around for mammoths, yet there were none. Perhaps on the other side of the drift.

"Mammoths," she stated, informing Mercer.

He didn't respond, but he did pause when the vibrations of heavy footsteps resonated up through their boots. A crackling sound splintered through the snowdrift's frozen wall, making Prim's hair stand on end. The vibrations continued, and this time, she saw visible cracks in the wall.

"Holy shit," she gasped.

"Move!" Mercer ordered, running.

She ran after him, the snow wall collapsing behind them, caving like a wave and threatening to bury or sweep them away. She panted, legs burning to keep pace with Mercer, whose gray cloak whipped behind him. The fabric brushed her face as a blanket of white engulfed her, making her plant herself firmly in place with a prayer for mercy as visibility was lost. For a moment, she clenched her eyes shut, only slowly opening them to see that the wall of snow was completely gone. The drift had not claimed her, and more miraculous yet, she stood alone in a flattened patch of snow, buried only to her ankles.

"Mercer?" She turned in a circle, looking for the guildmaster, but he was nowhere in sight. "Mercer!" Her voice echoed over the plane, imprudently loud, but she didn't care. Her lungs tightened as she plowed through the snow, certain that he must have been swept in the same direction as the drift. She could not see him—could not smell him.

"Please, please," she frantically whispered, throat constricting

Her boots found the edge of the land, snow still tilting and tumbling over the edge of a gorge as the wind bullied it. The drop below wasn't far, but jagged rocks protruded from the bottom, their size impossible to gauge in the snow. She knelt and peered over the ledge, body burning with a desperation she hadn't felt in so long that she'd forgotten just how much it hurt. Her limbs were heavy, near immobilized as a ragged breath escaped her lips. She couldn't find him.

This can't be happening. He can't be dead, not Mercer.

Nonsense ran through her head at a furious rate as she stood and scoured the land time and time again. A spot of gray near the ledge sent her heart pounding. She fell to the ground beside it, hands scooping snow aside and tugging at the cloak. She shouldn't have felt such anguish, yet her hands trembled in fear that it would be too late. When had she last felt such dread?

"Mercer," she pleaded. "By the nine, please..."

"What are you doing?" a sharp voice demanded.

Her hands still as she pulled the cloak free. It was attached to nothing, and there, pulling himself over the nearby ledge, was Mercer Frey. For a moment, she didn't process what she was seeing, her chest still heaving and the cloak grasped until her knuckles ached. He straightened, looking more annoyed than anything as he dusted snow from his armor.

"Damn snow," he cursed, shaking his head clear of it. He scowled as he marched closer, bending down and tearing his cloak from her hands. He whipped it clean in the wind, and then drew it around his body, quickly noticing that she remained immobile. "Are you stuck?" he snapped.

"No," she immediately answered, rushing to her feet. Her throat remained tight, but her breathing had evened out, a dampness at the corner of her eye catching her off guard.

"We need to find somewhere to..." Mercer paused, frowning as she turned away. "Are you crying?" He sounded outraged, or perhaps completely and utterly unprepared. It was hard to tell when his expression was all muddled like that.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "The wind blew snow in my eyes."

She composed herself, feeling a fool, before angling to face him. His expression betrayed nothing, and whether or not he believed her, she couldn't tell. She didn't quite believe her own response, and internally raged against herself. Why? Why did it need to be like this? It had been so long since she'd felt such terror at the notion of losing someone. She'd seen so much death since she'd left Daggerfall—had lain silent beneath a wagon, hidden from bandits as a man's blood dripped onto her face, dieing right in front of her.

She wanted to get away from Mercer, and yet, wanted to remain right where she was beside him as they stood on the now leveled ground. He exhaled, breath fogging as he stared into the sky.

"We have another day ahead of us," he commented. "Over that bluff."

She stared into the distance, barely able to distinguished the landmark he'd identified. It looked small from here, but she knew better. They would either need to find a pass or climb, and who knew how long that would take. More like two days, not one. Divines, but it would be nasty to scale rocks and avoid death in this weather.

