'Back already, lad?'

'I thought you'd be sleeping.'

'The others are. I wanted to wait for your return. Word among the guards in the street is Goldenglow's been hit. Good job, lad.'

'Here's what was in the safe.'

'Let me take a look at what you found.'

Azrael sat quietly in front of the man and handed him the Bill of Sale. Everybody else in the Cistern was indeed asleep, and there was no one else around that could interfere in their discussion. There was a pale moonlight coming from the grate above them, but the light mostly came from some braziers spread across the hall. Brynjolf was now wearing the Thieves Guild armor, a good quality suit of hardened leather. He couldn't have put it on by himself, someone else must had aided him. The man, although visibly tired, had been recovering from the wound very quickly. The Assassin knew that it could not have been his potion alone that did that. The man must have had a great deal of conviction. Moreover, Azrael suspected that Brynjolf had a deep respect for him. A healer in Morrowind once told him that the more one trusts the thing and the person healing him, the more powerful the effect is.

As fairly predictable, Brynjolf's brows rose in astonishment as he read. Once done, he looked at the Dunmer.

'Aringoth sold Goldenglow?' he asked, more to himself than to the Dark Elf. 'What's that idiot thinking? He has no idea the extent of Maven's fury once she's been cut out of the deal, but I'm certain he'll find out. If only the parchment had the buyer's name instead of this odd symbol… Any idea what that might be?'

'No clue.'

'Blast,' commented the man, calmly but a bit anxious. 'Well, I'll check my sources and speak to Mercer. For now, you're off to speak with Maven Black-Briar. She asked for you by name.'

Azrael's eyes sparkled red.

'I thought I'd only be involved in the Guild's business.'

'Maven and the Guild are much and the same. The only things that separates us it just the amount of coin. Everything else, interests, means and advantages gained are the same.'

'What does she want from me?'

'That's between you and her, and I prefer to keep in that way. Don't worry about it. Maven's business dealings usually involve quite a bit of gold for her people.'

'I guess it also provides me a favor done to get me out of here.'

'Yes,' grinned Brynjolf. The practical mind of the Dunmer mixed with his sense of humor got his attention and his respect. 'You're smart as whip, lad. If you just keep doing jobs with this standard, you'll be free in no time.'

'I guess Maven doesn't get up till later.'

'If you're asking if you'll find her now, it's unlikely. She said to visit her at the Bee and Barb, on the upper floor, and she sleeps at her home. You'd better wait 'till morning.'

The Assassin heaved a deep sigh and fell back on the chair, stretched his arms, crossed his fingers and cracked them. He had held the dagger for an hour, and they were stiffed. He looked around, first at the table where Mercer kept all his things and then at the beds. His gaze stopped on every member of the Guild, and Brynjolf saw a sparkle every time he moved to another face. His gaze was focused and impenetrable, but the way he was moving his head looked like a warning. Something along the lines of "The ally of today is only the enemy of tomorrow" or very similar.

Brynjolf himself looked around. He hadn't been able to walk by himself for the entire evening, and that gave him some time to think. There hadn't been a whole lot in those times. People were always running to him and asking him information, news, advice or suggestions. Mercer was the leader, true, but Bryn was the man that held the whole Guild united under one banner. He was the man they all gathered around when he spoke. He was the person that everyone in the Guild looked up to. He admired Mercer, true, but his angry expression and his rude manners often led Brynjolf to step back from him rather than trust him further. In that Dunmer that stumbled in his life seemingly out of pure chance, he saw the true leader and guide he had always wanted Mercer to be, but that he never became. Brynjolf did not long for the status of guild Master. He hated being in command. He hated taking decisions. He liked to be everywhere, know everything and have a grasp on everything. The only real reward he needed was a "well done" from his boss.

He had never heard that from Mercer.

The Assassin stole a long and penetrating glance at him. The Elf couldn't possibly know what he was thinking, the thought alone made him shudder, but for a moment he sensed that if the Dunmer would have been in Mercer's place, he would have heard a "well done" from him. He quickly realized what absurdities were going through his brain and shook his head. The Assassin's eyes sparkled as he gave a grim, and yet strangely rich laugh. Brynjolf smiled nervously.

'What, lad?' he asked.

'You tell me,' he sniggered. 'The words "what in bloody blazes am I thinking" carved themselves on your forehead for a moment. Can't imagine why, but it was quite funny.'

