Directly west of Riften, on a little patch of islands, there lay the Goldenglow Estate. It was the biggest and the most important manufacturer of honey on this side of Skyrim, and an important source of ingredients for the Black-Briar Meadery, owned by Maven Black Briar - until recently, at least, when its owner, Aringoth, had decided that she was a jerk, the Thieves Guild that worked for her and extorted money from the Estate was weak, and he didn't want to work for them anymore.
That was all Alf knew about the issue. He did not much care to learn more about it: all that mattered to him was that he got his job done and was paid for it.
He was one of the new guards of the Estate, recently hired because Maven was a jerk, and promoted only two days ago because he had caught a thief, an infiltrator from the Guild sent by the Black-Briar to see what the hell his employer was up to, sneaking around the premises. He was pretty proud of that, and thanks to it, now sat in the basement's corridor, leading to Aringoth's hidden safe, as its last line of defense.
He had heard that some of the thieves could hide so well that in a good shadow, they were essentially invisible. But the corridor in front of him and to his left and right, the stairs leading down to the safe, were well-lit: there was nothing, not even the sneakiest of sneaks, that could get past him here.
Alf cared little about whether the Thieves Guild was weak or not. But however good they were, they would not get through him, the best guard in the Estate - hell, perhaps even the best guard in Skyrim, or at least in the Rift. He was dressed in plate armor, packing enough weapons to arm a garrison, twitchy, vigilant, and absolutely high in Skooma.
Alf was prepared for anything the Guild might throw at him. He was expecting to face thieves, robbers, murderers, saboteurs, blackmailers, pickpockets, sneaks, infiltrators, rapists, armies, tax collectors, and bears.
Unfortunately for him, tonight the Thieves Guild would throw none of them at him. Instead, they had sent in the single thing he was not expecting: a dragon-slaying madman that could solve the vast majority of his problems just by yelling at them loud enough, yet also out-sneak the sneakiest of thieves when he managed to make himself shut up for five seconds. Kind of like right now.
Wearing a full plate armor and a horned helm, armed with a large ebony mace (that, to his credit, he had not drawn even once during his stay in the Estate), the Dragonborn had snuck past the other guards in a leisurely pace, without them ever even realizing someone was here, and had now stopped at the edge of a shadow to watch the final guard in front of him. He was sitting straight-backed on a chair set to the crossroads, watching bug-eyed at the lit corridor in front of him, as if he expected it to explode in thieves and daedra. He was clearly a dedicated professional.
He actually even stood up and drew his sword as the infiltrator stepped into the light and back to the shadows on the other side, briefly passing by in space visible to some specifically trained mortals such as this guard. There he stood in the shadows, watching as the twitching, drugged-up killing machine looked around fiercely, pointed his sword to places, shouted the invisible thief to come out and fight (which he naturally did not do), and, finally, calm down and figure it was probably just his imagination, sitting back on the chair. Only then did the Dragonborn move on.
Finding the safe, and cracking it, were relatively simple matters. The thief was not as big of an expert in lockpicking as he was in sneaking around, but enough so that he could open the thing in just a few attempts. He picked up the Goldenglow bill of sale, some gold for himself, and snuck back, once again past the guard - with similar reactions.
He loved this job.
The Dragonborn was prepared for guards, guard animals, locks, traps, and pretty much anything else he expected to find from the estate of a rich wood elf that had pissed off some wrong people.
So perhaps it was a given that just as it had done with Alf, the universe decided it would be hilarious to toss something completely unexpected at the Dragonborn's way as well. Namely, a dragon.
The dragon had a name, and it was Daandubahlok. He had just been woken up from a pleasant three-thousand-year nap by the dragon god Alduin: he was tasked to put the fear of dragons back into the people of Skyrim in whatever way he wished, but not before he had taken a long dump in the woods and gone to find something to eat. He was an immortal creature that could never be truly killed, but that did not mean he would not get hungry.
