"Have you heard? They say the Grey Fox has retired, and a new one has taken his place." A whisper, faint, breezing past his ears and stopping him in his tracks immediately.

He knows that voice.

He turns sharply, eyes seeking out the speaker desperately.

Where does he know it from?

The crush of the crowd rocks him back and forth gently as his eyes flicker over every face near him, desperately searching for that flash of recognition to spark within his mind.

He sees no one.

XXXXXXXXXXX

As soon as he enters his room, he lifts the lid of the chest hidden between his bed and the wall, and fishes through its contents. Papers, documents, sketches, posters, trinkets-all of it finds its way onto his floor. One of his subordinates glances in, sighs at him, and closes the door with a soft snick behind them. He spares a brief glance behind him, checking the shadows and the ceiling for any potential intruder. Seeing nothing, he returns his focus to what lies in front of him.

All of it is evidence, notes. His hunt for the Grey Fox may be restricted to Anvil, but he refuses to give up.

It's a kind of obsession, and he doesn't know why he lets it control him. It makes him predictable, manipulative. But despite that-despite the fact it has been used against him before and will be again, he allows it to have such power over him.

He doubts he could function without it.

He finds it eventually, something he knows is connected to that voice, although he doesn't know why.

His bird's writ of arrest.

He holds onto it tightly while he gathers the rest of his obsession and shoves it messily back into the chest, then stands, turning to his desk.

The whirlwind of thoughts in his head freezes for one long second, and he stops moving.

Then slowly walks forward.

The ornate silver dagger he has kept atop his desk since he received it-a memento of his years of service in the Imperial City-is missing. Lying where it used to be is a tiny slip of paper.

He picks it up slowly.

The picture is beautiful. Composed of a few long flowing lines, grey ink suggests all the contours and curves of the animal while, at the same time, remaining nothing more than a handful of randomly drawn lines.

A fox.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"How long are you going to sit there?" He doesn't know if his question surprises his unannounced guest, but he puts down his pen and turns to face them slowly.

This Grey Fox, sitting in front of him, is not the same as the one he is so familiar with. This particular Fox is a woman, dressed in close fitting leather armor, unarmed, and face obscured by the signature hood. It doesn't hide her ears, however, slender and tapering off into a point.

"You look different, without your armor on. Doesn't your paranoia extend to your personal safety?" She asks softly, tilting her head. She's perched on his dresser, only a few feet away. There is no doubt that, should she have wanted to kill him, he would be dead-if, of course, the Fox wet her blade with blood.

But while the Thieves Guild is many things, they are not murderers.

He voices as much to her, drawing a laugh from her. The noise tickles at the back of his mind, burning and aching until he recognizes that he has heard her before.

But where?

"You're lucky, Hieronymus Lex, that your hunts have not led to the death of one of our number. We may be pacifists, but when one of our own dies, we get our revenge." It is a warning. But why? He knows now that he has been probing in particularly sore locations, for this Fox, that he is about to uncover something he should not toy with. Energy buzzes within his veins, a nearly irresistible urge to focus on his work, to discover what it is that has the Fox risking everything just to speak with him, he who should be a neutralized threat so far from the Imperial City.

"I'm well aware of your connections with the Brotherhood, Fox." She tilts her head and smiles at his tone-not at all accusatory, simply a stating of a fact. Silence descends. For a long moment, they simply stare at each other, a kind of light tension in the air. Neither of them will harm the other, but he is a hunter, and the Fox is his prey, even now.

"Why don't you persecute the Brotherhood?" She finally asks. Her expression has changed, half-smile gone and curiosity the only thing remaining. He blinks at her slowly, surprised at her question.

"You say you want to uphold the law, make the City safer for its people. Yet you refuse to deal with the murderers and assassins that drench the City's alleyways. I wouldn't be surprised, if you weren't so adamant about the Grey Fox…and you ignored them out of fear. But you don't. Fear them, I mean." She adds, swinging her legs gently while she waits for him to answer.

She's…not immature. Not that. But…she's certainly more childish-no, innocent is the word he's looking for-than he'd believed the successor to the Grey Fox would be.