Brynjolf hesitated. His worst fears had become reality. Azrael had read his mind like he suspected, and apparently did so very well. As much as he had tried to erase the thought from his mind, the idea kept bouncing around in his head with strength. That sudden display of wit and empathy had further confirmed his thoughts, and the more he kept on thinking the more difficult it was to cast the stream of feelings out of his head.

'Lots of things going on around here,' he justified himself. 'Especially bad ones. There's too much flowing in my head.'

'Strange things, as well. Still can't figure why you defended me with your boss.'

Brynjolf bit his lip. Consciously or not, the Assassin was dragging him closer to the thing he had tried to not talk about with that shallow and vague excuse. It wasn't that strange really, it was the only thing to talk about, and yet he felt like Azrael was reading his mind.

'Mercer is a good leader,' he said, 'but at times his practicality turns into stubbornness. Our line of works requires lateral thinking and creativity, whether you are infiltrating somewhere or managing the whole operation. At times he is… A bit too narrow-minded, if you ask me.'

He found the suspicious glare of the Assassin hard to confront. The man feared that he would have had to make the next move, and was unsure of what to do. He found himself stunned by that simple and yet dreadfully complex situation. He was hesitating, he was insecure in the face of someone. Bryn noticed that his anxiety came from the fact that he didn't know the Elf, and he still wanted to impress him. He was finding it very hard, however, as the Dunmer impressed him and he in turn sensed a slight esteem in the way he talked. He was flattered by it. It made clear reasoning hard.

Then, suddenly, the Assassin rose his hands. He grabbed the edge of his hood and pushed it back, making it fall on his shoulders. His bushy eyebrows and crimson eyes got lightened up a bit, his ashen-colored skin shone weakly in the moonlight coming through the grate; his thick and long hair fell on his shoulders, black as raven feathers. He then took off his mask, putting it on the barrel beside him. Brynjolf never would have suspected or imagined that the Assassin's face looked that way under the shadow of the hood and behind the mask. The long scar was also visible now. He inhaled deeply, both confused by the act and struck by the appearance of the Dunmer.

He regained his composure rather quickly, however.

'Nice beard, lad.'

'Thanks, Bryn.'

'What was that all about?'

'You trust me, Brynjolf, in spite of all that happened and of the fact that we have spent less than a day together. If anyone is going to betray me, it won't be you. You wouldn't. Well, I decided that I should trust you as well. Showing my face is the biggest sign of that I could give to you. Very few people know how I look behind the shadow of the hood.'

'That's a privilege, lad. If anything, I thank you for this.'

'So… Is this truth time?'

Brynjolf put a hand on the armrest and managed to sit straight. He had been hoping for this, but he never hoped it would have happened.

'If you want, lad.'

'You do want, that's what's important.'

'How do you know?'

'The way your eyes brightened up at the sound of "truth time". It's dead giveaway about as much as "the way I walked" up in the streets.'

Brynjolf grinned at the mention. The Elf had understood perfectly what of his behavior was natural and what feigned. He truly was a born leader. He not only saved his substitutes from ruin by taking the best decisions, but he also saved them from themselves by giving what they wanted and rewarding them with what they desired most.

'Who starts?' asked Azrael.

'I'll start, if you don't mind. Mine is not a long tale.'

The Assassin cracked his neck and sat straight, patiently, with his ice-cold and focused stare. He had learned to heed well to people while completing Dark Brotherhood contracts. He had gotten good at listening to others.

'Well, lad, my life starts in the Guild and continues there. In all likelihood, it was also end here. I was brought here very young by my father. I never knew my mother. I've been in the Guild since forever, my first memories are of the Ragged Flagon and the Cistern when they were still overflowing with riches, gold and jewels. I've been a thief since I was young. First some robberies, then some pickpocketing, burglary and plunder. I showed off my abilities quickly, and as I grew up and more and more members started being younger than me, I took on the position in which you see me now. I'm not young anymore, but I'm not part of neither the old nor the new generation. Not completely. I'm content with where I am now, and the things I do. In the Guild we've all got our place, and mine suits me. That's the long and short of it. A quiet life.'

'Aside from the ten or twenty times you've risked your neck.'

'Only three. I've been quite lucky in my thieving career, and even if I still take jobs from time to time I mostly manage and organize as of late. I do miss the old days a bit, but, again, I'm fine with where I am.'

A heavy silence fell. They both knew it was Azrael's turn.

'Your turn… Lad, pardon my curiosity, but how much older than me are you?'