He smelled honey. Damn, he could go for some honey. What was the worst that could happen? Bees? Ha!
With this in mind, he followed the smell trail into the yard of a bunch of human buildings on an island, and landed, causing immediate fear and confusion in the puny mortals around him. He mostly ignored them, instead opening his jaws and putting them straight into one of the many beehives here, not even noticing the tiny flying insect rising to fly and combat the threat. A particularly brave human guard approached and managed to sting him, but when he retaliated by off-handedly picking it up and stuffing it to his mouth, biting half of it off like a crunchy snack, the rest of them decided they were not paid enough for this shit and fled the scene.
But of course, there was something in the premises that Daandubahlok was not expecting either, and that was the Dragonborn.
He was on his way out to the yard to deal with the second part of his job - burn exactly three beehives as a warning for Aringoth - when he heard the screams, and once he actually got out there and saw the dragon, three thoughts popped into his head, one after the other. The first was that he was damn tired of dragons and did not want to deal with one right now. The second was the idea that he could just let it do his work for him.
The third was the twin realization that the dragon would not settle for just three hives, and then no one would know the Thieves Guild was responsible anyway, so the point of extortion and threats would be moot. Sure, he could probably explain to them that there was a dragon and there was not much he could do, but he was a professional. For one of his talent, "not much he could do" would be lying.
Daandubahlok was halfway through his third hive, and still feeling a little peckish, when he heard something from behind him. He ignored it until it clubbed him to the head.
The strike had enough force in it to send him reeling, angry and confused and with a pounding headache, and by the time he had regained enough composure to actually notice what was attacking him, the impudent human was halfway through its second strike, which the dragon managed to mostly avoid and it just grazed him.
The mortal was wearing heavy plate armor and wielding an impressive heavy mace, not that either of those things could help it much when facing an angry daedric beast. Daandubahlok was a little curious about the bravery and stupidity of this small creature, intent on trying to harm the dragon even when its companions had all fled, but mostly he was just angry. No one would dare to interrupt him in the middle of his meal! A lesson must be taught.
He bared his sticky, honey-covered fangs and lunged at the human, who dodged with rather impressive grace and calm. This puzzled him: he had not lived in an impression there would still be heroes such as those of old left in the world, capable of standing up to a beast such as himself. He thought that they had all died off, what with being mortals. It was a little odd, but he was still hungry, and so he thrusted forward with his teeth, his claws, and occasionally his tail. He managed to catch the mortal man's arm to his jaws once, but was forced to let it go when he took a mace to his snout.
He decided to try a different approach, and backed away by a couple feet.
"Yol..."
The Dragonborn had lived this long, in the profession of an adventurer and a dragonslayer, by learning to think very fast. He heard what the dragon said and in an instant knew what would come after it, and that it would be best for him to dodge. But in an almost as small instant he thought of something else, the hive currently stationed behind him, one that he could not afford to burn.
So he did not dodge. Instead, feeling that what he was doing and the circumstances around it were utterly absurd, he charged straight in and smashed his mace upwards to the mighty foe's jaw. This had the expected results of the jet of fire being directed above the hive instead of straight through it, salvaging the honey - but also the less-expected consequences of bringing him far too close to the beast, which retaliated with its claw and tossed the man to the ground, stunned.
When he saw again, he saw six ruined, completely eaten-through beehives, and thought his mission had been a failure... but then he also saw two giant scaly heads above him, which would have cheered him up if not for the fact that, well, there was a giant scaly head above him about to breathe more fire.
He barely got his wits together in time to roll aside, feeling the heat behind him as it roasted through the grass and ground, creating little fires here and there. He got up, staggering, and lifted his mace for another attack at the dragon, forcing it to back away. It was gathering its breath for another shout, but this time, possibly because it was still winded from the prior fire breath, the Dragonborn was faster.
"Fus ro dah!"
