Chapter Text
“I don’t remember anything before waking up on that cart.”
Mera spoke, her voice low as the light that emanated from the crackling hearth across from them. She gripped a mug of ale tightly in both of her hands, holding it on the table as her eyes hazed, unfocused on the world in front of her. Across the table, Brynjolf managed to look more relaxed, less tension in his body, but a terse frown found its way onto his face.
“You mean in Helgen?”
She nodded shortly. She’d told most of the guild about Helgen, loud and drunk on the nights where they’d gathered in the Flagon to drink away the sorrows of their dwindling wealth. She’d boasted, standing on the bar as she mimicked the captain, ordering her to the block, spreading her arms wide to imitate the massive span of a dragon.
She’d never told them how much laughing had helped to ease the nightmares of black wings and a sky raining fire.
“Sometimes I think the Divines dropped me there, in the middle of whatever ambush I was caught in, and left me to fend for myself.”
“You really don’t remember anything, lass?”
“No, I don’t,” and she’d given up hope of remembering a long time ago.
“Hm,” Brynjolf moved his free hand to rub at the hair on his jaw. “Alright lass, then what? I’ve heard your story of Helgen a million times. What’s the truth of it?”
“What I told the guild was all true, except for the part of me… not remembering. And,” she sighed, pulling her hands off of her mug and up to cover her face. “The dragon that attacked that day. He was the World Eater.”
“Aye, you’ve mentioned that. World Eater, whatever that is,” Brynjolf took a sip from his mug before leveling his gaze at her. “What does that mean?”
“I’ll keep this short and simple because sometimes I don’t even understand it all,” She dragged her hands down her face, feeling exhaustion pull at her at the very thought of having to explain the whole Dragon Crisis to someone with no preexisting information. The Blades, Paarthurnax and the Greybeards, they all at least knew something to help them get to the conclusion. And Mera had been around to watch it all fall into place. Rarely did she try to explain it to an outsider.
“At the end of the Dragon Wars, Alduin was cast out of time using an Elder Scroll by ancient Nords. He is the first son of Akatosh, and meant to be the World Eater. His… duty is to devour the world. Mine, as the Dragonborn, is to stop him.”
She paused, glancing up at Brynjolf to see if he was following her. With a curt nod from the ginger, she continued. “I am the last Dragonborn… or so they say. It was prophesied, long before our time, that the last Dragonborn and Alduin would battle, and that only the Dragonborn could ever defeat the World Eater.”
“So you’re going to fight him, then? That’s the deed?” Brynjolf pressed, and Mera sighed.
Even thinking about what she had to do caused a pain to rise in her stomach. Odahviing had been very clear. Her task was not an easy one. “I…” she paused, taking a shuddering breath. “I have to ride on dragon back, to Skuldafn, to reach a portal that will take me to Sovngarde, where Alduin is feasting on the souls of the dead, getting stronger with every moment. That’s where I’ll fight him.”
Drained, she ran a hand through her messy blonde hair, frowning as it caught in knots. When was the last time she was able to take proper care of herself? “Ever since I woke up, my life has revolved around dragons and prophesy. Doomsday and flames. I trained with the Companions, the College, assassins and thieves, all pointed towards this one goal.”
“Sounds like a lot to handle for someone who’s only been around for a year.”
Mera looked up, intending to glare at the thief across from her, but seeing his lopsided smirk had her letting out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, it is.”
Mera rubbed her eyes, pressing hard enough that she saw spots behind her eyelids before easing up and letting them fall to the table. She’d never felt exhaustion like this. The anticipation of talking to Brynjolf, of repairing their relationship before heading back to Whiterun had worn on her. She’d settled all of her affairs all over the Holds, in case of an extended absence, or of no return, as she hated to remind herself. This had been her last stop.
“Brynjolf, I’m so tired,” she finally said, and her voice cracked as she did, “The guild was the only escape I had from all this. I tried to hide in the Ratway like a coward and people suffered, Bryn. Souls have been lost. I just want it to be over.”
There was a long moment when all that could be heard was the crackling of the fire and her quiet, shaking breaths before Mera felt a weight on her hand.
Slowly, she lifted her head, looking to see a large, calloused hand covering hers. Her gaze moved upwards, until finally it rested on Brynjolf’s face.
She’d never seen him look so sad.
“It sounds like it almost is over, lass,” he spoke, his accent softening the words, and the familiarity of it made her smile, if only for a moment.
“I’m scared, Bryn,” she admitted, feeling vulnerable and raw as she finally said the words out loud. She was always so afraid to admit her own terror. If any of Skyrim knew that their hero , the one who their very lives were dependant on, was shaking in her boots at the mere thought of having to face Alduin again, how could they ever hope for a tomorrow? Here, however, in the privacy of her own home, in the intimacy of this conversation, she let it out. “I’ve never been so scared of anything. Not of the Thalmor, the Headsman in Helgen… not of Mercer.”
Her head swam as he squeezed her hand. Drinking had made talking easier, but it didn’t help her now when the whole world felt so heavy.
“Aye, and I don’t think anyone can fault you for that, lass. The whole world on your shoulders, and it’s a burden you’re carrying alone.” His words didn’t offer much comfort, but hearing him speak was grounding. It pulled her out of the gloom in her head and back home, to the wooden city of Riften, to the warmth of the fire and of the hand that still rested on her own.
Mera inhaled and exhaled, taking slow controlled breaths as she came down from the emotional high. In a voice no louder than a whisper, she said, “Thank you.”
“I don’t know what you’re thanking me for, lass,” Brynjolf’s voice sounded lighter than before. His attempt at lifting the mood. “You’re the one who’s going to save the whole world.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, the sound interrupted by a hiccup or two from the tears and the booze. “You’re right. I think you’re the one who should be thanking me .”