'You are…?'

'Almost forty.'

'Ten years, more or less.'

Brynjolf stopped, and then smirked.

'It should be you calling me a lad.'

'No, it's fine. First, I'm quite young for a Dunmer anyway. And second, "lad" gives that emotional and caring edge to the name. It suits you. Your voice is soothing, calming. Warm. That term would not complement my tone.'

'And what tone is yours?'

'Don't know. How would you describe it?'

'Well… Glacial, mocking, sarcastic, filled with resolve, a bit arrogant at times. It's the tone of a born leader.'

'A born leader?'

'Yes. A natural guide. An Alpha Wolf.'

Azrael eyes flared crimson. Brynjolf, at long last, felt satisfied. He had tried to come up with a compliment that could strike the lad, made him look at himself in a way he had never done. It was quite a high expectation and a difficult thing to accomplish, he feared that the chance would have never presented itself, but it had happened and he had done it. He felt a little bit relieved, in peace with himself for a moment, like when an important job gets done well. Brynjolf looked at the Assassin, who looked back at him.

'I'll remember that,' Azrael whispered. 'Anyway, back to the topic at hand… My fifty years of life. They have been quite tranquil until less than a year ago. I, well, went through a lot, and I'll not bore you with the whole story. Not now. I arrived to Skyrim and immediately found myself in the midst of chaos. Dragons reappearing, a civil war ravaging the land… I was lost, and I looked for reassurance. I looked far and wide, even in the Companions.'

'I take it you rejected them. I heard of some Dunmer joining them and then taking his distance from them.'

'Not before becoming their leader, though. I still have a deep distaste for them, but that's not for me to judge. They're better than me, by human standards. But never mind that. After that unfortunate encounter I did other things, and in the end I stumbled on a strange kid who asked me to murder an old hag.'

Brynjolf nodded. He knew that much, or at least suspected it. The assassin of Grelod the Kind couldn't have been anyone else, but there were no solid proofs. Now he could have got his answer. He didn't even need to ask.

'You know that?' asked Azrael, staring in his eyes.

'Well, I got very nosy when that old harridan got murdered. Maul assured me he saw a Dark Elf asking about her and entering in the Orphanage and never getting out of the front door. When I saw you coming I guessed it was you. Now I've got my confirmation. But, lad, tell me one thing. Maul also mentioned something else, about…'

'The Dark Brotherhood.'

Both the Assassin and Brynjolf turned around. Neither of them had said that. It had been old Delvin, casually strolling by and coming closer to them. The old thief took a chair near one of the beds, put it next to Brynjolf and sat in it with a nonchalance that made the other two grin.

'And from where do you come, Delvin?' asked Brynjolf.

'From the Flagon. Got tired of sitting, and sleep wouldn't come. I heard your voices and came in.'

'And the only thing you got was more sitting,' the Assassin said to the newcomer. 'By the way, remind me to organize a sneaking contest one day. Would be a tough match between you and me.'

'Only if we don't sneak up on one another,' replied the old thief, smiling spitefully. 'That time when you came here and crept up on me like a Divines-forsaken ghost you scared me so hard I wouldn't dare turn dark corners for one week.'

'Wait, you two have met before?' asked Brynjolf, slightly lost. 'How come?'

'Give him some time to talk about his Brotherhood business and all will be clear as day,' said Delvin, crossing his arms.

'I guess,' whispered the Dunmer. 'Bryn, Delvin has the right to be in our little truth time. He knows what I'm about to tell you.'

'Well, go on then, lad.'

'I joined the Brotherhood after killing Grelod. They wanted payback or whatever in blazes. I agreed, and found myself at home with them.'

'Until…' sniggered Delvin.

'Yeah,' said Azrael shaking his head as if remembering the moment as absurd, 'until I apparently became the Listener.'

'You, lad? The Listener of the Dark Brotherhood?'

'Yes, Bryn. And you might imagine what happened next, just guessing from the few things I told you before in the Ragged Flagon.'

'So the Emperor… It's true. The Brotherhood killed him.'

'It is. I killed him. Bryn, if only you could pick your jaw up the floor it would be less embarrassing.'

'Sorry, lad, it's just… Well, I had realized by now that it was not the first brave fool that had fallen into our hands, but I never suspected you to be such a big fat piece of the chessboard. Why did you and Delvin meet?'