This had been the first shout he had learned, and had since grown into something of a signature move for him. And for a reason: its power was shown here, once again, as the unrelenting force pushed the massive dragon straight to the tree behind it, which broke against its back. Perhaps it was, objectively speaking, just a bit of a nudge, having moved the beast for a few feet - but anything to move such a massive behemoth at all, let alone take its feet from under it right that, was rather impressive.
The dragon went down to the ground and did not get up immediately afterwards. The Dragonborn waited.
This had not, of course, hurt Daandubahlok physically at all, save perhaps a bit of a back-ache. Most of the effect had been mental: he was finally realizing just what he was dealing with here, and it was hard to subdue the mixed feelings of thrill, excitement, and dread - all of which he was feeling in infinitely larger quantities than ever before in his life - long enough to stand up again.
He started to have this hunch that he might not fly out of this one. But no self-respecting dragon would ever flee from a fight, even in the face of a final death. He stood up and faced his opponent.
"Yol toor..."
The Dragonborn made certain what was behind him was not, this time around, more hives. He, or his employer, could not afford more of those being torched. The grass fires had spread a bit more, but what he was defending (ironic in itself) were still safe, and the only thing that was behind him was the Goldenglow Estate.
Nobody cared about that, right?
The last thing Aringoth would have expected would be for the Thieves Guild to give up so easily, and not send anyone else to come over and try to deal with the matter. He had imagined he would have to see more thieves and infiltrators trying to enter the premises this night, or the few nights to come, before they would finally leave him alone.
But it turns out there was something he had been expecting even less, and that was having the entire building being set ablaze in a fearsome roar in an ancient tongue, all his guards running away babbling something of a great beast from the dawn of creation, and nobody being the slightest bit interested in his prized Queen Bee statue.
He stumbled through the front door mere minutes before half of the building collapsed behind him, having managed to salvage barely anything except for his clothes and the statue, and emerged upon a truly unexpected sight: nearly the entire island was on fire: trees happily alight like candles, side buildings reduced into smoking rubble, grass fires everywhere, and of course, the Estate itself ruined forever. The only thing that was not on fire was the beehives, all save three in pristine state, completely unharmed.
There were two living creatures on the yard beside himself. One was a human, a nord, with a horned helmet and a plate armor, covered in ash and smoking. The other was a dragon, more dead than alive, lying on the ground and trying to get up. He managed to speak only after many seconds of trying to find his words, and even then it was not much:
"What the... what the f-..."
"We're from the Thieves Guild," the man said. "Just here to let you know that you have a very nice honey farm here, and Maven Black-Briar would be delighted to have it work for her again."
Aringoth swallowed in rage and fear. Even as he watched, the dragon crawled towards one of the hitherto unspoiled hives, only to be smacked by a mace without its wielder even looking. "My friend here is pretty hungry," he continued. "I don't think I can keep him off your beehives for too long. I urge you to do what is the right thing."
He jumped to the dragon's back and kicked its side, upon which the creature, wincing in pain and humiliation, spread its wings and flew off, leaving the elf there standing in stunned silence. Behind him, there was a loud rumble and a flush of heat as the rest of the Estate collapsed.
Of course, Daandubahlok would submit to no one, even if it meant his death, and he had put up a fight mid-air, resulting in a crash-landing where he lost his life. But this went unseen by anyone except the Dragonborn, and so it did absolutely nothing to deter the working of the rumor mill.
The Thieves Guild had a dragon. And perhaps more importantly, the Thieves Guild had someone that could control one.
This brought a great deal of power and prestige to the Guild, that had seen little of either for many years in its decline. Old debts were paid off. People that had messed with them stopped doing so. Both Maven Black-Briar and the guildmaster Mercer Frey were impressed of the guy that had pulled this through, though they were also naturally rather afraid of his power. Any dragon seen since was often thought to have been the one owned by the Guild, bringing them further influence in the entire Skyrim.
Far to the west and above the clouds, near to the peak of the Throat of the World, Arngeir the Greybeard facepalmed. The shit he put up with.
Alf died in the collapse of the burning building.