"This is a bad idea," she decided.

Mercer said nothing, staring silently at the bluff, and then grimaced.

"Shadows take it!" he spat, lips pulled back in a snarl. "Karliah has lived long enough." His torn traveling pack was by his feet, and he seized it with unnecessary force, slinging it over his shoulder and turning back the way they'd come.

"Mercer?"

"Are you coming or not?" he growled. "If we can't make it over the rocks, neither can news. She has no idea we're coming. The bitch would laugh to find us frozen on some cliff."

Prim said nothing, but was relieved by his decision. She hurried after him, back toward Windhelm, but the day was drawing to a close, and they would need to set camp. A small area wedged between an outcropping and boulders would make do, shielding them from the wind if nothing else. Oh, but she wanted to transform as they nestled into the space, the wooden staves bundled within her pack quickly turning to flame with the help of a little magicka. The fuel would burn to nothing soon, but for a while at least, they warmed and dried themselves. Her fingers pried a cork free from a bottle of wine, courtesy of Iddra.

"Let's hope this helps us sleep," she commented, taking a swig and passing it to Mercer. There was bread too, and jerky, the two of them sitting close together as they chewed, each left to their own thoughts. The fire was already dwindling, making her sigh as she helped herself to Mercer's bag. He had pilfered quite a few blankets, and there were the sleeping mats they'd brought from Riften as well. He wordlessly stared into the last flames as she arranged the mats side-by-side, pressed together as she eased her tired body onto one. The sky above was dark and thick with clouds. If Akatosh had any mercy, it wouldn't snow.

"I have never been so cold in my life," she murmured.

"You're in the wrong province if you can't handle this."

He laid down beside her, and she scooted closer for the body heat, keeping little space between them as she rolled to face away from him. She couldn't lay facing him after what had happened but a short while ago, the choking of her emotions fresh in her mind. She hadn't known him long enough to care so deeply, and after seeing so many people pass through her life, thought it unwise. And why him of all people? He had never gone out of his way for her or shown particular kindness—had never cast any favor her way except when it came to difficult jobs—and yet, just thinking about him falling over that ledge had made her near hysterical.

He moved closer, and she listened, tensing as a hand touched her hair. He wrapped an arm around her waist, the other sliding beneath her neck in an embrace. She offered no resistance, her mind rushing to catch up with events as he drew her against his chest, their bodies molding together.

"It's fucking cold," he grumbled. "This is no time to be picky. Stay still."

His breath tickled her ear, her stiffened body unwinding only as the benefit of warmth seeped into her. Her share of the blankets became theirs, the combined layers surprisingly insulating as his chest rose and fell against her back. The traveling packs were stacked by their heads, preventing snow from drifting over them, and the wind was blocked by stone to spare them the worst of the tundra. She closed her eyes and wrapped one hand into his palm, feeling the callouses on his flesh. He responded by burying his face against her hair and neck, momentarily lifted one arm to pull a blanket over their heads. Their little mountain of cloth felt like a world unto itself.

Prim sighed and inhaled his scent. She cared about this man more than she wanted to admit, but exhaustion soon put her to sleep, sparing her thought for the rest of the night.

Morning brought sunshine, and sunshine brought warmth. Prim felt the sun through the blankets, weak but better than nothing as she remained curled on her mat. Mercer was wrapped around her, unmoving as she held herself perfectly still. His breath was deep and mellow, hinting that he still slept, and she would not wake him, not when doing so would mean peeling back the layers of their cocoon and exposing them to the cold. So she laid there, focusing on the feel of his fingers twitching against her own in sleep. He was dreaming, and she wondered what a master thief dreamed of.

Gold and jewels, she mused. Or maybe he dreamed of Karliah's head and pissing on shrines to Nocturnal, fueled by a grudge for which she only had an inkling of understanding. His legs gently moved, flush against her own as he tightened his grip, then loosened it. He might have been any man in sleep, as guileless and peaceful as anyone, and damn, but it felt almost wrong to catch him in such a tender moment. In Riftweald, it had been different. He'd been commanding and grim even in sickness, not like this. Her heart beat a little faster as her cheeks flushed, aware of just how good he felt against her body.

