Chapter 1“Your eyes…they’re hollow, girl...”
A tankard teeming with lukewarm mead stared back at the young woman who had half-heartedly poured it. Strange it was, how it both enticed her and repulsed her. The murmuring in the smoky old Flagon soothed her ears and mind, but the lull was broken by the voice behind her - the leering voice that always preceded tensed limbs. She shifted in the chair, hoping to steady her turning stomach. It was inevitable. Conversation was inevitable. And while the others had given her the solitude that she so clearly desired upon her return, she could not hope to pass his notice – the one ever skeptical, ever suspicious.
Turning her head to the side, black and gold entered her field of vision. Those arms would doubtlessly be crossed, an incredulous scowl would twist that mouth.
“Oh?” She quickly rose from the small table to face the speaker, her sword and its scabbard thumping against the wood as she moved. Unfortunately, the male Breton in front of her was, as always, bitingly perceptive.
“It better be skeever blood all over that pretty blade. If you’ve gotten sloppy--” By now, she was used to the way Mercer Frey growled in his expressions of displeasure and genuine curiosity alike, and often it did not matter which it truly was. Still, his latent rage always slightly unnerved her. Ever since her introduction to the Guild Master, she had wondered what it was that spurred such anger, what it was that anchored such contempt.
“I haven’t. It’s nothing.” A quaking hand absently flew to the hilt, desperate to hide the dark streaks and specks on the metal.
“Took you an excessively long time to lift a few trinkets from the Gray-Mane house. Given how often Brynjolf prattles on about your abilities, I didn’t figure you as one to have problems with such an elementary heist.” Arms remained crossed as he took a single step closer, encroaching. Stifling an already breathless Penelope.
“Ran into some trouble just west of here. Damn bandits, they don’t give up. Bastards even killed my horse. You know how it can be sometimes.”
“Yes…I know how it can be.” Those bright emerald eyes, ever aglow with the same ill temper that laced every word, slowly narrowed. And after holding fast to the stained sword under Penelope’s hand, they came to meet hers. “
Indeed.”
The silence and unbroken stare were difficult to bear, especially when the Breton woman was still not altogether steady on her feet since scrambling back through the labyrinthine Ratway Vaults. Strands of long black hair, normally loosely but neatly tied, had since fallen into her face and tickled her nose. She used the opportunity to avert her gaze and brush the stray locks to the side. But Mercer was not finished. Now arrived that sneer, that wicked curl of the lip.
“Indulge me. Just
how far west were these ‘bandits’?”
“Pretty far.” She managed an awkward smile in return just before taking an impulsive gulp of warm mead. The taste was almost enough to force it back out of her mouth, but it seemed the best way of checking the increasingly disquieting talk.
Little in this world is worse than mead left too long unattended. Her cheeks flushed as they remained swollen with the drink. She couldn’t bring herself to swallow it – yet.
“I’m no fool, girl. You tangled with more than just common raider scum out there. Eyes may beguile, but they don’t lie.” Mercer leaned in even closer, words snarling through clenched teeth. “And I hope for your sake it wasn’t any of my interests. Or a dead horse will absolutely be the
least of your concerns-“
“Ah, Mercer! Just who I been lookin’ for. Got some juicy details about a new client. Whole bloody family’s eager to part with some coin.” Delvin edged his way in between the two, even daring to grab Mercer’s shoulder and turn him. With the latter’s back to her now, Penelope grudgingly swallowed the tepid mead and mouthed a quick “thank you” to her savior. She could hear Delvin continue as Mercer sighed heavily. All of it faded as she slipped past the bar and through the door to the Cistern. The large room appeared thankfully empty, and she took a seat on the steps leading down into the water. Drawing deep breaths, she could feel her heartbeat begin to temper itself.
He won’t be satisfied. He’ll be back again. And who knows if old Delvin will be around next time.Brown eyes squeezed shut and after a few moments, reopened wide. If only it still worked to dispel demons like it used to all of those years ago – back when remnants of nightmares could be vanquished with the power of a protracted blink. Her mother would embrace her, urging her to banish those frightening images in such a manner. And to her consistent amazement, it was an unfailing technique for the little girl. Maybe, just maybe…there was still some power left in it. She had to try.
“To Oblivion with you!” Her labored voice resounded through the Cistern, followed by a distant flapping of wings. But it was the sound of footsteps behind her that swept a dread pallor across her normally warm complexion.
“So this is where you ran off to then, ‘ey? Wasn’t sure if you was gonna be sick where you stood…woulda made things that much more interestin’.”
Upon hearing the first words over her shoulder, a vast grin rapidly grew. She gave a nervy giggle as she stood to face her rescuer. “I’ve gotta thank you, Delvin. You’ve certainly got a knack for timing. Wasn’t sure I’d get out of there alive.”
“Don’t mention it. Always glad to help out when I can. Been in tight spots like that with ol’ Mercer before. The lot of us needed savin’ at some point.” Delvin chuckled, placing a hand on Penelope’s shoulder. Though taking some measure of comfort in it, she still could not subdue the shakiness. And Delvin could sense it. “What was he on about anyway?”
“He’s…sore at me for taking too long on a job. But that’s Mercer for you. Ornery as ever.” A knowing smirk could not quite mask her anxiety. And while Delvin was curious, and concerned, he left it there.