"The Brotherhood only murders those with cause to be murdered. I'm surprised you haven't realized it yet, but they are part of the reason the Imperial Watch can afford to focus on you and your Guild so intensively. Or, did, in any case…" He is not telling the truth. But primarily, those who the Dark Brotherhood accepts contracts for, have done something horrible that the Guard has not caught. Rapists and killers and dealers of all manner of contraband have fallen at their hands in their hovels while the Guard is still looking for suspects.

"They ruin lives. The Guild doesn't." There's such a conviction in her voice, that her Guild is as beautifully noble as those living in the Waterfront believe it to be, that it stuns him. How old is this girl?

His jaw clenches, anger, pure hot rage sparking throughout him.

"How can you speak to me like this, Fox, when you don't even know your own Guild?" He asks finally, standing. She flinches, sensing the change overcoming him. He slams his chair-although not too hard as to alert someone there was an intruder in his room-as he turns his back to her and leaves.

Why did he leave her, freedom in tact? And where had he heard that voice before?

The door rings a warning to never return as he closes it behind him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Myvryna Arano.

The name aches and burns. It's connected to the Fox, and if he can just think far enough back, remember, then he knows he'll have her, caught, trapped with no way to escape.

His mood is foul, although he forces himself to be polite to those who approach him, ask with a passing concern whether or not he is alright.

After the fifth of such an approach he forces himself to reign in his anger, to place the mask he's worn for so long just so on his face.

He retrieves his weapons from the castle's blacksmith and then walks back into the audience hall, taking his place behind the Countess and her husband.

He's never liked the Count, and has remained suspicious of the man ever since being assigned here. There is a shiftiness to the man's gaze, a cold sort of smile to his lips, that raises Lex's hackles every time he speaks to the other man.

He dismisses such thoughts, letting his mind wander to other matters while petitioners and citizens approach, seeking counsel and aide. His gaze wanders as well-

-and he spots her, gliding along the shadows, hidden in the lace curtains cloaking the walls of the audience hall. It is obvious she wants him to see her, and any doubt was dispelled the moment she tilted her head, glittering eyes meeting his from beneath the grey cowl.

A week has passed since their encounter. He knows he has to see what it is she wants-listening to her voice is the only way he has of discovering who she is.

But he cannot abandon his duties.

The minutes tick by slowly, and she leans against the wall, dipping her fingers into the pockets of those who walk by, slipping knick-knacks into a knapsack hanging loosely from one arm. She is no longer wearing leather armor-rather, she is wearing the clothes of a poor farmer, save that they are clean. It isn't an effective disguise, and he wonders why she bothered.

And why hasn't anyone seen her yet? Those damned guards are supposed to be trained for this!

"Captain Lex…?" He blinks, the Countess's voice startling him out of his thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright? You appear agitated…"

He realizes abruptly that his ire has slipped out of his mask, pasting itself across his face in a very clear expression of displeasure.

"…My apologies, Countess. I am fine." He adds, recognizing the need to answer her questions. She offers him a smile, although there is a tinge of bafflement to her eyes. This is the first time she has ever seen him with any expression besides his mask.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Fox laughing at him silently.

When the Countess finally retires, the Fox has long since left. He figures she is waiting for him in his room-why else would she come to Anvil?-and maneuvers around the various nobles and guards who wish to speak to him. It takes longer than it usually does, even with his attempt to avoid conversation, and by the time he returns to his room, the sun has set.

The covers of his bed are wrinkled, but she is leaning against the wall, tugging at the cowl in irritation.

"What do you want, Fox?" He asks softly, carefully setting his sword upon his desk so she knows that he doesn't mean to harm her. She moves like a shadow across the wall, closing his door with barely a sound.

"I need your help." She replies. There is no mirth in her eyes any longer, nothing but soberness. Disconcerted, he frowns.

"What do you think I could help you with?"

"The Thieves Guild does not allow freelancing thieves to work by themselves for long. Either they join us or end up in jail. Freelance guilds are destroyed as soon as we discover them-usually about a day or two after their creation-and we make certain there are no connections between them and the Grey Fox." Her hands clench and unclench rhythmically at her sides as she speaks.

