Author's Note: Welcome all to the wonders and mystery of A Heist of Honor, my newest series (besides Horse-- It's What's For Dinner). I begin this relatively medium length story with the POV of the Gray Fox, old and new. Expect that lovely Hieronymus Lex in the next, as this is about the two and their trials. Remember, this is not the telling of the Thieves Guild quest in Oblivion. This is a prologue to those events. As I always ask, please, if you have questions, ask them in your reviews. This plot will probably not get 'as tricky' as A Crimson Conspiracy's, but as always... with Daedric influence, the confusion level seems to go up for some readers. Asking questions helps me formulate a lovely plot that appeals to the lore-lovers and the whims of those who want to see a good Thieves Guild Plot. As always, this is as canon as possible, as I do a great amount of research into everything, from looks of characters, histories, speech patterns, and everything else a TES lover craves. Enjoy the show, and may shadow hide you. Oh and I do not own all this lovely Elder Scrolls stuff.

Chapter 1

Hearthfire 7th, 3E423

Hidden by a false face.

Decried by the Divine.

Unforgiving slave to the Mistress of the Night.

He was all of these things, the Gray Fox thought as he sat stiffly in his chair. His eyes were locked on the ashes of a fire, snuffed out by the cold air and lack of fuel. No flicker of fire lit up the darkening cabin around him. Only a mere candle on a table stayed bright as a simple beacon of hope. His lips cracked as a smiled unfolded from his lips. This day was unusually cold, out of place in the month of Hearthfire. Cold as her shadow, he would think. With slow, aching movement, he pulled his thick leather glove from his left hand, only to recoil at what he had become. Beaten and broken with unseen lashes, he finally felt like he had bled out. His life was draining from him, and none of it was a relief. Unlike her, he was not immortal. His blood was not made of shadow. His legend would only be a shadow upon history, haunting all those who horded and maintained justice throughout the lands. Soon they would have a newer, younger worry on their hands, he thought as a smirk formed. Only one more stop and his life could finally come to a close. The epilogue was up to her now.

His eyes followed the wrinkled contours of his left hand and examined every liver spot. He could only imagine how brittle his meticulous fingers were now. The Gray Fox let out a solid harrumph, his smile still full and healthy just as it was years ago in the days of adventure and youth. In reflection, he doted upon the days long past. He missed the click of a lock pick while manipulating steel tumblers. He missed the cold of the shadows clinging to his very being as he snuck through life's challenges. But alas, the normal affairs of thieves pained him now. The potions just weren't doing it for him anymore. The herbs too. The best alchemists in the world could probably keep him alive, give him back his youth, but was it worth it anymore? He was broken, broken by this godsforsaken curse.

Nocturnal had finally won. But what sweet submission it was…

Hearthfire 8th, 3E423

The Count of Anvil sat up in his bed without a sound, gazing sternly into the candles at the foot of their bed. He couldn't sleep, nor could he ever truly sleep well these past years. Not when he lay innocently aside her. Tainted fingers and beady eyes, how could he ever touch her again without ruining her? With a solemn glance, he peered over her sleeping, covered form, so sound at sleep. How he felt she knew, somewhere deep in the confines of her mind, but more so in her beating heart. It was years now that he had hidden his activities from her. Somehow he found it to be too easy. Was she really that dumb? No. She was the work of years of political families. Of course she knew a scheme when she saw one.

Was it the simple fact that she did not want to believe?

How he longed to continue sitting there and think upon her. They were without a child still, but what could be done? Not now, not when he was leaving. That child, non-existent to this day, deserved a father… a family. A father he could remember. With a shake of his head, Corvus pushed the covers aside. There was no time to waste, for the hours passing could be the Fox's last. It was the dawn of the 8th of Hearthfire, the day Nocturnal was allowed onto Mundus. Already he could feel the shadows clinging to his soul, their tendrils burrowing into it.

A day… where his entire identity would be hidden away, wiped away from the face of history. He knew his fate, and so did the Gray Fox. The thought seared his mind as he envisioned Nocturnal looking down upon him in all her lustful beauty, with a terrible grin stretched across her face. This was their punishment, a punishment he did not deserve if only by association. But it was his duty, his obligation, and his path. The Thieves Guild needed a leader, and he was the most deserving of such an infamous title.

The Gray Fox would have it no other way.