“Ha, right enough you are, Pennie. You should go top-side, get some air. And rest. You look like you need both. Whatever’s on your mind, you know we all got your back. We’s family now.” With a final single pat on the back, Delvin made his way back to the Flagon. And Penelope was left to muse over the rippling waters in the Cistern.
…………..
Light rain arrived in Riften, well ahead of the sluggish thunder bellowing far from her cozy dock. Clouds flickered brilliant white to the west, then a pale green slightly to the north. After walking the limits of the weather-beaten city - taking care to avoid the square - Penelope had stolen away to Honeyside. Although the sturdy home was not much to look at, quite like Riften herself, it always delivered a rare restfulness and much-needed calm - a modest refuge. She had fallen in love with the dockside porch and spent many early mornings and evenings sipping tea or wine and watching the daylight grow or languish. The soft sounds of waves lapping the boats and structures were her newest lullaby. Nothing was ever taken for granted.
The young woman shifted her careful gaze from the sword laying across her lap to the sky, captivated by the creeping storm. Rolling cracks seemed to be growing louder as the minutes passed. The full fury would bluster forth soon enough, and then die on the shifting winds. For her, there was always something about the way the thunder boomed and then faded that seemed to mimic the din of battle - and the stark quiet immediately afterward.
Stubborn sanguine flecks still traced the edge all the way to the point. It seemed hours to her, all of the cleaning she had done – all of the work undertaken to purify the weapon. She never could forget what her soldier father had once said about the dogged power of curses upon the lips of the dying. And while she had heard no curses uttered in those frenzied final moments, maybe, she mused,
this is what they managed.
“Damn it all…” She gritted. The wind took a playful swing and bedecked her face with cool droplets. She could not help but smile at the sensation. The hypnotic plip-plops of water upon water hastened their rhythm and the once placid breeze began to grow restless. She shivered. Placing the blade back into its scabbard home, she took another glance at the boisterous water below, water that now appeared wine-dark in the storm.
“Suppose I missed my window of opportunity for a peaceful late-afternoon nap.” A slight tremble made her all the more certain. “Bah, who am I fooling? Best resign myself to the fact that Keerava will be swimming in my coin tonight. I’m sure that’ll make her happy.”
Upon reentering her home, the scent of lavender and juniper candles was a brief but appreciated lifting of her spirits. The small dining table was adorned with two place settings – one for her, and one for the house guest that never seemed to materialize. It was a good home; and even for all of the absurdity she believed such a thought to entail, she wondered sometimes if she would ever have someone to sit at that second place setting - as considerably more than a mere house guest.
Best not to dwell on it, eh? You’ve got far more important matters to see to the end.Grabbing a cloak from her wardrobe, Penelope wrapped it around her still-shivering frame and slowly headed toward the middle of town. She knew two Argonians who would be somewhat less than overjoyed to see her face again; but she also knew as well as any other that tidy sums of coin had a way of moving mountains.
…………..
The square was growing emptier with each chilly gust of rain. People began to seek shelter as the storm teased the edges of town. Madesi and Grelka had all but locked up their stock for the day and hurried along to the Bunkhouse. Brand-Shei’s stall stood vacant as it had for weeks, its ill-starred owner brooding in Riften’s jail. Penelope hung her head whenever she glimpsed his old stand, hoping that the next time she looked upon it its vendor would be restored. But her dark eyes widened when she noticed a certain Falmer blood elixir merchant gathering his samples and locking them away in a large chest. His red hair had been whipped around in the wind, and the rain had haphazardly pressed strands to his face. After his wares were secured, he turned and caught the Breton’s gaze. He returned the warm smile she flashed him, and nodded in quick agreement as she motioned toward the tavern with a slight head tilt and playful grin.
The two entered the well-lit alehouse, eliciting patrons’ gasps and sighs alike. Both of them took it in stride as they approached the bar counter. Keerava, as predicted, shot them each a grimace and hemmed and hawed about the dwindling supply of Black-Briar mead. But the Argonian woman swallowed that pride when Penelope produced a palm heavy with gleaming gold coins.
“It’s on me tonight.” She winked at her companion. Brynjolf just broadened his smirk.
“Alright lass, I’ll let you. But just this once.” Having found a table at the side of the tavern, they toasted another long week of jobs well done and the spoils at the end of it. With the solid clink of tankards, they drew long swigs of ice-cold ale. It was probably the most flavorful ale Penelope had ever tasted – though she suspected it had everything to do with the present company, rather than the recipe.
Since arriving in Skyrim, so much, particularly her time with the Guild, felt like a strange waltz, one in which no partner knew the outcome but simply kept to the rhythm. And despite all the oddities and occasional insecurities, it was an alluring and exciting dance. It was one that she never truly wanted to end – and therein was the dilemma. The swaying and stepping and whirling would eventually come to a finale. Where reality would continue thenceforth was unknown.
Something in those brilliant green eyes laughing across from her told her that it was moments like these that were worth all. Pragmatism wasn’t worth a damn. Worrying was a profitless venture. Whatever divines may or may not have existed were the only ones who could undo and right the past. The present and future were what called now. Nonetheless, she somehow felt a step closer to answers with each passing day. Perhaps they would not be obvious, but nothing in life was ever simple.
Here’s to detours, not dead ends.
» Mon Sep 24, 2012 3:05 pm 