"This is none of my business, Fox." There is a warning note to his voice. She is giving him information about the Guild penalty free, and begging him for assistance. Something is wrong, something dangerous is growing.

He isn't certain he wants to know what it is.

"That's where you're wrong!" She insists, tugging at one of her bags before producing an object. She tosses it to him and he catches it neatly, opening his palm to see what it is, even with his apprehension rising.

A square of iron stamped with a series of dots on one side, the other bearing the dragon insignia of the Empire. He stars at the dots for a moment before realizing what they are.

"The Thief constellation? Why-"

"We don't know."

Both of them fall silent, and he pulls the chair of his desk out, dropping into it, all the while studying the trinket.

"These people have been murdering their targets and taking everything-whether it's worth something or not-from their homes and corpses. They've stolen from beggars, and we've found a couple of them dead."

"How long has this been going on?" He demands, gaze shooting up towards hers.

"Two days. There's been a rush of murders and thefts across all of Cyrodiil. This group is extensive, and obviously plans on overthrowing the Guild. They attacked all at once, no warning. I don't even know where to begin."

"Why should I care?" He asks. It is a hollow question-he knows exactly why-and even as he asks it a number of pits open up within his stomach, bottomless and gaping.

Her gaze is sharp, gentle.

"We moderate what we steal. Rich, never enough to leave one destitute unless they deserve it, and we never kill. We smuggle, we supply goods, we keep things fair. Without us the entire economical and political system in Cyrodiil would collapse. These thieves? Don't care. They want us gone, even if that means fucking over the entire country."

A hint of a less…proper accent touches her voice when she swears. Harsh and cold and angry and rough, it sparks his memory again. Closer…

"Yet they bear the mark of the Empire itself. They either do so to mock us, to tell us what they plan on 'stealing', or honestly believe it this is for the good of the Empire." It is a large gap to jump, but his conviction is clear.

A small smile touches her lips.

"You were a mage once, weren't you?"

A thick silence falls over them, and he lets out a slow breath.

"I wasn't always Hieronymus Lex, just as you weren't always the Grey Fox."

He stops himself before he can say anything else, because that alone-whether she knows it or not-says too much about himself. It is the entire reason they are here now, speaking. Because she wasn't the Grey Fox he had sworn to destroy.

"You'll receive information about the Anvil murders within an hour, I assume. Your guards tend to keep you out of the loop on the days you guard the Countess. I can have the information we've gathered on every one of the murders and everything else here by tomorrow night, though." He tries to ignore the fact she taps the top of his dresser as she speaks, very clearly indicating that one spot.

Wearily, he nods, but even with his exhaustion, excitement blossoms within him. It's been so long since he's had anything tangible to work with…

She pauses before she leaves, one hand on the doorknob.

"I owe you, Lex. The Guild owes you."

"Why you trust me is beyond me."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend." She quips with a ridiculous grin, seriousness gone as she vanishes, leaving behind only the piece of metal in his hands.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She never sends one of her operatives. It is always the Grey Fox herself, always waiting for him in his room. He has changed the lock four times and spent a fortune on a better security system-there is, after all, only one door-but none of his triggers are ever activated.

When he enters his room for their meeting this time, he tosses her a key.

He knows why she always comes personally. Each time an assistant has been sent, they've found themselves clapped in irons and spending the time in jail. Most manage to escape anyway, but it has always sent a clear message.

He wonders what they think of him now that he has never made a move to arrest their leader.

She catches the object with a self-satisfied smile, and he rolls his eyes as he drops down into his chair, lifting up a thin roll of parchment.

"They're not based in any city, but they are in the center of Cyrodiil. Not Alyeid ruins either, but maybe a cave system of some sort, maybe a fallen tower?"

"How do you know?" She asks curiously, dramatically snapping the scroll open.

"Alyeid ruins are coated in the dust of the material used to build them. It is extremely fine and hard to get off, but leaves trace remains behind when one leaves the ruins. None of this dust was found at any of the crime scenes."

