A whole coin pouch for one septim – such a waste of space … Rasha had used the last of the looted money she'd accumulated with Judiiz on arrival in Riften the previous night. The Bee and Barb's Keerava, an extremely … toothy Argonian, had shown her upstairs to a tiny shoebox of a room, where she probably wouldn't have been able to stretch without breaking a nail. The morning had dawned shrouded in mist, permeated with the smell of salmon and clams. Appetising. She'd left her room early and explored the city's sodden timber walkways above and below, noting glyphs carved into odd places and characters that had tried to look unobtrusive but silently menacing. It had seemed that Riften had an abundance of these types, and that was just counting the guards.

She stood in the bustling marketplace now, leaning against a stand and eyeing her only remaining septim. The proprietor didn't seem to mind; he was busy arranging an assortment of potions on his table, humming to himself in a low timbre.

"Running a little light in the pockets, lass?"

Rasha looked around in surprise before noticing the potion vendor, still busy arranging but looking at her askance. He was dressed well enough, strongly built and handsome in a roguish way. For Nords anyway …

She tilted her head to the side. "I'm sorry, what?" The vendor looked up from his wares and his eyes rested briefly on her pouch.

"Your pockets... they're a little low on coin. I can tell," he smiled mysteriously. Rasha tied the pouch to her belt, acting as if it was far heavier than it was. His accent was … different, but easy on the ears.

"Riiiight … and how could you possibly know that?"

He shrugged. "It's all about sizing up your mark, lass," he noted matter-of-factly, "the way they walk, what they're wearing. It's a dead giveaway."

"My wealth is none of your business," Rasha snorted dismissively. His eyebrows rose in mock surprise.

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, lass. Wealth is my business." He rubbed his stubbly chin in thought. "Maybe you'd like a taste?" Rasha knew bait when it was dangled in front of her but the fact was, she was without coin.

"Alright, I'll bite," she gave in, hands on her hips. "What do you have in mind?"

"Ohh, I've got a bit of an," he quoted with his fingers, "errand to run, but I need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work," he winked suggestively, "extra hands are well paid."

"I don't move skooma or kill people for money," she stated firmly.

"Never! It's simple, really. I'm going to cause a distraction and you're going to steal Madesi's," he indicated an impeccably dressed Argonian vendor to his right, "silver ring from a strongbox under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing."

"The Dunmer?" she asked and he nodded. "What's he done?"

"We've been contracted to make sure Brand-Shei remembers not to meddle in affairs that aren't his own. That's all you need to know."

"Hmm. The Dunmer will live?"

"We are not the Dark Brotherhood, lass," he retorted.

"Alright. Let's do it."

"Good! Wait until I start the distraction, then show me what you're made of."


"Everyone! Everyone! Gather 'round! I have something amazing to show you that demands your attention!" Rasha had to admit that he was good. He was evidently well-known as well; the majority of eyes in the market turned his way.

"Gather 'round all!" People were indeed starting to shuffle closer and she used the opportunity to slip to the back of the gathering throng in the direction of Madesi's stall.

"No pushing, no shoving. Plenty of room! This way everyone! Over here!" She peeked discreetly around, relieved to note that the guards were far off on their rounds. She knelt down behind the stand and inspected the strongbox. A brief grin showed her canines; this shouldn't be difficult.

"You need to hear this!"

"Come on, Brynjolf," the Dunmer raised his voice, "what is it this time?" Brynjolf, eh? I'll remember that, she nodded to herself, getting busy with the lock on the box.

"Patience, Brand-Shei. This is a rare opportunity, and I wouldn't want you to get left out."

"That's what you said about the Wisp Essence and it turned out to be crushed nirnroot mixed with water!" Rasha snickered as the lock popped softly. It was obviously not the first time Brynjolf's tried to scam people. She pocketed the ring and locked the box again. Too easy!

