Work Text:
It started off as many a near-tragedy does: a dare between thieves, made over too much mead. Delvin bet Vex she could not break into the house of the Dragonborn, and Vex, ever prideful, had disagreed and left, vowing to return with proof of her conquest. Two hours later, after the alcohol faded along with her bravery, she returned with her tail between her legs, unsuccessful. It was not that she could not pick the lock, they later discovered, it was that she had not even tried. Delvin bought her another bottle and consoled her, saying that he had not expected her to attempt it anyway, and that he was sorry for making light of it. What they were so afraid of Sapphire did not know, and as she watched from the shadows of the cistern, scorn in her eyes, she did not ask.
She watched the house for three days, and for three days no one had entered and no one had left. On the fourth day she chanced peering with greedy eyes through the window at the garden and was greeted by darkness. No candles lit. Fine layer of dust on everything. The bed made. The garden itself was overgrown, untended. The chickens pecked at an overripe gourd. On the fifth day she walked behind the house to the back door that faced the lake. Standing on the porch she ran her finger along the edge of the railing and at the handle of the door. Still more dust. In spite of her caution, she smirked.
It was the evening of the sixth day that in the cover of night Sapphire left the sewers and circled Riften, walking along the outer wall and past the stable. She made sure to head up the north road to throw off the guards, because they knew her outfit and she knew they'd bust her if they had the chance, and then she doubled back through the forest towards the docks.
The lake was quiet. Distantly she heard voices and raucous laughter, fishermen and dockworkers on their way to the tavern. This sound faded and she was left with nighttime noises. The slow, careful churn of the river's tide at the shore. The call of a lone heron as it drifted over the water, ghostlike. The bellow of cattle at the neighboring farm. She watched the deck of the house from between the aspen. Death-like stillness.
The door was easy enough to unlock. The pick slid out gently with a click and the door swung open with the mildest of groans. It was pitch-black within. She slipped inside and crouched with her back against the closed door, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the dark. She made out the shapes of furniture, the bed along the back wall, the bookshelf to her right, nothing more than vague forms in the murk, everything a shade of black. She'd made careful note of where everything was when she had canvassed the property in the light of day.
Sapphire swallowed and pulled down her hood away from her head. The easy part was over, but nonetheless she felt a surge of pride knowing that she was likely the first to ever dare break into the home of the Dragonborn. When all was said and done, she would let it be known that Vex's reign as the Guild's best infiltrator was undeserved.
She stood up straighter but kept her hand hovering at the hip where her dagger hung. The lampposts outside cast dim light through the windows. She knew that there was not much of value on the main floor, nothing distinguishing, so she edged towards the stairs to the basement, her steps light as she descended. Unnatural glow below. An orb of magic hovering over an enchanter. The sickly glow of a beaker at the alchemy lab in the corner. Exotic ingredients and soul gems lined the shelves, along with an expansive collection of books. Nothing that would be easy to grab and run with. Nothing of immediate value.
The glint of metal caught her eye and she turned back towards the enchanter. A blade, carved of dragon bone and scale and inlaid with ebony. There was no other material it could have consisted of. Heavy and deadly, laid on the table to be enchanted. She gently ran her fingers along the edge. It cut her along the pad of her index finger and she hissed. There would be no doubting who the previous owner of this sword would be, were she to steal it, but it would be so incredibly foolish of her to take such a thing, to try and fence something so priceless. Perhaps she'd keep it for herself. Her hand gripped the hilt.
"Good evening."
She turned, her hand releasing the sword and jerking instinctively towards the dagger. Her vision darkened instantly. She blinked. There was nothing but a hollow blackness and the rapid beating of her heart. Panic crept up her spine.
"Show yourself!" she shouted, her voice shaking. She swung blindly with the dagger, slicing air. Breathy, brief laughter met her ears and then every muscle in her body tensed. She tried to move her arms, her legs, anything, but she couldn't. She couldn't even scream. Still blind, she was thrown hard against the back wall as if by magic, for no hand has touched her, and her mind grew as dark as her vision.