"Are you sure they couldn't have disposed of the dust?"

"No. The entry points and exit points vary for each of the attacks, and some of them require tight fits. Even a child small enough to not touch the sides of the sewer pipes would have left behind the dust when crawling out of them and into them." He replies distractedly, noticing that his papers have been gone through. He casts her an accusatory look. She ignores it, staring at the paper he's given her in amusement.

"You draw?"

"…It helps." He replies curtly, irritated. She laughs softly to herself and rolls it up again.

"They're going after you next, Lex. You've put Anvil under such a tight leash that they can't attack the city. Other cities are following your example-and if they take you out, all resistance will crumple."

"Oh?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. She nods seriously, ignoring his disbelief.

"You're a legend among thieves. Lex, the man who stood his ground against the Grey Fox and the Thieves Guild, who is so dangerous that even the Dark Brotherhood refuses to take contracts on your head." She says as theatrically as possible, spreading her hands out in the air as if revealing something. His head jerks up and he stares at her, incredulous. She catches his gaze and elaborates before he can speak.

"It's purely politics, dear. Evil has a figurehead, and good needs one too." She says dryly. He supposes most would feel irritated at that-he only feels relief. He doesn't think he could handle discovering he's been in close contact with the Dark Brotherhood without his awareness. The Thieves Guild has always kept tabs on him, and he has come to terms with that long ago, but the Dark Brotherhood would be one straw too many.

He is, however, irritated with her nickname. She's been coining them for a while now, tossing them out almost as soon as she uses them. None of his attempts to stop her have worked.

"…I see..." He falls silent, lost in his thoughts, and she stands, taking it as her cue to leave.

"Be careful, Lex. They're dangerous."

"So are you." He replies dryly.

She looks incredibly pleased by that, and a wide grin spreads across her lips.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I know where the bust of Llathasa Indarys is..."

Who had said that to him? The Fox, he is certain. But why can't he recall her face?

He should be focusing on the assassin that will be coming, but instead he finds himself pouring over his notes on her and the Guild. It would have been an effective ruse, making the soon-to-be intruder think he believed it was the Guild's doing, but he had already publicly declared it wasn't the Thieves Guild, to alleviate the growing fear among Anvil's population. Even those who didn't believe that the Guild existed had been relieved.

Something lurks at the back of his mind, something obvious he is missing.

With a frustrated groan he tosses his notes onto his desk, pushing away from it as he stands.

A soft scratching noise comes from his door.

He ignores it.

The Fox had planted the bust on his bird, he's positive. Had approached him face-to-face and told him where to find the bust. Before she'd become the Grey Fox, he knows that much, but…he can't remember what she looked like.

He isn't stupid. He knows what the Grey Cowl does. Years ago, when he was still a mage, he'd recognized the Cowl in an old tome. He'd spent the next year finding out everything he could about it, and he knew what its curse did.

But he had been able to recognize her, to some degree, and he knows, somehow, that the curse had been weakened.

His door seems to sigh as it opens, and he stands to face the assassin.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She's running through the streets of Anvil, panic bubbling within her like a fountain. She isn't certain why she cares about the damned Captain of the Guard so much-how many times has he hunted her through the streets of the Imperial City? How often has she had to employ every trick up her sleeve to keep him from discovering that one particular shadow, that one particular door?

Truth be told, she believes he worships Nocturnal. The Grey Fox had stolen her cowl and, now, had managed to partially remove its curse. The Daedric Prince would be furious.

But Nocturnal hadn't acted yet, even to take back the brass key hanging around her throat. Why?

Words run together like a mantra in her mind-don't kill him, don't kill him, don't kill him-the entire time she runs.

Castle Anvil rises up before her, and she plasters herself to the wall as a pair of guards troop past.

Please, please, don't kill him…

By the time she reaches Hieronymus Lex's door, her heart is in her mouth.

The door itself is firmly closed, but she can see every one of his locks has been undone. Magical residue hangs like a cloud in the air, hot and searing as she slips past it. She turns the knob and slips inside soundlessly, unable to control her breathing.