She moved but a little, accidentally breaking the spell. He stirred, remaining near still, but the arm around her waist reflexively pulled tighter against her. She was reluctant to move, yet knew she should throw his arm off her. He was not a kind man.

"Ask me again when you really want to know."

Had that been an invitation to press more physical behavior? His suggestive tone rang through her head, unending and adding to her quickly warming body as he shifted against her.

"I'm cold just thinking about getting up," she exhaled.

"Stop complaining."

She yawned and gently pulled away from him, rolling onto her back. He remained on his side, facing her, so close their noses might touch. He was stern and unmovable as always, although his messy hair made him look less dignified than usual. She closed her eyes, unable to bear his silent gaze, and cursed when the blankets were suddenly lifted from her body. Mercer was up and packing, ready to go in an instant and not waiting for her. She shook her head at his brisk manner, and kept pace with him, back across the land and down to Windhelm. They would not be stopping in the city, nor anywhere it seemed, but the distance was too far for a day. Kynesgrove would be close by nightfall, so perhaps they might stop there, but she doubted it. Mercer was focused.

He's probably angry about wasting his time, she mused.

The journey north had not given him Karliah, just snow and more snow. Spring was weeks away, and the north would need time to thaw once the cold lifted. Winterhold would never experience the mild, green springs of Riften, but travel would be safer. Thank Akatosh that the guildmaster had relented when logic flew in the face of his fervor. She didn't think the trip a waste for her part, but wasn't entirely sure it had done any good either. Her thoughts on the matter were best kept private.

They stopped only when nightfall fully conquered the sky. Kynesgrove was indeed close, but she had assumed correctly in thinking that Mercer would shun it. He angled from the road, into a tangle of pines that little snow had infiltrated. The ground was littered with old, wet pine needles, and plenty of twigs and branches for firewood. She brushed thin snow away and made a clear space for their camp near the edge of the trees, where snow would not so easily fall and douse a fire. Kindling quickly caught, sending smoke upward through the branches.

Mercer had disappeared, but to where, she knew not. She remained by the fire, warming herself while her stomach grumbled. Their provisions were nearly gone, the remainder saved for tomorrow, their last day on the road. An empty stomach made for drab company though, and she was pleased when he stepped from the shadows with a dead rabbit, making quick work of the body before skewering and leaning it over the fire.

They sat in silence as impenetrable as the night. His mood warned her against breaking it, and she wasn't particularly tempted to given her fatigue. The soles of her feet ached from two long days, and the foreboding cloud above Mercer had lingered since morning. He must have noticed her staring at his profile, much like he noticed everything, for his eyes shifted toward her. She immediately redirected her attention to the fire, watching orange and yellow dance and fight one another for dominance.

If you don't say it now, you never will.

She waged an internal debate before remembering that tomorrow afternoon, they would reach Riften. It would be back to a desk standing between them, curt exchanges focused on business and familiar patterns. They would not speak for days at a time, not unless there was work. Perhaps she had been nothing to him but a means to fill the boredom at Braidwood, and perhaps the break in pattern was only due to circumstances, but it wasn't without meaning, not to her.

"I thought you'd fallen," she stated. "Back there above the gorge. I thought you were gone."

He said nothing, and she focused on the crackle of flames to fill the void.

"Do you think I would die so easily?" he finally spoke, voice gruff but muted.

"No. I just..."

"I was dancing with death before you were even born." He took a finger and touched the scar near the base of his neck, tracing it. "Daggerfall," he stated. "From breaking into a mage's house. At the same age, you were learning how to curtsy."

"And how to hide," she darkly added. "And to hold your tongue; agree with everything you hated or risk punishment. As soon as I left all of that behind, I started cussing like a sailor. A Khajit trader taught me to use daggers. A mercenary taught me to kill and ask questions later." Her smile was bittersweet. "I wouldn't go back, you know. Even if I could, I wouldn't."

