Thorgilja woke with a start, pulling on her boots before she was fully awake. She rummaged in her pack and pulled out a pair of thick leather gloves and a heavy cotton jerkin, pulling those on as well, and strapping a dagger to her side, just in case. The door to Balimund's room was still shut, and as she entered the kitchen she noticed that the sky was still dim with morning light. It was early.

No matter. There was work to be done, and the earlier the better. Thorgilja busied herself outside, splitting and stacking wood, filling the slack tub with clean snow to melt, wiping the anvil down, sweeping the ash from around the huge forge. She built the forgefire and left the coals to heat while she went to examine the hinge on the door. The strap had been snapped cleanly near the frame and would need to be replaced. Thorgilja found iron near the forge and set about making a new strap. She was so intent on shaping the metal with a peen hammer that she didn't hear the footsteps approaching the forge, stumping through the snow.

"So you are a smith," said an amused voice as she was thrusting the iron back into the coals. Thorgilja yelped and nearly dropped the tongs she was holding. She whirled, one hand reaching for her dagger.

"Easy there, Orc-lass," said the voice, which belonged to a shape standing near the workbench. Thorgilja blinked rapidly to clear the forgefire from her eyes. "I'm not here to harm you."

"Brynjolf," she said, as his shape became clearer. He smiled.

"Brynjolf and no other. Where's Balimund?"

"He's inside," she said a little warily.

"Ah, let him sleep then. It's you I came to talk to." His grin widened, showing a row of white, even teeth. "I hear you've been causing some trouble."

Thorgilja didn't know what to say, so she turned back to the fire, where the strap had heated to a yellow glow. She slid it out of the coals and started hammering again.

"Fine, I can see you're not eager to talk about it." Brynjolf leaned on the workbench. "I'll tell you what I've heard, then, and you can tell me if any of it's true. Fair?" Thorgilja didn't look at him. What should she say? What did he want?

The door to the smith's house banged open and Balimund strode into the yard, smiling. Thorgilja tried not to let her relief show, but kept hammering stonily. "Ah, Thorkilly, I see you've already–" His gaze settled on Brynjolf and he scowled. "Brynjolf. Should have known it wouldn't take you long to show up."

"Morning, Balimund," called Brynjolf cheerfully, giving a small wave. "I thought I could have some words with your new assistant here."

"She's got work to do," Brynjolf growled.

"So have we all," Brynjolf sighed theatrically. "I'm just trying to do mine, my friend." He stood up and his gaze was suddenly serious. He took a few steps towards Balimund and spoke in a low, persuasive voice. "Look. I heard some rumors last night and you know it's my job to keep on top of them. I also want to help you, Balimund, if you can believe that. I know you don't like what I do, but trust me. How many times have we shared a mug of mead? I don't want to see any trouble come to you."

"And will it?" asked Balimund darkly.

"Not if I have anything to say about it. Not to worry. True enough that Asbjorn and his herd have been raising a stink about whatever happened last night, but most assume it's the bleating of sheep, as I do. Your assistant would do best to keep her head down and her nose to the grindstone for awhile, though. That stick of Soren's can pack a wallop." Balimund glanced over his shoulder at the Orc, who was now sullenly bending the strap over the edge of the anvil, forming the roll where the pin would fit snugly. He raised his hand to rub unconsciously at the angry welt on his shoulder, which itched madly.

"It's too bad, really," Brynjolf confided. "I was hoping to have her visit us at the Flagon. Not now!" he added hastily, as Balimund's scowl deepened. "Eight above, Balimund, I want her safe and well same as you. All in good time, after this blows over. Truth told, now. I met your Orc-lass yesterday in the market. She palled Arla, did you know that? Not many can catch her at it. She's quick, that Orc. Strong, too. We could use someone like her. She keeps her head." Brynjolf's gaze wandered over to Thorgilja as he spoke.

"Eight save you if she lose it," Balimund replied. "That's how Asbjorn got it."