Lex is leaning against a wall, dressed in simple trousers and a plaid shirt, a sword hanging loosely at his hips and arms folded across his chest.

"I was wondering when you'd get here."

She stands absolutely still, gaze slowly moving to his desk chair.

Strapped to it, blood trickling down the side of his head, is the Count. She very quickly sits on Lex's bed, dropping her head into her hands and letting out a sigh of relief.

"You knew?"

"I found out and came as quickly as I could. Thank Talos he's alive." She said softly, letting it out in a breath. Lex lifts an eyebrow-Talos is a god mostly revered by Nords and Imperials. Not usually elves.

"What am I missing, Fox?"

The previous Grey Fox's eyes glare at her.

"Take off his gag." Lex doesn't move for a moment, but complies soon enough.

"What are you doing?" Her tone of voice is that of a parent to a child, exasperated and furious. Both men narrow their eyes at her, but the Count replies.

"You know better than anyone. You just can't let go." There's bitterness in the Count's voice. She stands slowly, returning his anger full-force.

"That's no excuse to start murdering us. Amusei? He was tortured. We found his body cut open and strung up at the Garden. Methredel was attacked, barely managed to escape alive. Now she's in danger of bleeding out and even the University can't do anything for her at this point." Her rage is almost tangible, and his eyes regard her coolly, uncaring.

He smirked.

"You know, it makes sense now, why you kept waiving the Blood Price on all of those heists. You were upset when I came back with the Elder Scroll without a drop of blood on my dagger. You did nothing while you ruled. Cristophe told me more than you think he did. That it was left to him to take care of our finances, to send and receive shipments, to keep up the contacts we had, get new recruits-!" She stops herself there, feeling Lex's eyes on her, knowing that if she raises her voice any farther guards will come in, knowing Lex is filing this information away, even if he isn't going to use it against her.

"Your duty was to put the Guild first! Fuck Anvil, fuck your wife! You abandoned them the moment you became the Grey Fox! And you think having second thoughts years later gave you the right to abandon us? To betray us? Then come back around and kill us?!" Lex has an arm around her stomach, pulling her back before she can hit him. She shudders—she hadn't even realized she'd moved—and pulls away from him quickly, moving to the other end of the room.

Lex moves suddenly, so quickly that even she is awed. He snaps something off of the Count's neck, turns it over in his hand, then curls his fingers over it.

"What is this?" His voice is low, dangerous.

"Shinji's blood." She mutters, taking the object from Lex. He lets her, although he remains stiff and unresponsive.

It's the same symbol she showed him all those weeks ago—months, almost.

"Answer me, Count. I know places in this castle where no one will hear you, where they won't bother to search. You've already deserted the people of Anvil and your wife once. Who would find it shocking that you would do it again?" Lex's expression remains absolutely calm, quiet.

Raw fury splashes across the Count's face.

"You dare? After everything I've done to get back to my life—my wife!—you think that I'm going to let you just take it all away?!"

"There's not much you can do about it." She says dryly. Both men turn to her, but Lex's gaze is almost amused, while the Count's is furious.

"You started up a gang of cutthroats and attacked the Guild because you hate us. Probably because you were tricked into taking the Cowl in the first place, and rather than blame the man at fault for that, you figured you should take it out on a bunch of innocents. But that's not it, is it?" She looks at Lex as she speaks, gaze curious.

She'd known he hated thieves with a passion entirely too strong for her Guild. She'd figured somebody had framed the Guild for something that had happened to him.

But this? This was just…too much of a coincidence.

"No." His voice is colder than anything she's ever heard before, and he doesn't elaborate, doesn't continue speaking. She hadn't expected him to. Whatever had happened was his business, not hers.

"Do you want to be the one to kill him?" She is shaking, with horror or anger or frustration, she doesn't know. Maybe all of them. She's always known the Count was far from a good man, even for a thief, but this?

"Yes." A tension seems to fade from him, and he nods his head without a word.

"Good." She twines her fingers together to keep them from shaking. She is completely serious-and she is bound by her role as the Grey Fox to see this through regardless. If it isn't Lex who does it, it will be one of her Guildmates-and she doesn't think she can bear to put that on their shoulders.