Clouds had collected in the skies above Leyawiin, the sun hidden high above them. The cold was as prevalent as ever, yet there was no wind. The trees did not sway; torches did not flicker, but only dimmed as the darkness enveloped the burning light. A hushed merchant wagon passed by him, the horses unsteady with a panicked look in their eyes, ears pricked high for the slightest hint of noise. The Gray Fox remained stoic as he passed them, invisible to the human eye, but not to the keen eyes of beasts. His presence disturbed the horses, their eyes bulging, revealing the mellow white that would usually remain hidden on any other normal day.

Fear and distrust wafted in the air like a heavy perfume. A feeling he was used to, but others were not. It was no wonder that the peoples of Tamriel remained within their houses on this dark day. A wise, yet foolish choice. Nocturnal did not live to harm, unlike some of the other Daedric Princes. She was content within the folds of her mystery and shadow, propagating her twisted secrets in the minds of men and mer who gave in to her silent, stealthy whims. A thief of curiosity and memories she was, the best thief one could ever aspire to be. The Gray Fox was just like her in a way. He had stolen away the minds of the Imperial Guard, occupying their every thought when there was a reported stealing of a grandiose sort. And the people of Cyrodiil… he had become a legend! More than a story! There was much myth conjured up about him, most of it to scare the wits out of the young or to make a good tale to tell over a stein of ale. He lived on the same divine level as the Daedric Princes.

And yet he was only a pawn.

But was it really a good trade? A life of grandeur and infamy for his personal history? No one could remember his old self, the one who lived prior to the donning of the cowl. The saddest part was, even he could not remember his name. Many a time he sat and thought hard, trying to unbury it in the nooks of his old mind. But it had been too long; his mind had deteriorated without him even knowing it. Age was stealing away his memories, from one of the greatest thieves to ever live. The irony of it all…

The shrine grew closer. He could feel it in his weakening bones. The silence was the loudest noise. Nothing produced a sound, seemingly swallowed up into the void. No call of an owl and no leaf dared rustle. It was as if the world around him knew who exactly tread Mundus that day. As he tried to ignore the silence, the sound of waling and chants echoed and reverberated in the darkness, uniform and unyielding. They were calling her from the depths. He had no doubt that others all across Nirn were doing the same. She was no secret to the world.

The chant became louder as he came closer, his wrinkled skin rippling with bumps as his skin clung to his feeble structure. And yet, their unholy vows soothed him, but they did not bring warmth. His fate remained uncertain, even the Webspinner herself would not know what move Nocturnal would make. But he knew one thing, one absolute that stood tall in his mind: That his comrade, his master thief, would be bestowed upon him a horrible curse. But Corvus was young. He would be able to do the impossible, something even this Gray Fox could never do.

In the name of Nocturnal herself, Corvus Umbranox would erase the mistake their first Grandmaster, Emer Dareloth had made almost 300 years ago. The Gray Fox knew it. Up ahead, a white steed could be seen waiting aside a man in leather armor, simplistic at first glance but enchanted by majestic means. The Gray Fox could only frown upon the sight of Corvus, who upon closer examination, appeared to have the look of a man waiting to die upon his face. But it was not fear, a good sign. More so, perhaps it was a look of acceptance of one's fate. He had no suspicion in the intentions of Umbranox. He knew the Master Thief would show. It was not his style. His thieves had honor, in work and in word.

The two stood in front of the other for a moment, without a word being exchanged between them. There was nothing to say at the moment. They both knew what was to be done, and would could possibly happen. Without signal, the two turned and walked into the cleared area that sat before the bridge leading to her shrine. Upon her statue sat a murder of crows, all deep in a blank stare. The chant did not break, but the sight of the most blessed by Nocturnal did turn the heads of the worshippers. They remained standing in front of an ethereal fire that began to change color. The Gray Fox had seen this occurrence too many times in his life. As expected, the colors around them began to dissipate and change. The cloaks of the worshippers, white as snow, turned black as night. The same happened to the alarmed steed, the crows, and the forest around them. The night seemed to grow thicker around them, almost suffocating in its toxicity.

The Gray Fox approached the ancient stone bridge, making his way through the circle with ease. Corvus, cautious, followed. His muscles were tense as he tried to calm himself. This was not new to him, although he was never a devoted worshipper of the Night Mistress. It still alarmed him, the way they stared blankly into that hypnotizing fire, and how they seemed to sing their invocations without pause. They were locked within her spell. The worshippers were her willing slaves, for the moment.