'First time to buy an amulet of the Elder Council I got for killing the Emperor, and then to rebuild the new Sanctuary we've had to inhabit. The old one… Blew up. Let's leave it at that.'

'But, Azrael,' intervened old Delvin. 'Astrid? What 'bout her? You told me she's dead, and I see the Blade of Woe handing from your belt, but what happened?'

'She tried to betray me, and got cooked alive with the Sanctuary.'

'Yeah, I feared that. She had always been afraid of change.'

The two thieves and the Assassin halted the discussion. Brynjolf had no clue of what they had talked about for the last twenty seconds. He hadn't a clue of who this Astrid was. What he knew was that they had got an important person with them. There was definitely more to the Assassin than it met the eye, on the side of titles and connections. On the side of effectiveness and skill, his look and silence spoke for themselves.

'Fine,' said Azrael after the moment of calm. 'Enough with my journey of misery and pain. Tell me how is life in the Thieves Guild.'

'Got a member held up in jail, Maven furious 'bout the last mission we failed and five people losing themselves in romances,' summarized Delvin.

Brynjolf perceived that the Alpha Wolf sense of the Assassin would have activated now more than ever. He was with other two people, and apparently his peers. The superiority of a born leader is noticeable in his ability to lead the flow of the discussion, push on what interests him and never, ever let the talk run dry of feelings and humor.

And, punctual as he suspected, came the cynical jest.

'Five?' Azrael asked, raising an eyebrow with a feigned puzzled expression and his lips curved in a cruel smile. 'I'll not meddle, but shouldn't that be an even number?'

'Frankly, I had never thought of that before…' muttered Delvin.

'See, Bryn? My services even include a free dose of sarcasm.'

'Noted, lad, noted.'

'Anyway, who are the brave souls that are romancing in an uneven number?'

'You enjoy human problems this much?' asked Delvin.

'No, but there are too many who cry about their own misery. So I decided it's high time someone cried, of laughter, at the misery of others. Here I am.'

'And what if all are well and good?'

'They call me "the Assassin" for a damned good reason, my kleptomaniac friends. But at this rate, I'll never know anything about your romances. So, Delvin, please enlighten me with your pointless knowledge of love stories and weird couples made of three people.'

'Well, Vipir is tryin' to convince Sapphire to come under the sheets of his bed, but has a bloody hard time doing so. Bryn here has disappeared two nights straight with Tonilia…'

'We didn't do anything,' snapped the man.

Brynjolf's angered expression melted like wax when he was the baleful sneer of the Assassin. That Elf knew better, even thought he didn't really know anything.

'Fine,' he conceded. 'We kissed once. Juts how in blazes did you understand I was lying, Azrael?'

'You've been measured and agreeable since we started talking, and all of a sudden your eyes light up with offense. Dead giveaway number three, as of today.'

'Ever had any stories with girls in your life, Azrael?' asked Delvin, shifting the focus.

'None,' answered the Assassin, lapidary. 'Couple of flirting, but never anything serious. I've lived quite secluded, the only females I interacted with for a considerable time were a friend, although practically a sister, and my adoptive daughter. So… bad luck. No funny stories from me. Come on, kleptomaniacs, I'm missing the fifth person. Who dares make the number uneven?'

'Vekel. He's the one almost officially engaged to Tonilia. Bad luck for him. Bryn always has his ways.'

'Lastly, there's old Delvin and Vex,' Brynjolf replied back, taking his revenge.

'Oh, Bryn, you know that's old,' said the old thief.

'Vex?' rejoined the Assassin. 'That fair-haired fiend that doesn't talk about anything but business?'

'Precisely.'

'Look, Azrael, that is old now. It's not…'

'Yes, as all the rejected lovers say,' sighed the Assassin. 'Until it really gets old, and the they start saying that they loved with every fiber of their bodies until the last.'

'Azrael…'

'Delvin, it's worthless. You said an embarrassing thing, and saying another won't change that. Two wrongs won't make a right, I'm afraid. You and Vex are the example.'

The old thief blushed, then bleached and then a mixture of the two. He was unsure whether the Assassin was joking or not. His weak smirk should have given it away, but it didn't. They stared at each other for some time, an embarrassed and confused gaze into a glacial stare. They continued for two seconds, then Delvin broke off and smirked, followed by Bryn. The sarcastic sneer appeared on the lips of the Assassin only a moment later.

The three laughed heartily.

Brynjolf wiped the tears from his eyes, shook his head and sighed deeply. He liked the lad.