I walked into the Riften tavern, The Bee and Barb, that afternoon and was greeted by a round of thunderous applause. Even the snooty Marcurio and curt Sapphire joined in. I made my way over to the bar amidst hearty claps on the back and offers of mead and collapsed onto a stool. I called to the innkeeper, an Argonian woman by the name of Keerava, for some ale. She slapped a tankard down in front of me and said in a gruff, classic Argonian voice, "After what you've been through today? This one's on the house."

I nodded my thanks and took a long draught of ale. The alcohol cooled my parched throat, but could do nothing to stop my hands from shaking. Why was the Dark Brotherhood after me? Someone had to go through the trouble of the Black Sacrament, and the trouble of paying for a Contract. And in full before the assassination? They either didn't see me as much of a threat, or wanted to put the screws to the Dark Brotherhood. Or, an even chillier thought, was the Dark Brotherhood itself after me?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a rather large figure seat itself on the barstool next to me. "That was some quick thinking out there, lass."

I glanced up and over, only to come face to face with my new Nord friend, Brynjolf. "Thanks, I guess," I said, turning back to my drink. "Comes from years of practice."

"Years of practice?" Brynjolf took a swig from his own tankard. "You've had Dark Brotherhood agents after you for years? You must be one hell of a woman."

I laughed despite myself. "Not necessarily Dark Brotherhood," I said. "Morag Tong, mercenaries, hired thugs, bandits, even a few dragons since I've been in Skyrim… Seems like someone's always trying to kill me."

Brynjolf's brow furrowed. "Why would that be?"

I shrugged. "Political reasons, House vendettas, I stole something, they just don't like me… I don't know. People always find something."

"You stole something?" Brynjolf laughed, a sound hearty and without scorn. I decided then that this particular Nord was alright in my book. "What in Oblivion did you steal to justify sending the Dark Brotherhood after you?"

His heart. "Who knows? Clearly nothing worth much." I gestured to myself and my equipment. "I forged all this myself."

"Pretty and talented," Brynjolf mused, taking a swig from his tankard.

"Hey," I told him sharply. "Don't bullshit me."

"And immune to pointless flattery." Brynjolf sounded vaguely impressed. "You are quite the character, lass..." He paused. "I'm sorry, I never caught your name."

I smirked. "Name's Tiberia. Yes, I am named after Talos. No, I don't know why."

"Named after…?"Brynjolf seemed confused, but the mask broke after a moment. "Ah, Tiber Septim. Odd for a Dark Elf, no offense meant."

"None taken; I don't understand it, either."

"Ever ask your parents about it?"

"I will when I get to Sovngarde."

"I'm sorry to hear that." The reply was automatic, but then Brynjolf's brow furrowed. "Wait, Sovngarde? You believe in the Nord afterlife?"

It's hard not to, when you've been there. "Sounds better than living in Aetherius for the rest of my afterlife. Or worse, one of the planes of Oblivion."

We sat there in companionable silence a moment, two warriors staring moodily over their tankards, but he broke the silence. "There was no need to bite my head off, lass."

I shot him an oh-come-now look. "No Nord in his right mind thinks any sort of Elf is pretty. Come now; I'm not that new to Skyrim."

Brynjolf was spared a retort when a rather unpleasant Dunmer by the name of Indaryn claimed the seat on my other side. "That was impressive," he lauded, clapping me on the shoulder and lingering there longer than technically necessary. "Killing a Dark Brotherhood agent is no easy feat. Maven won't be happy about it, but you don't care about that, now do you?

"Maven?" I asked, feeling rather stupid. "Who's Maven?"

"Maven Black-Briar," Indaryn grinned, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. I could tell he was already drunk. "Her family basically has the city in its pocket. She runs the meadery over there…" He gestured hugely in a rather vague direction. "…and I'm in charge when she's not around." He dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. "And word on the street is, she's in with the Thieves Guild and will call the Dark Brotherhood if she needs someone taken care of."

"Thieves Guild?" My ears pricked up. "That exists?"`

"In rumor and name only," Brynjolf interjected, shooting dagger-like looks at Indaryn. "Don't go scaring the woman; she's only just gotten here."

"Ah, new to Riften are you?" Indaryn asked, and I immediately didn't like his tone. "I could show you around, if you like…"

"Thanks," I said sweetly, "but I've got a guide." I jerked a thumb at Brynjolf, who nodded as though this whole scenario wasn't strange at all.

Indaryn seemed startled. "All right, then. Welcome to the city." He departed, muttering something about 'those bloody Nords.'

"Thanks," I said offhandedly to the red-headed Nord on my left.

He laughed. "No problem, lass. I don't like him much either."

"Hey, Tiberia, could I talk to you a moment?"

I turned, finding Brand-Shei behind me. "Sure, you already are. What's up?"