He however, would not have such a pleasure. His suppressed dread made his stomach ill, but he had no other choice. Honor among thieves… even this one promise could not be broken.

Umbranox would live true to his word.

The chant behind them seemed to peak, a colorless void opening in front of them as they quietly waited in front of her solemn statue. Their queen was there; their dark mistress had arrived. Enthralled, the worshipers could not break their stare as they watched her step out of her sphere. Nocturnal, born of shadow, stood before them, her bare feet in contact with the grounds of Mundus, darkening it to where it was no longer a color but seemingly of the void itself. From under her hood, a smile developed, smoothly yet twisted as her attention came upon the two waiting souls before her.

There was no going back, was all that Corvus could think as his eyes widened to take in all that stood before her. Beauty veiled by darkness, but was that also a trick? Her flesh was deceivingly pale, almost white. Around her, her cloak seemed to mimic the night itself, black as black could be. Black as silence, black as deception, black as shadow.

He was no sure if he was hearing her voice, until he focused in on it. His eyes peered to the left, to see the Gray Fox looking up at her, as if willing her to strike him down right there and now.

"Upon unsacred ground thee do tread," she whispered, her words melting upon their welcoming ears, "Tis well that thou recognize that it is thy time." Her arm extended out, pointing at the Fox, her black eyes penetrating his being. The Gray Fox, speechless, bowed before her feet while pulling off the cowl. He ceased to be the Gray Fox, unrecognizable to Corvus whom also now bowed before the Daedric princess. In a respectful manner, he placed it before her, hoping that maybe she would take it back. But, as expected, she enjoyed the sick pleasure that the curse of the cowl gave her. It was their punishment for ever crossing her, and she made sure that such a thing continued on in the lineage of the Thieves Guild.

Still bowing, the Fox, now unnamed and unknown to the world, gripped the dirt beneath him as he whispered to her.

"I beg of you Nocturnal," he choked out the hushed whisper, "I am dying. Let a dutiful, old man live out his last days in peace and in light."

He continued to look down upon the ground, not making contact with her void-like eyes. Corvus however, dared to look up with his eyes, noticing her changed demeanor. She appeared to be thinking, although it was difficult to place mortal emotions and behaviors upon something that was not of their world.

The Gray Fox listened for an answer, but it came from inside his thoughts. His mind shook as she bellowed her answer, only for him to hear.

"Never," she seethed, the hiss ringing in his head, "Thy soul belongs to Nocturnal, and only to Nocturnal."

And with her last words, the darkness sprang forth from her dark aura, consuming what remained of the Fox. His eyes widened from shock as a gasp barely escaped his lips as he felt his oxygen sapping away from him. He gave one longing look to Corvus, who looked back him, bewildered and unknowing. It was a look of good-bye. It was the look of a dead man gripped by the chill of death, or worse… eternal slavery.

Corvus watched, not recognizing the man that was finally consumed silently by Nocturnal's darkness. The stranger evaporated into the void, the Night Mistress along with him. The chant ended with her disappearance, their sound still haunting Corvus as he rose. Color came back to the world, and so did the sounds of night.

Twilight had passed.

The cowl lay limply on the ground where Nocturnal once stood, glowing dimly with enchantment. With firm fingers, he picked it up, staring into its eye holes, and then the blue Daedric inscription that ran down the bridge of the cowl.

"Shadow hide you," he mouthed to himself, in awe of what was gripped in his hands. Erased from history. Just like the Fox before him. It was his duty, his purpose to do what they could not do. He would change the threads of history, of fate itself! For now, it was his sacrifice, but he would reap the award in the end.

By what way, by what magic, he did not know yet. But in his heart he knew he would be the one to stop this. Sturdily and with confidence, he pulled the cowl over his head, his face concealed by shadow incarnated. He did not feel any different, yet the time line was changed. He knew his soul had become bound to the cowl, indentured to the whims of Nocturnal.

But all he could think about now was the thoughts of the life he had now erased. His wife would become a widow to a husband who disappeared. She would not remember his name, or his face. Glimpsing down at the ring worn above his leather gauntlet, he grimaced. History may have been changed, but the promises he made would survive. Dutiful to wife and kin, he would make sure they did not forget him.

The sands of time could not bury him forever.

Author's Note 2: If anyone was wondering, A Crimson Conspiracy should be updating soon... Chapter 32 is a doosey, very large, and very action packed. Who doesn't love parties?