"That was a simple misunderstanding, but this item is the real thing," Brynjolf assured his audience. He noticed the Khajiit girl walking away from Madesi's stand casually. She was good, he had to admit. Time to wrap things up. He produced a vial containing a viscous dark red liquid and held it aloft with a flourish.

"Lads and lasses, I give you … Falmerblood Elixir!" A reserved silence followed his proclamation.

"Oh come on!" a Breton lady in the crowd shouted incredulously. "Are you talking about the Snow Elves?"

"The one and only," Brynjolf confirmed, pointing at her. Eyes naturally followed his hand and Rasha gently pushed into the crowd towards her target.

"Mystical beings who live in legends and were masters of great magic. Imagine the power that coursed through their veins!" He elaborated dramatically on the supposed benefits of his potion and all attention was focused on him. People were starting to bicker back and forth, wanting to be the first to try his product and some were already counting septims in their pouches. She slipped the ring into the Dunmer's pocket, nobody the wiser, and gave Brynjolf a discreet nod. He looked up at the sun and feigned surprise.

"Well, I see that my time is up. Come back tomorrow if you wish to buy!"

"Damn. I knew I shouldn't have waited!" the Breton lady stamped her foot in frustration and stormed off. The crowds eventually thinned and as if on cue, two guards appeared and accused Brand-Shei of theft. His surprised expression turned to outrage when one of them reached into his pocket and produced the planted ring. Rasha ambled up to Brynjolf, watching the protesting Dunmer being escorted away. He acknowledged her with a nod, impressed.

"Looks like I chose the right person for the job." She shrugged and caught the coin pouch tossed her way. "There's plenty more gold out there for the taking, if you're up for the challenge," Brynjolf suggested. She pondered it only for a moment; at some point soon she would have to let Judiiz know where she was at least, but this was exactly the kind of fun she'd been craving.

"Oh, I'm up for the challenge," she assured him.

"Alright then!" he smiled, eyes twinkling. "Let's put that to the test …"

"Another test?" she interrupted. "Haven't I just passed your test?"

He smirked, shaking his head. "The group I represent has its home in the Ratway beneath Riften, at a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. Get there in one piece," he winked, "and we'll see if you've really got what it takes!"


Rasha pawed the rat she'd caught back and forth playfully. She'd nearly been surprised by a thug, chasing the little thing as it'd scampered away from her upon entering the Ratway. The labyrinthine passages were full of them, and there were many rats as well … She wrinkled her sensitive nose again at the smell. It was everywhere – swampy water, urine and a colourful mixture of aromas from an assortment of decomposing materials. She wondered briefly how her friend was faring. She'd sent a message off to Judiiz by courier prior to entering the Ratway. Hopefully she would receive it before she went off again; she seemed to be travelling a lot. She sighed when she noticed that the rat had made use of her distractedness and escaped. It was time to move again. She slipped past the last thug, busy arranging loot on a table, and slipped into the large cistern that housed the Ragged Flagon. It was quiet, unlike most taverns, the silence intermittently broken by the drip-drip of water. The cistern was quite large with an arched ceiling and a body of water over which a portion of the tavern was constructed. She flitted through shifting shadows, making her way to the opposite side where she'd spotted Brynjolf talking to two other men, one of them behind the bar counter.

"Give it up, Brynjolf," the bartender was saying. "Those days are over!"

"I'm telling you," Brynjolf sounded adamant, "this one is different!"

"We've all heard that one before," his other tough-looking companion laughed. "Quit kidding yourself."

"It's time to face the truth, old friend," the barkeep chuckled. "You, Vex, Mercer, you're all part of a dying breed. Things are changing … dah!" He nearly dropped the tankard he was wiping with a cloth when Rasha suddenly popped up next to him behind the counter, a goofy smile drawing her whiskers back. Brynjolf barked a delighted laugh at his reaction and it echoed merrily in the cistern.

"Dying breed, eh? What do you call that then?" He beckoned her to join him at a table and the disgruntled barkeeper deposited two frothing tankards in front of them. Brynjolf toasted her with his and took a long draught.

