Chapter Text
Helón found the Ragged Flagon easily enough, and spotted Gallus speaking with a breton wearing similar armor and the barkeep. He noticed vendors in the little alcoves, and a guard standing at the bridge. As he crossed into the main area, he felt all eyes turn on him. Wordlessly, he set a bag of coin next to Gallus. The imperial looked, and grabbed the bag.
“That was quick,” he commented. “Let's see if you got the right amount.” The breton at his side leaned forward to get a better look, while Helón stood in silence as Gallus counted the septims. “Seems right. Well done.”
“Is this the one you told me about?” the breton asked.
“Yes,” Gallus slid a small pile of the coins back to Helón. “Your cut, of course. A little extra for your efficiency.” Helón nodded, putting his pay away. “Both of you, follow me, so we can make proper introductions.”
They walked together towards the back. Gallus opened a wardrobe, and pushed back a panel. They went past another door, and the area opened up into the main cistern. There were about two dozen others milling about, trading and training and chatting. In the middle stood a dunmer woman with violet eyes and short brunette hair. They approached her, Gallus standing next to her, with the breton on his other side. “This is Mercer Frey, he will be arranging most of your larger jobs when they come up, and if we feel you are a good fit,” Gallus nodded to the man. “And this is Karliah. You won't see much of her, but I consider her my right hand.”
There was a fondness in his eyes that was difficult for Helón to not notice, he knew well to not comment. “Helón Drevus,” he introduced himself.
“It is good to have a face to your name,” Karliah smiled. “Gallus seems impressed.”
“Yes,” Mercer’s tone was cutting. “Make sure you live up to the expectation.”
Helón nodded.
“Speak with Delvin for your gear, and to Brynjolf for smaller jobs. Otherwise, Mercer or I will send for you when we have an opportunity for you. Any questions?”
He shook his head.
“Welcome to the guild.”
~*~
In truth, the dividers provided little privacy. It was like sleeping in an inn with all of the guest’s doors open. More fittingly, it reminded Helón of when he and his family first arrived to Windhelm--stuck at the docks for days at a time with the other refugees while they were being “processed” by Windhelm’s scribes. The accommodations in the cistern were much preferable and much more passable by those standards. Helón eyed the book on his nightstand as he was dressing down. Its dark gray cover almost made it look more like a strange shadow in the low candlelight than a book. The words eluded him on its cover. He recognized the word “by” preceding the title, and before what he believed to be the author’s name. He gave a frustrated sigh through his nose, just as Karliah walked by his bunk--headed back into the Flagon. She stopped, giving him a questioning look. “Something bothering you?”
Helón never knew what to say in these types of situations. He opted for busying his hands with tying his leather together. “Not really,” his lips moved without much thought. “I, uh… Don’t know how to read. Not very well, at least.”
Her eyes trailed his, landing on the book. “I see,” she picked it up. “It is a guide written by Delvin for our shadowmarks.” Karliah flipped a few pages, and turned the book to face him. “In your travels to other cities, you may notice these markings on certain buildings or containers. If you’d like, I can help you memorize them.”
They spent the next twenty minutes going over each symbol in the book, and their meanings. Afterwards, Helón closed the book. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Karliah smiled. “Its not the first time I have had to help a recruit with this.”
“I could tell.”
She hesitated. “Your accent is strange, Helón. Where are you from, again?”
“Vvardenfell,” he set the book aside, but didn’t move from the floor. “Ald’ruhn, specifically.”
Karliah looked perplexed. “You don’t look that old to me, unless you were born on an ash pile.”
Helón never thought about his appearance; in fact, he had hardly seen a mirror since the Red Year. Synrik made comments about his skin not sagging the same, or how his memory remained sharp. “No, I lived there for about thirty years before Baar Dau plummeted.”
She nodded, and rose to her feet. “Well, I’ll be sure to let Gallus know of your… limitation.”
As she left, Helón blew out his candle and crawled into bed. He thought about his next steps; if this were to be long-term, he needed to figure out a new home for his family. To leave Windhelm permanently would be a great relief.