Stories of Skyrim

Niruin

Delvin seemed certain that some higher power- be it Aedra or Daedra or something in between- was dogging the Guild's footsteps and throwing them to the guards. Niruin hadn't been remotely superstitious in his entire life, but after three botched fishing jobs in a row, he was well and truly pissed off. His latest mistake had seen him caught with his hand in Torbjorn Shatter-Shield's pocket, and hauled off to the wretched ice-pit beneath Windhelm. They had kept him for a week before growing tired of taunting him. The guards were short as it was and the failed pick-pocket wasn't considered a priority prisoner. Two hulking Nords in Stormcloak blue marched Niruin across the stone bridge and threw him down in the snow, his belongings tossed at the frozen inlet for good measure.

"Don't come back," they warned.

"Like I'd fucking want to," he spat back.

The trip from Windhelm to Riften was miserable. It rained for the first two nights and for the second pair, it felt like he ran into every Y'ffre-cursed bear in the whole hold. He was not in a pleasant mood when he slumped into the Flagon, enduring the sharp teasing from Vex and the long-winded ramble from Delvin. Neither did much to improve Niruin's spirits. He swiped a bottle of wine off the bar and downed it before he opened the Cistern door. The empty bottle found a home with the pile of others, waiting to go back to whichever underhanded supplier it had come from.

Mercer looked up from his desk and narrowed his steely eyes. The Guildmaster rarely left the Cistern anymore. He prowled around in front of the Vault like a hagraven with a bent feather, snapping and snarling at anyone who got too close. Mercer liked to talk a big game. He hadn't taken a job in years, since he inherited the top job from Gallus. But he could still reduce a man to nothing with words alone; Niruin had been on the receiving end of that lecture more than once. The Guildmaster had a way of picking up on a person's biggest weakness and dragging it out for the world to see. Determined not to get his failures displayed like a Heart's Day banner, Niruin dropped into the shadows on the edge of the Cistern. He crept around the long way, avoiding Vipir and Sapphire at the kitchen table, and dodging Rune's good-natured smile. The boy was good with his hands but his heart was too soft for the Guild. It was anyone's guess why he had joined in the first place.

Niruin heard the irregular hissthunk of an arrow; the dull sound echoed in the empty training hall. It gave him pause, glancing back over his shoulder to see Vipir still trying to chat up Sapphire on the other side of the Cistern. Of all the Guild, there were only three who favoured a bow over anything else. But the third member of their archer's trio had been away for over a year. Nobody knew what happened to her, only that she went out on a job in the Reach and never came back. Mercer called her a traitor and refused to send even a scout to find out. Delvin had clicked his tongue and said a half-arsed prayer for her shadow-blessed soul. Niruin had not-so-secretly taken all the Markarth jobs for weeks, an excuse to dig around in search of her. His efforts had gained nothing but dead-ends and more guard attention that he liked. His search had ended with nothing. Returning to Riften alone, he had felt the emptiness of the Cistern like a physical ache. Niruin wasn't a sentimental elf. But damned if she hadn't made off with some part of his heart when she left.

She had been gone, but the ache she left behind had stayed. Niruin thought himself very good at keeping her out of his thoughts, but all at once the long-buried hope that she might still be alive rushed into his mind and he could see nothing else.

His pace increased to a jog, then an all-out run. Niruin careened around the archway and spotted her at once. She was thinner than he remembered, her tunic hanging off her body. Her hair, always a source of pride, had been haphazardly chopped into messy layers. But there was no mistaking her for anyone else, and his heart gave a great leap to see her. In a whisper like prayer, Niruin called her name; "Mivela?"

She spun, releasing the string and sending her arrow skittering across the ground. Her bow followed it to the flagstone and she stood, clutching her ribs, glaring at him with blood-red eyes. "By the Three," she hissed. "What are you sneaking up on me for, Niruin!"

His joy faded, concern swiftly rising in its place. "I never used to be able to," he said. Mivela's face pinched and she muttered something in reply, turning her back to find the bow. It wasn't hers. A simple hunting bow, a coin-a-dozen thing she could have picked up from any two-bit bandit camp in Skyrim. Niruin remembered the bow she usually carried. Made of ebony and enchanted with a toxicity curse, it had been the perfect weapon for a perfect sneak. Sleek and deadly; like its wielder. "Where's your bow?" he asked. The question sounded daft to his own ears.

Mivela coughed. It sounded like a sob but when she turned to look at him, there was no emotion on her face. "In Markarth," she said. And after a moment, added bitterly; "In fucking pieces." He winced. She waved off the gesture of sympathy with an impatient snort, her attention returning to the cheap hunting bow. It took far too much effort for his liking for her to bend down and pick it up. Mivela stubbornly didn't look at him as she walked behind the firing line, every step stiff and far too calculated to be casual. She was hiding it well, but he had worked with her for nearly half a century. There was little he didn't know about her by now. Still, Niruin said nothing as she returned to her practice. One of the targets was already peppered with misfired arrows, the center ring woefully empty. The look on her face was one of irritation and she lifted the bow, pulled the string. He didn't miss the grimace on her face at the effort it took.

"You're hurt," he said. Niruin took a half step towards her but Mivela's glare cut to him, and he stopped in place.

"You're observant," she muttered. Steeling herself, she drew the bow and released an arrow. It flew fast but wide, striking the very edge of the target. Mivela's grey face turned purple, her head dropping in defeat. Niruin took the risk of approaching her, when a moment passed and neither of them moved.

"Come on," he said gently, taking the bow from her hand. She let him take it and he could hear the way her breath stuttered in her throat, catching on tears she would never let anyone see. "I'll buy you a drink."

"Buy?" she repeated, with the ghost of a smirk. Niruin lifted an eyebrow and, without thinking, leaned down to kiss it away. Mivela stiffened and he pulled away immediately, face drawn with anxiety and regret. He tensed, waiting for her reaction. Mivela's smirk grew to a grin, and she tapped her fingers against his cheek tenderly. "I missed that," she admitted quietly. "I missed you."

Niruin smiled, his forehead pressed against hers. For the first time in months, the ache in his chest was gone.