"So it's true," Brynjolf mused, forcing his gaze back to the smith. "Folk are saying she's a...well, you know."

"You're well-advised not to ask her about it," Balimund warned. "If it's proof you're wanting, go look at the tree out back. She did that bare-handed." He turned to look Brynjolf directly in the face, his gaze fierce. Brynjolf met his gaze coolly, though he looked unsettled by Balimund's comment about the tree. "I won't have you getting her into trouble. She's a good woman. She wouldn't have hurt him but he insulted her to her face. He called her–" Balimund hesitated, and then repeated the word in a whisper.

Brynjolf's gaze darkened. "R-r-rat," he growled, the word rolling out of his mouth like an ancient curse. "He's learned nothing from it, you know, or rather he's learning all the wrong things. He's turning nasty, that one. Just watch your back for awhile. He and his skeever friends'll be looking out for her, and you too probably. Not that either of you have much to worry about, but rodents don't come at you in the daylight, you know." His gaze turned to the forge. "Don't worry, Balimund, my friend. I'll make sure the rumors go in the right direction." He grinned wolfishly. "It'll just be those five little vermin wanting to nip your toes, and they'll go on their way soon enough, see if they don't."

"My thanks, Brynjolf." Balimund relaxed. "Will you stay for breakfast? I've got stew warming in there."

"I will, thanks. Better than Vekel's slop, Eight bless him. Fine man but not much of a cook."

"Thorkilly!" Balimund called. Thorgilja pretended to have only just noticed them.

"Good morning, Balimund," she said. She held up the hinge, which she had just finished rolling. "Got your hinge finished. Just have to file it."

"Fine. Get that done and then come in for breakfast."

An hour later, Brynjolf had gone, leaving a written request for lockpicks and a shield repair. Balimund handed it across the table to Thorgilja. "You'll make the picks."

"Does he come here often?" Thorgilja asked, glancing at the door where he'd gone. She flushed slightly, knowing he'd passed by the mauled tree on his way. She'd watched him study it, running his hand over the flayed bark. His face had been unreadable as he turned to head for the market.

"Brynjolf? No. He usually sends someone else with any work orders. He's a busy man."

Something in his voice warned Thorgilja to drop it, but she persisted."I met him in the market," Thorgilja said. "He asked me to visit him." Balimund didn't reply, but stood and began to clear the wooden bowls away a little roughly.

"So he said," Balimund replied finally. He turned to look at her, thumping the bowls down on the sideboard. "Look, Thorkilly."

"It's..." she said. "Er, you can call me Thora."

"...Thora, then. Listen, girl. I've known Brynjolf a long time. A very long time. He's made a powerful name for himself in this town, and he's promised me that he'll help us with this Asbjorn matter. But I don't trust him further than that. He's a good man to have on your side, but..." He trailed off, wiping the bowls out with a cloth. "He's on no one's side but his own, really. His work is his life and that's all he cares about."

"What does he do? Is he part of the..."

"Thieves' Guild, yes, and rumor has it he's at or near the top. There are some will also say the Guild is dead and gone, but don't you believe it. They've just gone underground, in more ways than one. May be they're not as strong as they used to be, but you know the saying about wounded animals." Balimund looked up at her and his brow furrowed craggily. "Brynjolf won't have you at the Flagon now, while things are stirred up so. But in a month, or two, he'll ask you to visit him there, maybe do a little job or two for him. I'm warning you that those 'little jobs' may well be the most dangerous. You don't know what he'll really be getting you into." He put the cloth down and threw the small work-order into the fire. "If you're as good as he thinks you are, he'll want you sooner or later, and make no mistake, he can be very persuasive. And it's not my job to tell you what to do and what not. There's lots of folk in Riften've made a pretty penny to-ing and fro-ing for the Guild. As long as you work the forge for me, that's all I'll ask of you. But if you go looking for trouble in this place, you'll likely find more than you can handle. My advice is to stay well away and keep your work honest."