“Thank you,” he said, more seriously before. “And I mean that, lass. I’m a thief - have been my whole life - we aren’t known for our selflessness or generosity. Aside from the guild, its every man for himself.” Brynjolf took a sip, swirling his cup a bit and frowning at whatever it was he saw inside. “But you… Well, I knew you were something special when I plucked you out of the market. Even if you did fumble your first job.”
The teasing was back, and with that, Mera laughed in ernest, a blush creeping up and into her cheeks. “I was a dragon slayer , Bryn, not a thief!” Playfully, she shoved his hand away from hers, using it instead to grab her cup and finish her ale. “You can’t hide from dragons, I had no practice.”
“Heh, well that’s hardly the case now, is it, Guild Master .”
And with that, she felt the heaviness in her chest again, weighing down the moment of happiness like dragonbone resting in her pocket. Brynjolf frowned at her sudden change in demeanor.
“You’ll take care of the guild, I know you will,” Mera looked down at her lap and sighed. “Will you tell them?”
“Tell them what?”
“Everything. If I don’t come back, tell them why,”
“Mera..”
“I’d always wanted to tell them, you know? I know members of the guild keep secrets, it’s not unheard of. But something this big… I felt like I was lying. Every time I left and couldn’t explain where I had been, every time I had to laugh off a wound, pretend I had gotten it from bandits,” she trailed off, shaking her head. “And the rest of world too, gods , if all of Skyrim had found out that their “hero of legend”, the Dragonborn , is a petty thief. With dragons coming back to life, burning half of Skyrim, I just wanted them to have someone to look to. Hope to hold onto and all that.” Mera breathed out, stopping herself before she could get caught up in her ranting. “But I want them to know. Please. Please tell them, so they’ll understand that I didn’t just leave them.”
“Mera, I-”
“ Promise me, Brynjolf. I need you to promise.”
“...Aye, lass. I promise.” Before she could say anything else, he continued, “But you will make it back. I need you to promise me that.”
“Brynjolf you know that I-”
“Mera, listen to me.” His green eyes felt harsh as they locked onto her. “After everything you just told me, I know you can do this. What’s a dragon to the Guild Master, Nightingale, Agent of Nocturnal?” He boistered his voice as he spoke, adding more drama and making her smile. “You’ll come back.”
“Alright, Bryn. You win,” she shook her head, “I promise. I’ll come back.”
“Good, glad that’s settled then.”
Their conversation lightened from there. It’d been a long time since they’d just talked, the two of them alone, but they fell easily back into their old habits, and a smile came easily to Mera’s face as the night pulled on.
Mera would like to think she’d made many friends in Skyrim, and that many people would notice if she were gone. Companions in Whiterun, Khajiit in the caravans, Jarls in their halls and mages in the College. She’d brawled with every brute in every bar, and played tag with the children in nearly all the major holds. Even with her defiance, the Blades would mourn her, and she liked to think that even Ulfric Stormcloak would miss her presence.
None of this was anything like the relationship she had with Brynjolf. From the beginning, he’d put faith in her like no one else had. He had trusted her, paraded her around the guild and proudly claimed her as his protégé, even when the rest of the guild thought that she was doomed from the start. After hard months of being tested and tried by everyone she had come across, his soft accent and blind faith had been what she needed to keep going.
When they had started sleeping together it had just felt natural.
There was nothing romantic about it, but that didn’t mean it was emotionless. She cared for Brynjolf, deeply, and Mera was sure he cared for her as well. Maybe they were in too deep and maybe sometimes she got confused, but that fact would always remain true, she was sure of it.
The thought of it pulled at her chest as a cold wind whipped the outside of the home, howling through whatever cracks were improperly sealed. Mera shivered in her chair.
“Brynjolf,” she started, voice heavy with exhaustion.
“Hm?”
“It’ll be cold in the Cistern tonight.”
Brynjolf looked outside lazily, considering the thought as his hand grasped his long since empty mug. “Aye, it will be.”
“Bryn,” she repeated his name, leaning across the table to capture his attention, “will you stay with me tonight? Please.” She added, a hint of desperation in her tone.
Brynjolf’s eyes searched her face, uncertainty laced across his features, so she continued. “I just want to be warm, tonight. Before I leave in the morning. Hold me tonight, please?” Maybe she was too drunk, too desperate. It wasn’t like they hadn’t done this before, with each other or any number of other members in the guild. Cold nights in Riften were harsh, and sharing body heat was preferable to losing a toe.
It wasn’t as if she was asking him for anything more than that.
“Alright, lass. I’ll stay.” He said, standing up slowly. “I think it’s time for bed, anyway.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she yawned, eyes closing for a long moment. When she opened them, she saw his hand, extended to help her to her feet. A real gentleman. She took his hand without thinking, and allowed him to pull her up and into him.
Being pressed so fully to his warmth was everything she didn’t know she needed at that moment. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his leathers, breathing him in.
Don’t think of how you’ll miss this .
Mera stayed hidden there until she felt a pair of soft lips press against the top of her head “Come on,” he prompted, murmuring the words into her hair. “Into bed.”
Slowly she pealed herself off of him and looked up with a red eyed smile. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm as walked over to the bed. “I still have clothes of yours in the wardrobe, if you want to change.”
She didn’t need to look back to hear him move to the wardrobe in question and start opening the doors. She slipped under the covers, and closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very, very heavy. It felt like only a moment had past before she felt a weight on the other side of the bed before a warm body was under the covers beside her. A large arm wrapped its way around her waist and she pressed into him, trying to fit all of her curves into his. In every possible outcome of this evening, this had to be the best. As far as last nights went, she couldn’t think of a better way to spend it.
She wondered if Sovngarde could ever be this warm.