But none of that addressed what she'd meant to convey. Perhaps he understood and didn't wish for anymore sentimental words. Sentiments were probably of little use to him, just like a warm greeting or farewell. To Oblivion with that though. Her mouth opened of its own accord, determined to have its say, even when her mind disagreed.

"I couldn't find you, so I didn't know what to think. If you'd fallen..." His sharp gaze was disconcerting, even threatening, as if going any further would be very unwise on her part. She offered him a tight smile, daring him to cut her off. "I'd miss you."

There. She'd said it. Let the grumpy thief take it however he wanted. His mouth was flat, forehead furrowed in thought.

"Don't turn sentimental on me," he ordered, but not as harshly as she'd expected. "There's no place for that kind of nonsense in the guild."

"Another of my failings as a thief no doubt," she softly teased.

Silence again descended, but it was no longer uncomfortable. He laid the cooked rabbit across a rock, and they ate, wordlessly dividing it. Then they were on their separate mats, sleep tauntingly close as she breathed pine and earth. She could recall her first night sleeping beneath the stars, the wilderness terrifying to a young woman on her own for the first time. The darkness was not without threats, even now, when she moved through them so easily. The shadows might be watching, yet she had seen no signs of her strange visitor since the death of the assassins. It had only briefly shown interest in her and the statue that Brynjolf had reportedly handed off to a pawnshop.

Maybe people can't reach Karliah right now, but what about shadows?

The thought chilled her, and surely the same had occurred to Mercer. Brynjolf had told her that the shadow was imaginary, but Mercer had never said a word against her claims, and it would be just like him to call her silly and delusional if he indeed thought as much. She was no longer sleepy as she sat up, occupying herself with tossing more sticks into the fire, and tucking pine cones into the coals. The flames sparked with renewed life.

"Are you going to be restless all night?" Mercer asked.

"I don't know. Do you think Karliah will know that we're coming by spring?" She began tossing pine cones into the flames, just so her hands had something to do. "I know everyone thinks that I was seeing things, but the shadow was real. It seemed interested in...oh divines," she bemoaned, chilled by a sudden realization. "It had something to do with Nocturnal, didn't it? She said that she could make me a shadow."

"One night," Mercer mumbled. "One night of blessed peace."

"You'll have plenty of quiet when we get back to Riften," she replied. "You can entomb yourself in Riftweald like usual for all anyone cares." He jerked into a sitting position, half-covered in blankets as he scowled. "Mercer, I need to know. I know she's connected to the shadows and the guild. You. Karliah. And she's come to me three times now. She kept offering me things—said that I could be a shadow or have her key..."

"What?" he snapped, cutting her off.

"Her key," she repeated, frowning. "I was in this room with locked doors, and there was a key in the middle. It didn't look like any key I've ever seen, and she...she was so damn cryptic. I guess that's no surprise since she's a daedra." She rolled a pine cone in her hands, the rough edges prickling over her skin. "There was a river too, and for a moment, I thought about drinking from it."

"Did you accept any of her offers?" His voice hinted at danger, although whether from him or Nocturnal, she couldn't tell, not when he looked so damned intense. This was the same face he'd worn when staring into the distance at the bluff between them and Karliah.

"No," she answered. "Never."

"It's easy to say never," he intoned.

"Don't," she blurted, eyes hardening. "She said almost the exact same thing, and laughed at me. I've turned her down three times, haven't I? Mercer, do I need to be worried about Nocturnal? How deeply involved in this whole thing is she? Brynjolf told me that Karliah...he used to help her collect nightshade flowers to put around a shrine on the first full moon of a new year."

"It's a day revered by thieves."

"Please, Mercer. Do I need to worry about her?" she reiterated. "Nocturnal mentioned betrayal. She must have been talking about Karliah."

