XIV - Mistveil Keep

As time stretched on, Merill found herself feeling almost at home in the seedy underbelly of Riften. She grew to know all the thieves in the Cistern, friendly with most of them, and spent much of her time in the flagon or out on odd jobs. There was still a wall between her and everyone she spoke to, a wall she imagined she would never be able to breach, but she could at least offer a smile and a joke or share a drink with most of them. Nalimir was well-liked in the Guild, and by association, most of the thieves went out of their way to make Merill feel welcome. Vex only spoke to her to insult her and occasionally pick a fight, so most of the tasks she received were from Delvin Mallory.

XIII - Honningbrew Meadery

The Bee and the Barb was as rowdy as it had been when Merill had first come to Riften, and she noticed a number of Guild thieves in the bar dressed in street clothes. They didn’t seem to be talking to one another, though, and when Merill caught Niruin’s eye he shook his head just slightly, insinuating that they shouldn’t talk outside the Flagon. Nalimir had been relieved to learn of her mostly-safe flight from Goldenglow, though he had apologetically left for Falkreath earlier in the afternoon to do a job with Etienne, wishing her luck in her meeting.

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.

X - Riften

Merill and Nalimir traveled to Riften on foot, enjoying the rare sun that heralded them the whole way down. They met with little trouble during the walk to Skyrim’s southernmost city, though Merill was tempted by the plentiful game that moved silently through the shadows of the birch trees, their coppery leaves coating the cobbled road. Whatever silence had possessed them on the way to Whiterun was gone now, and the two spoke with ease as they went southward, remarking on nearly everything they saw and daring one another to shoot a distant bird or take out an approaching bandit from behind. It felt almost easy, almost the way things used to be. Almost.

IX - Stormcrown

Really sorry about the extreme delay - I had a lot going these past couple weeks! Should be back to normal now, thanks for your patience.

C

VIII - The Thalmor Embassy

A chilly afternoon several days later found Merill perched on a stone along the Karth River, holding her bow in her lap and staring up at the great cliff on which Solitude was built. She stared along its stone walls, absentmindedly whittling her way down the arms of her bow with her skinning dagger. It was too big and bulky to carve properly and she was nowhere near as skilled as Brelin had been, but the motions gave her comfort. For her thirteenth birthday he had given her a beautiful, pale-wooded longbow, its arms crisscrossed with carvings of lilies and vines that entwined one another. She felt a pang as she remembered that bow, stuck in the mud as she scrambled away from their burning cabin. Long gone by now, she figured.