"Well, well... colour me impressed, lass. I wasn't certain I'd ever see you again!" Rasha followed his example and wiped foam from her lips.

"Kick any thug in the garnets hard enough and they all sing like a Pine Thrush!"

"Reliable and headstrong?" Brynjolf chuckled jovially. "You're turning out to be quite the prize!"

"You only realise that now?" Rasha asked innocently and he clinked their tankards together. He leaned forward conspiratorially.

"So... now that I've whetted your appetite with our little scheme at the market, how about handling a few deadbeats for me?"


Judiiz was tired and aching from the carriage ride when she arrived in Riverwood again. It was mid-afternoon and most of the activity in the little hamlet had started to die down already. A faint mist hung over the river, along with the aroma of smoked salmon and freshly split pine logs. She would always associate Riverwood with that smell. She waved to Alvor at his forge in passing and promised herself to go and see him after meeting with Delphine, if only to sell some of the loot she'd accumulated. Orgnar, at his customary place behind the counter, cocked his eyebrows in the direction of Delphine's secret room and she went that way, closing the door and working the mechanism on the false panel to gain access. Delphine was pouring over a map when she entered and she looked up, relief replacing lines of worry.

"Ah, you made it out alive at least!" Judiiz let her pack slip from her shoulders next to the chest to the left and sat down on its lid heavily.

"Malborn as well. He was very grateful," she muttered. Now the Thalmor will be hunting me for the rest of my life. I hope it was worth it! He still had his life, at least …

"It's good to hear that he survived as well. Don't mind him. He'll come around. Your gear is safe as promised, in that chest you're sitting on. Did you learn anything useful?"

"The Thalmor know nothing about the dragons."

"Really," Delphine deadpanned and Judiiz felt her heat rise. "Are you sure about that?"

"Why did you send me if you were not going to believe me?"

"You're right, you're right," Delphine admitted, chastened. "I just … I was sure it must have been them. If not the Thalmor, who? Or what?"

"I don't know," Judiiz sighed, "but it seems they were looking for someone named Esbern." Delphine looked as if she'd been slapped.

"Esbern? He's alive?" Delphine looked away, but not before Judiiz saw faint hope blossoming in her eyes. "I thought the Thalmor must have got him years ago! That crazy old man!" She focused her attention on Judiiz again. "Figures the Thalmor would be on his trail though if they were trying to find out what's going on with the dragons."

"Why this Esbern?" Judiiz asked, frowning. Delphine made a sound of disgust.

"You mean aside from killing every Blade they can lay their hands on?" She rounded the table and leaned against it, arms folded. "Esbern was one of the Blades' archivists, back before the Thalmor smashed us during the Great War," she explained. "He knew everything about the ancient Dragon Lore of the Blades. Obsessed with it, really," she admitted with a fond smile. "Nobody paid much attention back then … I guess he wasn't as crazy as we all thought."

Judiiz shook her head. "So the Thalmor think the Blades know about the dragons, and you thought …"

"Ironic, right?" Delphine agreed sardonically. "The old enemies assume that every calamity must be a plot by the other side." She shook her head. "Even so, we've got to find Esbern before they do. He'll know how to stop the dragons, if anybody does. Do they know where he is?" Judiiz rummaged in her pack and handed the dossier on Esbern over to her. Delphine skimmed through it quickly, nodding a few times.

"Riften, eh?" she concluded, closing the file. "Probably down in the Ratway then – it's where I'd go. You'd better get to Riften …" She paused when Judiiz sighed tiredly and her expression softened.

"I know, I know. You just got here. This is extremely important though. Please?" Judiiz nodded despondently. Ever since she'd set foot on Skyrim soil, all she'd done so far was run around doing other's biddings. When could she just take a moment for herself and rebuild her life?

"Take a moment," Delphine suggested very helpfully, "but when you get to Riften, talk to Brynjolf. He's … well connected, a good starting point at least. Oh," she added, "and when you do find Esbern – you think I'm paranoid? You may have some trouble getting him to trust you. Just ask him where he was on the 30th of Frostfall."