She woke to candlelight. The warm glow of it danced across her face and flickered over the walls. She smelled something like iron, like the scent of spilled blood, and she smelled smoke. A fire had been lit under the mantle. She licked her lips. Her mouth was dry and her head pounded. She tried to raise a hand to her temple and found her wrists bound behind the back of the chair she was seated in. Her ankles were tied as well.
A quiet noise made her swing her head to the left. A woman was seated at the table across the room from her, reading and drinking something strong from a copper chalice. Sapphire could smell it from where she sat. She shifted in her chair, tugging at her bonds, and the woman's eyes flicked up towards her and she froze. They were the color of hard amber and seemed to regard her with a strange, detached interest. She closed her book. She then stood and walked it over to the spot on the bookshelf where it belonged with the others. Then she returned to her seat. Every motion was precise, methodical, and oddly serpentine. Sapphire watched her in silence. They sat there for a long time, studying each other. Then, the woman smiled, and the expression made Sapphire's stomach drop.
"Good evening," she said again. She spoke slowly, every word measured. "My name is Mithra. What is your name?"
Sapphire said nothing. Her ears were hot with fury, her legs weak with fear. She couldn't look her captor in the eyes. Fruitlessly she pulled at her bonds, the thin rope digging hard into her flesh. Mithra continued to watch her. Then she tilted her head just slightly. "You call yourself Sapphire. Isn't that right?"
Sapphire glanced up at her. Scanned the flat, geometric angles and planes of her proud face. Dark hair swept behind a pointed ear and over her shoulder. Blood-red warpaint intricately placed around her golden eyes. A long, straight nose. She even looked like a dragon, and like a dragon she radiated danger and power in equal measure. Mithra smiled again, though this time the curl of her lips was flatter. "It would be in your best interest to answer. One-sided conversations are incredibly tedious and boring. Unfortunately, I'm an unpleasant individual when bored, like most. You, however, are at a slight disadvantage. You've broken into my home. I would be well within my rights to kill you right now and drop your body into the lake, and no one would care. In fact, they'd be grateful. They'd probably reward me for doing my part to clean up this cesspool of a city. You would not be the first thief to face such an end at my hand and you would not be the last. So, again, your name?"
"Sapphire," she said, without pause.
Mithra nodded, nothing about her mannerisms indicating at all what she had just threatened. She spoke to Sapphire as if she were an old friend. "Not your real name though?"
"No," Sapphire said. She'd bitten her tongue while the elf had been speaking and she tasted blood. "It isn't."
"I didn't think so," Mithra said. Sapphire expected her to ask what it was, but she didn't. "Why this house?" she asked instead.
Sapphire shrugged, as much as she could while bound. "I thought it would be empty."
Mithra nodded. "Most nights, you would be right. Just not this night. Bad luck for you."
"That's the way it goes," Sapphire said coldly, averting her eyes, shame and fear continuing to tint her cheeks.
Mithra smiled indulgently. "But I think you had another reason. You knew this was my home."
"I did," Sapphire said, making a point to keep her answers brief so that her stay here may be the same.
"There are less dangerous and more profitable properties to steal from. As you can see," she said, sweeping her arm out. "I live comfortably, but simply. Did you think you'd find treasures here? Powerful relics? You really believe such things would be stored in a place like this?"
Sapphire didn't know. She hadn't thought that far. All she'd cared about was getting inside, and now that she was she wished to be anywhere else. Mithra seemed to understand this. Her expression was almost pitying. "The first time I walked into this city, I watched you as you tried to extort a handful of gold from a stableboy. Now you're in the home of the Dragonborn, tied to a chair. I think you had designs above your station, Sapphire. Either that, or you're acting reckless for the sake of acting reckless. Or you're simply an idiot. I don't believe you are, though. I think the middle option is perhaps the most likely. What are you trying to prove? Plenty of ambitious thieves out there, but you knew you had nothing to gain from breaking in here, unless you really planned on trying to take that sword with you. If you were, perhaps you really are an idiot and I've over-estimated you. But perhaps you had nothing to lose, either."
