Epilogue

It was raining by the time they got to Whiterun; typical for that time of the year, but deeply inconvenient when one took traveling into account. The wagoner had steadfastly refused to take them any further, citing reckless endangerment, the scorched and broken remains of his cart ("been in my family for years, it has!"), and the near catatonic state of his horse. Nalvyna was not entirely certain why the guards dissolved into sudden choking fits when she went past them, nor why Mallus screamed like a banshee and fled into his meadery when he spied the two thieves coming. She'd even waved at him, and the percieved snub made her brow furrow in a frown. Perhaps there was something on her face, or maybe the sweetrolls she was carrying smelled a bit more like impending doom than she'd initially thought.

At any rate, when the downpour finally hit (complete with window-rattling thunder, and visibility so low she almost walked into a door), they'd been forced to seek shelter inside the Bannered Mare. Mercer had, naturally, grumbled at this, but subsided when she pointed out that late-autumn thunderstorms in the area, while fierce, would often pass inside of an hour. Sometimes less.

She was warming her feet near the firepit and trying to get Saadia's attention when the door crashed open. This wasn't a particularly uncommon occurrence (Nords liked to make dramatic entrances- particularly if they were Battle-Borns, drunk, or a combination of the two), and she treated it with the customary indifference. At least, up to the point when its source stormed inside, bow in hand and dripping all over the floorboards, and proceeded to point a wrathful finger at her traveling companion.

"Mercer bloody Frey," the hooded stranger declared, "how dare you!"

Nalvyna blinked. The stranger stripped off her cloak and threw it violently to the ground (oh, gods, the puddles; Hulda was going to have a conniption if the planks warped), revealing a slim, violet-eyed Dunmer woman who looked as if she was on the verge of quite literally imploding with rage. "All those elaborate traps and clever deceptions, and this is the thanks I get? Do you have any idea how long I have been waiting?"

The elf gripped her head with both hands, voice wobbling in frustration and dismay. "You don't... you don't even care, do you?!"

Mercer stared at her as if he'd seen a ghost (which, in a way, he had, except most ghosts tended to be rather less shouty than this one).

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Karliah demanded. "I had a partridge on my head for thirteen hours, because of you! A partridge! Thirteen hours!"

His mouth slowly opened, then shut again, as he and Nalvyna shared a dumbfounded look before going for their weapons.

"GET HER!" they shouted, at the same time and nearly in the same tone of voice.

"Oh, hell," Karliah said, and whipped out through the door.

None of them noticed the black-robed gentleman sitting at the bar, as they passed him by.

Whistling a merry tune beneath his breath, twirling the stem of a cut rose between his fingers, Sanguine swung his feet back and forth and smiled.

It was always such fun to spend a night out on the town.