The Count's face drains of blood. The Count looks as if he's about to let out a cry of protest, of rage, and Lex's fingers move, a silence spell flashing over the older man before she's even on her feet.

"We'll take him. I'll…ah, I have a friend who can question him. I'll send you what we find and the location of their base. And…when we're ready to kill him, I'll come get you. Maybe a week or so." She speaks quietly as she approached the Count. Lex raises an eyebrow, but nods slowly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

And their business wraps itself up. The Count revealed he was the leader of this group, because once he had his wife back, he wanted to return to his life of power and crime-although not in those words. He revealed where they were based. Within a week, a fallen tower southwest of Chorrol is turned to rubble, a funeral pyre burning for the scum that had inhabited it behind the debris. Lex himself took care of that, saying he had received an anonymous tip. Guards from all of the cities went with him, catching the Count's minions by surprise.

She comes to collect him in the early hours of morning, and he comes with her wordlessly. The journey to Bravil is quiet, each of them drowning in their own thoughts.

He refused to explain why he was going with her, why he was so callously breaking the laws he had struggled for so long to uphold. She thinks she understands, though. He needed a mask, a façade to hide behind to gain the support of the people of Cyrodiil. Painting himself a silver hunter was the best way to do so, she supposes. Now, without need for that, he is getting the revenge he's wanted for so long.

The Count is waiting for them, bound to a chair in S'krivva's home. When they enter, he begins cursing at her violently. She ignores him, hauling herself onto the Khajiit Doyen's table. Covered head-to-toe in the black-red robe signature of the Dark Brotherhood, her brother leaves his place at the Count's side, sitting beside her. Lex stiffens, eyeing him warily.

"I didn't touch the Count. He's a coward." He grunts, tapping her wrist gently. She relaxes, and presses a kiss to the rough material of his cowl.

"Thank you. For everything." She means it. He had left their life behind, left her behind. She'd contacted him directly to question the Count, to hold him until the trial was ready, and then, afterwards, to dispose of his body. He has done well for himself. He is the apprentice to Lucien Lachance now, a full-blooded member of the Dark Brotherhood. He seems happy, content, and she is glad for him. He found a home amongst the Brotherhood, she amongst her Guild.

"Just make sure Lucien gets his money on time." He says gruffly, and takes his leave. He will be back, later, but his presence would upset the Guild, when they arrive.

S'krivva watches Lex warily from her chair while the door opens and, one by one, every member of the Thieves Guild comes in. Methredel, having almost entirely recovered from the attack, is the first in. All of them stare at her, then Lex, then the Count. None of them know what is going on.

Unlike the Count, she has met with and familiarized herself with each of the Guild's members. She has made it feel less formal, more like a family, than it used to be. The change is evident in the way they stand, shoulder to shoulder, tightly packed, avoiding Lex and the Count and drawing her into their fold without a second thought.

"What are we here for, Fox? What is he doing here?" Christophe asks finally, breaking the hush that has fallen over them. She squeezes her way out of the crush of bodies and stands in front of Lex, gazing at them from beneath her hood.

Then, she reaches up and takes it off.

There is a chorus of gasps-to see her face, realize it is her. Lex laughs, although it doesn't last for long.

"You all know that there was a Grey Fox before me. It's a position that is passed down. This fellow here was the Fox before me-no, not Lex, don't give me that look, Christophe."

The Doyen glares at her, but some of the fear in the room alleviates.

"Some of you know this better than others, but he wasn't a very good Grey Fox. He neglected the Guild, couldn't negotiate at all, and focused solely on his pet project. But that isn't why he's here. He's here because he betrayed our Guild to the fetchers that murdered Amusei. He's here because he was the leader of that bunch of cutthroats. He's here because he has murdered his targets. He's here because he's broken almost every rule we have."

"And what's Hieronymus Lex himself doing here?" Christophe asks, spearheading the general feel of those gathered. She tilts her head slightly, studying them.

"He wants to be the one to kill him."