Sapphire stared at her defiantly. Her tongue was still bleeding and her cheeks were hot.
"Tell me," Mithra said, "were you a farm girl? I can see it in your hands. Your shoulders. Was it pigs or sheep?"
Sapphire said nothing for a moment. Her heart was beating so hard and so fast she thought it might stop. "Pigs," she said quietly, her teeth grating against each other.
"Were you in charge of slaughter?"
"If you're just going to kill me then kill me," Sapphire said, her furious bravado weakened by a shaking voice.
Mithra shook her head and tsk'd at her. "No no no. I asked a simple question and you're not in a position to refuse to answer it. Again, did you slaughter the pigs?"
Sapphire swallowed. Briefly, she remembered pools of blood and her own red-stained palms. "Yes."
"I've never seen anything bleed as much as a butchered pig. The expression carries weight. So, a half-breed pig farmer. Plenty for you to prove, isn't there?"
Sapphire jolted at the term and Mithra gave her a flat smile. "Come now, you had to have known you weren't pure Nord. You're just a little too short. Your facial structure is too refined. I'd say Imperial on the other half. More likely Breton. You were raised by Nords though, I assume. What happened to them? Plague? Bandits?"
Sapphire's expression told her everything. Mithra's eyes narrowed for just a moment. "Ah. I bet they loved you," she drawled, referring to the bandits. Sapphire was breathing hard but Mithra continued as if she did not notice. "Nothing like a tragic story to lend rage its bearings. You were an angry child, I imagine. And your circumstances did nothing to improve your disposition. Already foolhardy, always a little too brash, a fascination with disaster, and then you lose all that you care for. What's left for you besides scraping together gold in the sewers? Not much. You'd half-planned on not making it out of this house alive, didn't you?"
Sapphire swallowed. The taste was so bitter. Mithra's smile did not soften, if anything her gaze grew harsher, more judgmental. Sapphire had never hated anyone more.
"A thief with self-destructive tendencies and a death wish," Mithra said, tilting her head. "It won't be long, if you keep making poor decisions like this. You'll end up face-down in the canal, with no one left to mourn you. How does that make you feel? Do you care at all?
"I've never had anyone," Sapphire snapped, her jaw clenched. "And I won't feel shit if I'm dead."
"I suppose you're right," Mithra said, entirely apathetic to her outburst. Then her face shifted. Her eyes were not kind, but they were understanding. "What is interesting though is that I think you care more than you let on. If you're so apathetic to your own fate, then why the lovely blush to your cheeks? Why the panic in your eyes?" Sapphire did not say anything. Mithra leaned back in her own chair and crossed one long leg over the other. "You want better for yourself. You should start acting like it."
"What's the point?" Sapphire asked, her jaw so tight she thought she might break her teeth. She was trying so hard to bite her tears down. She felt as though she'd been drained of her blood. Mithra regarded her with a strange expression, one that the thief couldn't read.
"The point, Sapphire, is that if you're content to live in the muck with the rest of the rabble then you're no better than the swine you used to slaughter."
"Easy for you to say," Sapphire spat. "Not all of us get to be the great and mighty Dragonborn. And if you think I'm content with my life, maybe you're the idiot."
Mithra laughed at her. "You're right. Few have their destiny presented to them with such clarity. You slaughter pigs, make an honest living, and you get your village raided and your family taken from you. I slaughter the children of the gods and I get riches and recognition beyond reasonable measure. It is not a fair life. Perhaps it makes sense that you'd turn to less legal means of getting by. But there is a difference between being a thief and being a smart thief, Sapphire. I've met many thieves during my travels, and they've all ended up naked in a ditch on the side of the road, a sword through their gut. The smart thief retires early. You have a good head on your shoulders. If you're going to do this, don't be such a fool about it."
Sapphire regarded her with clear spite. "You don't know me," she said, her voice shaking as she lied. "And you don't get to tell me what to do."
Mithra's wore a parody of a smile. She stood very quickly and Sapphire flinched as she strode towards her. Long fingers gripped her chin and Mithra bent at the waist to lower her face to hers, forcing Sapphire to look her in the eyes. Her mouth was very close and her breath tasted like wine and iron. When she finally spoke her voice was low.