A humorless smile touched his lips. No, not a smile. That could not be termed a smile, but she didn't know how else to label it.

"And she said nothing else?" he pressed. She shook her head, wary of his predatory demeanor. That his tense energy was directed at her raised her defenses. "Nocturnal has nothing to do with the guild, not anymore," he stated. "And she doesn't give a damn if you reject her offers. There are always other souls. It's not Nocturnal you need to worry about, not unless you make a deal with her. Did you even think to ask about what she might offer? No?" He made a derisive noise in he back of this throat. "Then don't talk like you'll be able to just walk away each and every time. For all you know, a deal might be worth your while, depending on what you want."

She reached for another pine cone, and he seized her wrist, stopping her.

"Enough," he spoke. "Go to sleep."

She pulled, and he let her hand slide through his, back to her lap. He was right. She was keeping them both awake, and she quickly laid back down. Only when she was settled did he follow suit, muttering something that she did not catch. She closed her eyes against him and the forest, knowing that perhaps the shadows watched, and if they did, they could kiss her ass.

Riften was as gray and bustling as always, the usual street urchins underfoot, smoke pouring from chimneys, and market-goers bargaining. Maul gave Mercer and Prim a curt nod in greeting, and from the opposite direction, Mjoll grinned and waved. Prim didn't care what Mercer might think as she waved back, and despite a thoughtful step, Mjoll came no closer, the guildmaster effectively keeping the other woman at bay. What Mjoll would say about that later, Prim could only imagine. Perhaps she should tell the woman that she'd gone on a trip with Mercer as hired help. She didn't have long to dwell on the matter as Nura strolled closer, her priestess robes draped gracefully toward the ground.

"Good to see you, Prim," the woman smiled, eyes briefly alighting to Mercer. "And my silent neighbor."

"Greetings, Nura," Prim beamed.

"Stop by sometime for dinner," the woman insisted. "I found something that might be of interest to you. I'd invite him," she added as Mercer walked away, the man leaving them without a word. "But I only made that mistake once, when he first bought Riftweald. Take care of yourself, dear. Talos guide you."

"I'll come by," Prim promised.

She hurried to catch up with Mercer, the man already opening the front door to Riftweald. He would be in the cistern come nightfall, she was sure, if for nothing more than to make sure that the place hadn't crumbled in his absence, but that was no good. She only had moments right now before he disappeared inside his home, and what did she intend to say anyway?

"Mercer!"

He paused, looking to her as she neared. A familiar glimpse of red and merchant's garb briefly drew her attention away, to where another thief stood, frozen as his gaze found her, and she broke into a smile, but wait. She needed to speak with Mercer, although she had nothing to say. The man stood there, eyebrows arched as he too caught sight of Brynjolf.

"When spring comes," he leveled. "No excuses."

"I'll be ready," she returned, equally firm.

Their gazes remained locked a moment more before the door to Riftweald closed.

"Prim!"

Brynjolf swept her into a hug, voice brimming with relief. She returned the motion, pleased to be back in the city. She would dine with everyone in the Ragged Flagon tonight, and tell them about being snowed in and attacked by trolls. Everything else...well, that could remain private, even though Brynjolf would undoubtedly learn some of it when they found themselves without eavesdroppers. He released her and stepped back, looking to Riftweald.

"Did you find her?" he questioned.

"No, but Mercer knows where she is now. We won't be able to reach her until the north warms a little. You won't believe what happened."

"You can tell me the story back in the cistern. Ready, lass?"

"Always," she chuckled, joining him as they strolled toward the canal. She looked over her shoulder but once, back toward Riftweald, so large, imposing, and empty. Mercer hadn't fallen off a gorge, but she missed him already, and in the back of her mind, a shadow watched.

Author's note: That concludes this section of the story. The next and final section will be much longer, and I'm already working on it. Tension between Prim and Mercer will finally reach boiling point, as I'm sure everyone is anticipating. In the meantime, I hope that this chapter of the story was satisfying. As usual, my thanks to everyone who has been reading along.