A/N: Hey, all. Sorry about the wait-long story short, I've been job-hunting on top of getting hit with writer's block. Anyways, this chapter is just one scene-exposition is about all you're getting this time around, but don't worry. I've already got the next chapter started, so enjoy in the meantime.

Karliah stepped closer to him and he stepped backward in response, but his back hit one of the courtyard walls. She had always been like this: meticulous in her plans, executing them without flaw…typically. There was no way Tharsten would get away from her without pushing her away and hurting her…and she knew he couldn't bring himself to do that.

"Tharsten…" she repeated, trying to coax any word she could out of him.

She was met with silence as the vague light from the moon highlighted his most prominent features: a straight nose, a jutting chin, and a wide facial structure. Several scars decorated his face, including one running down his left eye. The ashen skin of her fingers touched his face, tracing the scars.

Karliah had first met Tharsten four years ago, during a shot at revenge on Mercer Frey at Snow Veil Sanctum in northeastern Skyrim. He had stepped in front of her arrow at the wrong time, and took the paralyzing poison she had meant for Mercer. In that short time, she came to trust him…took a gamble on doing so. That gamble paid off; Mercer Frey was dead by Tharsten's hand, Nocturnal was pleased, and the Thieves Guild was back on its feet.

She felt an admiration for him that she had felt for only one other person: Gallus Desidenius, her late lover. Tharsten admired Karliah in turn, but had not persisted—he felt such a relationship would be an insult and a disloyalty to Gallus, and an added complication to the risks he took day by day. Then one day, after the war ended and after the World-Eater was vanquished, Tharsten had vanished without a word.

Around the same time, someone else came to Skyrim…someone eerily similar, yet clearly different. His skills as a thief rivaled Karliah's own and therefore, Tharsten's skills as well. That someone was the bard Snorri. For a good deal of time, Karliah had felt that Snorri and Tharsten were one and the same. Then, when Snorri joined the Guild two years ago, she saw Tharsten in the shadows, watching them both in the courtyard at the Guild. She had then chased after him, determined to know where he had been for two years, but he had disappeared into the shadows, never to be seen again…

At least, until now…

Did he…mentor the bard? she thought to herself.

She tried once more, "Tharsten, please…talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about, Karliah," he replied in his distinctive low baritone. "What's done is done."

"Four years…you go missing for four years and now you show up," she said. "Why? And why hide at all?"

"I've done what was necessary, Karliah," he said, his hand moving to remove hers from his face. "Alduin's dead and the war is over; I'm under no obligation to go on serving Skyrim . Skyrim has no need for the Dragonborn anymore; she needs to stand on her own feet for once."

"You're lying to me," she said. "And you're lying to yourself; we both know this has nothing to do with Skyrim. You're hiding because you feel guilty about what you did…"

That was a low blow…but she had a point. Ulfric Stormcloak…Tharsten had agreed with many of his beliefs. It was in Skyrim's best interests to be independent—after all, the Empire did wrong her by accepting the terms of the White-Gold Concordat.

Other things Ulfric believed, however, were extreme even for Tharsten: killing High King Torygg, waging a civil war at a time when a mutual enemy—the Aldmeri Dominion—was the bigger threat. Perhaps most unnerving to Tharsten, was that Ulfric's cause had attracted so many unfavorable types—people willing to alienate outsiders merely because they weren't Nord, and who were willing to blame outsiders for all of Skyrim's problems. Many in Windhelm and the Silver-Bloods of Markarth held to these thoughts—Nords were stubborn bastards who refused to even conceive that they might be wrong.

Tharsten had chosen what he felt had been the lesser of two evils, and yet he still felt like a murderer. Ulfric's blood…the blood of hundreds was on Tharsten's hands. Should he have even bothered getting involved in the damn war? Should he have bothered to stop Alduin the World-Eater if this was to remain the way of this world?

His guilt stemmed from more than his sharing many of Ulfric's beliefs, however…

"Would it be too far from the truth to say both of these things?" Tharsten asked, gripping her hand and moving it from his face. "Skyrim neither needs me, nor wants me—I'm all too happy to oblige it, even if it means leaving my past and my guilt behind…"

"That's the problem," Karliah said. "You're not leaving anything behind—you're just burying it deep inside and letting it all fester. You feel guilt…and rage toward the world—keep running, and it will all boil over. In fact, I'd say it already has…"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Tharsten asked.

Karliah backed up and paced around, stealing glances at Tharsten every so often. "Trouble is brewing near the Sea of Ghosts and vampire attacks are becoming a real problem all over Skyrim. If that weren't enough, there are rumors of a Moth Priest in the province, and that is really riling the vampires up. And yet, all you're doing is hiding…it seems to me you've already given up on this world."

She froze in her tracks, her gaze piercing Tharsten's eyes. "Unless I'm missing something about you?" she added. "Perhaps, something regarding a certain bard?"

"You seriously believe that I'm him?" he asked, stepping away from her.

"Are you?"

Shadow surrounded Tharsten, engulfing and dissolving his figure, until only his face remained. His answer was blunt and deadpan: "No." His face then faded away into the darkness, and did not reemerge.

Karliah watched where Tharsten had been, waiting to see what would happen next, but nothing did. He had come on a whim and had left as many questions as answers behind, as usual.

"It's true, then…" Karliah whispered to herself. "You're such a liar…"