Brynjolf found that a lot funnier than Brand-Shei, who nevertheless began talking. "This is going to sound strange," he began awkwardly, "but I went to go check the pockets of that Brotherhood assassin you killed. They carry around their instructions usually, you know? And I…"

"Thank you," I cut off his awkward-but-earnest rant. "Truly. But I already got the letter after I killed him."

"Well hell, lass!" Brynjolf exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell us? It'll probably tell you who's after you."

"It didn't say much of anything," I lied. "Only that whatever assassin the Dark Brotherhood sent can't tell Dark Elves apart to save his life." I paused. "No pun intended."

Brand-Shei tsked in annoyance. "Typical Redguard…"

Bur Brynjolf was more concerned about something else entirely. "So who was the Contract actually for?"

I shrugged. "A woman by the name of Morwyn."

Brynjolf spat whatever he was drinking out in surprise, while Brand-Shei's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "The Dragonborn?" Brand-Shei asked as Brynjolf coughed up a storm. "The Contract was for the Dragonborn?"

"I guess so…? Brynjolf, shut up." I handed him my tankard, which he downed in seconds.

"It's bad news for Skryim," Brynjolf began, slamming my tankard down on the bar, "if someone wants the Dovahkiin dead so badly they'll hire the Dark Brotherhood to kill her."

"But that still doesn't explain why the assassin confused me with her," I said.

Brand-Shei shrugged. "Who knows? Like you said, he probably can't tell Mer apart from each other."

"Or he couldn't find the Dragonborn and took out the closest thing he found," Brynjolf remarked. He pushed back from the bar and stood. "Watch your back, Tiberia. Riften can be unforgiving even without death threats hanging over your head."

I nodded. "Good to know."

At that point, Talen-Jei, Keerava's husband and co-owner of The Bee and Barb, stopped by to congratulate me and offer me one of the drink specials. Brynjolf declined, citing past experiences, and Brand-Shei immediately ordered one called the White-Gold Tower, but I was intrigued.

"Did you say there's Nightshade in that one?" I asked, certain my ears had deceived me.

"It's perfectly safe, I assure you," Talen-Jei hastened to add in his rough Argonian bass. "I couldn't tell you how many times I've drunk a Velvet LeChance, and look, I'm still here."

"Did you name these?" Brynjolf asked as I traded gold for tankard with Talen-Jei.

"No, I picked them up while I was working as a bartender in Gideon," Talen-Jei supplied. "Why do you ask?"

Brynjolf shrugged. "Just curious why someone would name a drink after Lucien Lachance."

Talen-Jei shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, friend." He departed then, off to make sure the rest of his customers were satisfied.

Brand-Shei and I exchanged a look. "You want to ask, or should I?" I said.

"Who's Lucien Lachance?" Brand-Shei said to Brynjolf.

The red-headed Nord laughed. "Ironically, a famous Dark Brotherhood assassin from the last Era. He lived in Cyrodiil, also did some work with the Thieves Guild there."

I slammed my palm into my forehead. "Are you shitting me?"

Brynjolf, Brand-Shei, and even Keerava, all burst out laughing. "I think the gods may be trying to tell you something," Brand-Shei managed to get out.

I looked heavenward, stretching both hands out in a massive shrug. "I'm listening!" I said to whatever was listening up there, causing my newfound friends to crack up more.

It was then that I noticed the Bee and Barb was oddly, well, quiet. Sure, it had the hubbub of voices and the general volume of so many people being in one room, but it had no music. "Hey, Keerava," I asked as the Argonian tried to stifle her laughter, "why don't you have a bard?"

She shrugged and shook her head. "No one has ever wanted the job. Don't like being employed by Argonians, I guess." Then she perked up. "Are you offering?"

She caught me off guard with that. "What, me? No, I can't…"

"Why not?" Keerava countered expertly. "The position is open."

"I'm not trained at the college in Solitude, or anything…"

"Nonsense," Keerava scoffed. "The Bards' College has trained some awful bards in the past, so what's the point of solely hiring them?"

"A sound argument," Brynjolf laughed.

"Don't encourage her," I hissed.

But Keerava had her own plans. "COULD I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION A MOMENT, PLEASE?" Her inn quieted itself long enough to make an announcement. "Since we have been so long without a bard, our new assassin-killing friend has so graciously accepted the position."

Some laughter, and then one of the older men in town asked, "Can she even sing? Or play?"

Keerava shrugged. "I'll let you all be the judges of that. Anyway, that is all. Go back to your drinks."

"Hey, can I make a request?" Brynjolf asked me with this smirk I didn't particularly like.

"Don't make life worse for yourself," I warned.

He ignored me. "Can you play the Song of the Dragonborn?"

"Yeah, sing that one!" called Indaryn, who apparently hadn't gotten over his earlier slight.

I stood, shrugged, put on what I like to call my mask, and began:

"Dragonborn, Dragonborn,

By his honor is sworn,

To keep evil forever at bay!

And the fiercest foes rout

When they hear triumph's shout,

Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!"