XII - Goldenglow

It seemed Mercer had made it clear to the other thieves that they were not to welcome her unless she returned from Goldenglow with the loot, so Merill wasted no time in climbing out the back entrance of the Cistern and ducking through Riften’s alleys, following Nalimir’s hooded figure to the front gate. Mercer had said forcefully that Merill was to receive no help heisting Goldenglow, but grudgingly agreed to let Nalimir at least point the way to the estate from the shore. It was just before dusk now, the air cooling and stars beginning to peer out from behind the clouds, and Merill kept her new hood low over her face as they made their way beneath the dappled shade of the path that surrounded Lake Honrich.

XI - The Thieves Guild

They spent two days laying low in Whiterun, living out of the attic in the Bannered Mare and watching out the window as Thalmor scouts paraded up and down the streets. News trickled into the bar that there had been some sort of scuffle in the Ratway in Riften – a thing people normally wouldn’t take any notice of, but they were curious at the involvement of the Thalmor. As a rule, the Altmer legion wasn’t trusted in Skyrim, and Merill and Nalimir had no problem agreeing. All Merill had to do was remember the cold bite of Armion’s blade against her eye and her hard, cold days on Markarth’s streets after their cabin was burned and Brelin murdered. They didn’t talk about the cabin much – the memory was still fresh for them both. But they often spent the empty hours of the day on the rug in their dusty attic room, Merill straightening the fletching on her arrows or carving new patterns into the arms of her bow while Nalimir sprawled on his back, flipping through books he’d coerced Delphine into letting him borrow, their quiet punctuated by stories and reminisces of when they were children in the forest.