"We're killing the Grey Fox?" One of the newer recruits asks, looking both horrified and confused.

"There are tenets-sorry, bad choice of words. There are rules we have that, if they are broken, result in death. Usually it's the party that has been most hurt by whatever was done that gets the knife. This time, Lex wants to do it."

"Why should we let him?" S'krivva rasps, flicking her tail irritably.

"He's the one that destroyed the Count's group of thugs. He's the one that baited the Count out of hiding. He's the one that discovered where they were holed up. He's the one that made sure we weren't hunted down while this was going on." She ticks off fingers as she speaks, ending with a shrug.

"Why?" It's Luciana who asks, and all eyes turn to the usually quiet woman.

Lex lets a terrible sort of smile touch his lips, and answers for himself.

"What would you do for revenge?"

She admits it's a strange sight, to see a man who for so long has been a paragon of all that is good standing with a blade poised at another man's throat, expression cold and a sort of light in his eyes and on his lips she has only ever seen in members of the Black Hand. Sithis is not with Hieronymus Lex, but at that moment she decides Nocturnal must be, because the shadows seem darker around him, and, why not? Nocturnal is the epitome of mystery, what could be more mysterious than choosing the man who stands against the thief of her Cowl, and her kin?

She decides she'll go to Nocturnal's shrine when this is all over, maybe convince Lex to go with her. She'd like to see that meeting, the serious Imperial speaking to the Daedric Prince known to be a patron of thieves.

The Guild falls silent at his question, sensing something other in his voice.

"Is there proof of this?" Christophe finally asks, although he doesn't sound as if he cares very much.

"His own confessions."

"Is there any way this can be linked to us?" S'krivva asks.

"I wanted to string his body up in the Elder Scroll Library in the Palace." She drawls, drawing more than a few laughs from her Guildmates.

"I approve, but I doubt it's the most…intelligent course of action." S'krivva replies, staring at her meaningfully.

"I know. We'll douse him in skooma and stick him in one of the waterways. It's a common enough thing for noblemen to be addicted that most regular folk will accept it." Her proposal seems to be met with very little reluctance-the only opposition being from the member of the Guild that runs skooma shipments to the den. A nobleman's death will draw attention to it, even here in Bravil.

Anvil was searching for the Count, still, but very unenthusiastically. The Countess did not mourn—she had it on good authority the Countess was, at this moment, seeking a suitable replacement for him. As they'd guessed, the city wasn't surprised that he was missing.

No one objects, and heads nod all around.

"Any last words?" She finally asks, turning to look at the Count. Lex has been casting silencing spells over him to keep him from using the magic they all know he has, she realizes, as she turns to him. He sneers at her, but when Lex lifts his sword, blurts out his final request.

"Get my ring to my wife."

It's what she and Lex expected of him—and Christophe, although that was only because she had needed someone to speak to after the Count had left her with the weight of the Guild and the Cowl on her shoulders. The others blink in surprise, having not expected it.

"I suppose." She drawls, and meets Lex's eyes. His gaze is questioning, and she nods.

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"I was looking for information in the wrong place." He says softly, shaking his head to himself as he sets down his quill. He has waited to speak until he knows she is awake, and she yawns in response. He has grown used to finding her in his room, asleep or rummaging through his things or even hiding from his guards, and her intrusions no longer bother him. If anything, the room seems empty when she is not there.

She runs a hand through her hair, shrugging.

"Most people do."

"I remember you now."

"If it's any consolation, I'm sorry for getting you kicked out here." He laughs softly, digging through his desk until he produces a thin roll of paper. He tosses it to her, and she catches it curiously.

"When you put the Cowl back on, I will forget your face, right?"

"Yes. But it no longer erases me from history, so that's good. And, did you just admit to not worshiping her?" He pauses, and looks at her sharply. She seems entirely serious.

"What?" His confusion is clear, and she sighs, waving a hand dismissively at him as she sets the scroll in her lap, trying to unroll it.

"Never mind. Just a theory." Her voice trials off as she finishes opening the scroll, and a smile touches her lips.

It is a drawing of a grey fox.