"On the contrary, I think I know you better than anyone," she said, "and while you're in this house, uninvited, you will listen."
In the shifting shadows she'd appeared as a dragon, full of rage and with fire in her veins, and then the light changed again and she was a woman, still terrifying but beautiful, and as a woman she pressed her lips, feather-light, across Sapphire's mouth.
She pulled away slightly, smirking when Sapphire leaned her face towards her, but her mouth was not unkind. She still appeared as the woman and not the beast. Her eyes were gentle and Sapphire's were alight with conflict. If anyone had looked inside, disregarding the rope, they'd think themselves intruding on a moment between lovers.
Mithra was staring at her, fascinated. "Look at you. Maybe you aren't as careless as I thought. Maybe you're just turned on by danger." Sapphire's face was ruby-red and she said nothing but she did not avert her gaze. "What were you going to do with that sword?" Mithra asked her, her voice quiet, her hand still gripping Sapphire's chin, though now it was more of a caress.
"I was going to keep it for myself," Sapphire admitted, and Mithra nodded. "I believe you."
She pulled away. With a flick of her hand the binds at Sapphire's wrists and ankles loosened. She stood up but did not run, her mind telling her to flee but her body asking her to stay.
"Wait here a moment," Mithra said, and then she disappeared back into the basement. Sapphire's eyes flicked towards the door once and then once more, but she against every reasonable urge within her she obeyed the request. After a few moments, Mithra appeared at the top of the stairs, and in her hands was the sword. Without a word, she extended it out towards Sapphire, an offering.
Sapphire stared at her blankly. "Why?" she asked, not moving to take it. "If it's out of pity-"
Mithra cut her off. "Not pity," she said. "Not pity at all. Simply respect for those whose fates are not so clear."
Sapphire did not say anything. Mithra studied her. Her face was impassive but her eyes were different than they were before. "A gift," she said. "Keep it, or sell it if you can. If you can find an educated buyer that won't think it's a forgery you could make enough to start anew. Tell your fellow thieves whatever story you'd like as to how you acquired it. Tell them you stole it right from my hip if you wish."
"Why?" Sapphire repeated, quieter this time. Mithra took a couple of steps forward, close enough that Sapphire had to look up to meet her gaze.
"It's funny," Mithra said, though nothing about her expression indicated any humor at all. Her eyes roved Sapphire's face. "I could have killed you. I had intended on it. Yet as I stand here, the weapon I'd planned to cut you down with resting in my palms, there is nothing I want less."
Again she offered forward the sword, and this time Sapphire took it gingerly, her hands touching Mithra's at the exchange. They were so warm, almost unnaturally so. She looked up again, and now she once more saw the dragon. Mithra smirked at her. "Please do be more careful. You'll find at least one person who would mourn your loss should the worst occur. And don't let me find you in my house uninvited again," she said, an undercurrent of stilted laughter running through her voice, though she seemed to emphasize the word "uninvited," and Sapphire had to wonder. She almost asked, but instead she nodded once, turned on her heel, and walked out the front door.
Several days later found her back at the Guild, and she had only been inside for moments before they fell upon her, asking about the sword. She told them the truth: the Dragonborn had given it to her. When they asked for specifics, however, she refused, because it was too personal a story and like the blade it was her own. Most of them did not believe her. They recounted horror stories regarding the Dragonborn, of her mercilessness, that she'd killed far more men than dragons. One mentioned that he had heard that even the Dark Brotherhood no longer sent assassins her way, because she'd butchered them all. Sapphire shrugged at them dismissively, told them it was good luck and to mind their own goddamn business. When Mercer appraised the weapon himself and made her an offer that would have potentially set her up for years, she refused that as well, knowing that she'd be punished for her insubordinance. But even as he sneered at her and turned away grumbling, and even as Vex and Delvin whispered between each other, Vex bitter and Delvin doubtful, Sapphire ran her hand along the hilt and thought of golden eyes and red paint and waited almost impatiently for her invitation.