Thorgilja had listened to all of this calmly, taking the bowls from Balimund as he wiped them and stacking them neatly on the shelf.

"What is it you think I do in the world?" she asked finally, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I'm no smith, Balimund."

"No, I guess not," he acknowledged. "You're too far from your forgefire for that."

Thorgilja stood a moment in the middle of the room, thinking. "Come with me," she said, gesturing for him to follow her into her room. "I want to show you something."

He did, to find her dragging her pack onto the bed. She muttered something under her breath as she untied the knots that held it shut. The knots slid away easily and she tugged the mouth of the pack open. She rummaged a moment and pulled out a small leather bag that was stuffed full. She murmured another charm as she untied the knots of the bag and upended it over the blanket.

Gems spilled out everywhere, forming glittering mounds on the rough wool. Balimund counted at least a dozen diamonds, a handful of sapphires, a fistful of garnets, emeralds and rubies bouncing and rolling on the coarse cloth. That small bag held more wealth than was contained in Balimund's entire house and workshop. Thorgilja shook the bag and a few nuggets of gold and moonstone thumped out, too. "Huh," Thorgilja said. "I must have put the ore into another bag. I wonder...?" She hunted, and found another larger bag; she opened it and showed Balimund its contents: silver, malachite, more moonstone.

Balimund was struck dumb. He stared at the piles of stones, blinking rapidly. He stared at Thorgilja, a hint of real fear flickering across his face. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"I'm Thorgilja," she replied, smiling. "Just Thorgilja."

"How did you...?"

"Don't worry. No one misses these. I prefer to think of it as freeing these jewels from the darkness where I found them." She started scooping the stones back into the bag. She saved a few of the largest gems and piled them on her hand. She thrust her hand at Balimund.

"What...?"

"These are for you," she said. "Please take them. I promise you, I wouldn't give you any dishonest treasure. I don't even have any." She smiled again, evidently proud of herself. Balimund struggled to speak, though whether it was fury or terror or gratitude that stopped his tongue, he couldn't say.

"I...you...you robbed barrows?!" he spluttered.

"You could say that," she shrugged, "but it wouldn't be true. I would never disturb any sleeping souls, Balimund. Never. I swear it. These gems were not taken from the dead. I promise."

"Then where...?" Balimund stared at the gems in her hand, not moving to take them. "Where did you find them?"

"Bandit camps, mostly. Sometimes I do go into barrows, if they've been disturbed. I send uneasy souls to rest."

"Uneasy souls?"

"Draugr."

Balimund shuddered. "Draugr? But...those are just...they're stories."

"They're not. I've seen them, Balimund. I've killed them – well, killed them again. Their eyes glow blue. They don't come out into the daylight, which is why few see them. But they're there. Please believe me. They're there. I've fought them." Balimund felt sure she was telling the truth, and a chill crept up his spine. He looked at the gems again and seemed to be staring into them, past them, into space. "Please take these," she persisted, and the smith saw her again: a young Orc woman with a plea in her tone. "I want you to have them. For helping me. I can't...it's important to me. Please."

Balimund finally opened his hand and let her spill the gems into it.

"We'll need more iron for the picks," he said, and disappeared into his room with the gems. He reappeared with a piece of paper. "Here. Can you write?"

"Yes."

"Take this. Write down the iron and, oh, some charcoal. Two loads should do. Ask if there's any leather strips, too. Supposed to have the tanner in a few days ago but maybe he got delayed. Ask anyway."

Thorgilja wondered a little at Balimund's sudden change in temper, but was beginning to learn that he kept his decisions to himself and once a thing was decided, there was nothing more to be said about it. He'd evidently decided to accept her gems and, therefore, keep her secret and let her stay. She beamed at the paper as she scratched, and left the forge for the trader's, the sound of hammering ringing in the air behind her.