Stories of Skyrim

Erandur

"It won't work for me," Erandur said apologetically, hardly daring to touch the bottle lest he ruin it. "As a sworn priest of Mara, it overrides everything else. The Torpor would only work for a Vaermina cultist or the unaffiliated."

Nim's face betrayed nothing of what she was feeling. "Well, we're in trouble, because I'm definitely affiliated," she said bluntly. Erandur raised a questioning eyebrow. Nim stared at the blood-red liquid inside the bottle, swirling it to see the light reflect off the glass. She didn't elaborate and he took the silent hint not to ask.

"Oh," he said, his heart sinking. "That certainly does complicate things."

"I have a few friends," Nim pointed in the vague direction of outside, her jaw clenching reluctantly around the words. "They might be willing... but I'd rather not involve them."

"There's one other option," Erandur said softly. She didn't miss the way he avoided her eyes or stepped just slightly away, suddenly wary of her in a way he hadn't been before. "You could... forsake your vows."

Nim sucked in a sharp breath. Loose fingers nearly dropped the Torpor, before she hurriedly put it down and stepped away. It had occurred to her as well, of course, but forsaking Nocturnal... the Prince had disowned Karliah for Mercer's betrayal, almost destroyed the Guild in the process. What would Nocturnal do if a Nightingale willingly abandoned her?

On the other hand... the thought of spending eternity defending the Evergloam still sat heavy in her gut. The vows she said without truly understanding, or wanting, anything that came with them didn't feel binding. Nim had regretted how blindly she followed Karliah. Revenge and anger had tainted her judgement and Karliah had played on that, played Nim like a fiddle, until she stood in front of Nocturnal and sold her soul to Oblivion.

"I would do this myself, if I could," Erandur said quickly, an edge of desperation in his tone. Her silence unnerved him, the black depths of her eyes unreadable. "Mara's love was hard won and I dare not revoke my vows now. I am deeply sorry to ask this of you and of course I understand if you refuse-"

"Fine," Nim said quickly, waving his worries off. Erandur fell silent at once, anxiously watching her wrestle with her decision. If she gave up the Nightingale mantle, would the Guild suffer for it? All those months of slaving away, reclaiming cities, pushing through Nocturnal's punishment to bring back the glory days, would they be for nothing? Nim closed her eyes, breathed deeply through her nose. "I'll do it," she said.

Erandur let out a tense breath. "Thank you, my daughter. I know this wasn't easy."

Nim snorted, but there was no trace of amusement amid the pinched worry on her face. "You have no idea, Brother." What's worth more- my soul or their gold? She pushed the thoughts of the Guild out of her head, firmly. They would recover. There would be others to take her place. Thieves, as Nocturnal had said, were replaceable. Desperate is as desperate does, makes thieves out of kings.

The process of swearing her to Mara's protection- and thereby, out of Nocturnal's service- was simple enough. Nim already carried the title of Agent of Mara from the Temple; wasn't that a surprise, when she began speaking the vows alongside him, without prompting. Erandur nearly broke out of the trance to watch her. As the prayers came to an end, Nim felt tears running down her face. Whole, she thought. For the first time since Nightingale Hall, she felt whole.

With Nocturnal's grasp loosened, the tether broke. She felt a soft trembling against her skin and looked down; the Nightingale armour was falling off her body, thousands of scales transforming into thousands of tiny ravens. They flocked and flew into nothingness, leaving her shivering in nothing but skin. "Shit!" she swore, hands flying to cover herself.