"Do I want to know?" Judiiz queried, one dainty eyebrow raised. Did Delphine almost show some emotion there? What was the world coming to!

"No," Delphine answered curtly, her mask falling into place again. "He'll know what it means."


Outside again, Judiiz was just about to head in the direction of Alvor's forge when her hair was swept forward in a rush of displaced air. A dragon, smaller than the few she'd encountered so far, sped past overhead, leaving a line of jagged ice crystals on the ground. A frost dragon!

"Everyone inside!" she bellowed urgently and dropped her pack to unburden herself. Townsfolk rushed to obey, shouting frantically at kids and she found the guards running to her side, instinctively seeking leadership.

What's wrong with them? Why are they looking at me? I'm no leader!

An anxious heartbeat followed before her soul resolutely asserted that she was, and she tentatively ordered them into cover, bows at the ready. The dragon had turned and was heading straight for them.

"Volley … now!" she commanded when it was in range, adding her own arrow to the guards'. The dragon took a few hits and veered away, roaring its rage.

"Wings and underbelly," she shouted around her. "We have to bring it down!" The guards nodded. The dragon swooped in again, spewing a stream of ice and a guard who'd taken cover behind an upturned cabbage cart was frozen solid. More arrows found their mark this time though and the dragon screamed his pain, wobbling in flight.

"Dorthe! Where's Dorthe?" a panicked shriek suddenly erupted from the direction of Alvor's house. His wife Sigrid ran heedlessly out into the street, shouting their daughter's name repeatedly. Alvor was on her heels, wielding two smith's hammers and also calling out. As if sensing their distress, the dragon cocked its head and turned to intercept them. It changed course however and Judiiz saw why; Dorthe was out on a sandbar in the river behind the smithy, screaming for her mother at the top of her lungs.

"Stay back!" she yelled at the distraught parents, threw her bow down and started running. She wasn't going to make it, the dragon was nearly on top of the girl!

"WULD!" she thundered in desperation and in a blur of motion she, Dorthe and the dragon were consumed in an immense plume of river-sand and water. Alvor roared in a mixture of rage and sorrow and propelled himself forward, the guards following close behind with their swords drawn. Sigrid sank down onto her knees slowly; too shocked to cry out as her husband and the guards finished the stunned dragon. She started sobbing though when a stunned silence settled, the only sound being Alvor's hammers still smacking into the fallen beast's skull. He eventually stepped back and bowed his head, his broad shoulders shaking with silent tears.

A flicker of bright flame licked up from an outstretched wing and was joined by another, until an inferno of mystic fire started consuming the dragon's form. Through this cold blaze with the dragon's bones tumbling around them, Judiiz emerged with Dorthe clinging to her, both of them drenched right through. A torrent of whispered knowledge swirled and Riverwood watched in slack-jawed awe as Judiiz sank to her knees, her willowy form radiant with the dragons absorbed soul. Dorthe ran into her father's outstretched arms and Sigrid nearly bowled them both over, crying tears of joy and relief. A cheer burst forth from everyone around and Alvor found his feet, clasping his wife and child to him.

"I don't know what that was, but thank you!" he murmured, his voice unsteady.

"This day belongs to all of you," Judiiz answered in dual tones, unable to suppress her Thu'um when the dragon's soul was still churning within her. She abruptly became aware of the cold then and shivered involuntarily. Gentle but ham-sized hands gripped her shaking shoulders and she was too tired and chilled to resist as she was hauled to her feet and enfolded in dry furs.

"Come little sister, you will catch your death out here," a familiar voice admonished her and she turned towards the owner of it, her remaining strength crumbling.

"Hadvar?" Her legs buckled then and strong arms lifted her. They were already inside Alvor and Sigrid's house when she thumped his armoured shoulder with a small fist in frustration before collapsing against him, crying in exhaustion against his chest.