"What's eating you?" the brown-haired Bosmer asked impatiently. The man pacing the room felt her eyes on him, and he scrubbed his hands through his hair.

"Some fucking plague, I bet," he muttered, scowling at the shortness of his hair. "From hiding in those goddamned sewers."

"You couldn't help that. You were seen taking food from that noble's house. But Armand got everything taken care of, even if the wait cost you your hair and a few days in the sewers." He didn't respond, and she sighed heavily. "Talk to me, Jake. What's bothering you?"

He stopped pacing and collapsed on a chair opposite her. Staring hopelessly at the rough wooden floor beneath him, he mumbled, "I had to steal food, Methredhel. I haven't done that in years. I'm just going to end up where I started."

The Wood Elf leaned forward, leaning her elbows on her knees. "I didn't know you then, but I know what happened. I'm not letting you get addicted to skooma again. I heard about what happened, and I won't be holding your hair back when you throw up everywhere."

Jake laughed dryly and gestured to his hair. Once shoulder-length, now it was only a few inches long, and scruffy. "Won't have to hold it back. It's too short. Ugh, skooma would really help."

"No, it wouldn't, Jake. Don't even say that. Life is always rough on the waterfront."

He gave her a long look. "Methredhel… I was homeless when the Fox found me. I was stealing food to stay alive."

"Things got better, Jake."

He snorted and scowled at the little fire near them. "Yeah? Let's see, huh? I got a house on the waterfront, and I bought it with the money I got from raiding forts and Ayleid ruins. Then what? Oh, right, when I was twenty-four, the city took it back, because my money was gone and I couldn't afford it anymore. Is that better? No way in hell. I was homeless again. Penniless again. I'm just going to end up like I was when I was sixteen."

Methredhel frowned and shook her head. "No. You didn't have us then. You have us now. We look out for each other. The Fox will always look after you."

He groaned in exasperation and began pacing the room again. "Yeah? What are a bunch of thieves going to do when the Dark Brotherhood comes to finally kill me?"

The Elf was silent for a short while. "You never did say what happened in Cheydinhal. Everything else… but not Cheydinhal."

Jake whirled around to face her. "I fucked up, Methredhel! I told you about Lily—I told you everything about her, and I fucked it up, like I always do!"

"How? You never said why."

"Because…" He sighed heavily and slumped to the floor. Hot tears prickled his eyes, and he hated himself for it. "Because I'm me, Methredhel. I let her go into Cheydinhal, essentially alone. I knew the dangers of it, and I let her go anyways. And when the Brotherhood took me to the Sanctuary, I let them. I didn't put up a fight in the least. I was so afraid for what I'd see… I thought they'd hurt her, or killed her… I was so afraid. And when I got there, she was fine, except she had these… these scars…" Jake choked back a sob, and Methredhel rose from her seat to crouch beside him on the floor.

"Scars aren't a big deal, Jake."

"I know… but she's so beautiful, and then she had these scars on her face, and… and Dar'vaba was the one who did it to her—the bastard who acted like a friend to me for three years! I know he's an assassin!" he snapped, seeing the Bosmer open her mouth. "I know he's a lying bastard, but… it was such a betrayal. And I didn't know what to do. I didn't say anything that could comfort her. She probably thought I couldn't bear to look at her anymore. And even though I was being an ass, she saved both our skins, and nearly got herself killed in the process… I dumped her at the chapel and left, because I didn't know what to do…"

Methredhel lightly touched his hair. "So that's why you came back to the City. We'd all wondered."

He squeezed his eyes shut, and the Elf put her arms around him, sitting on the floor beside him. "I still don't know what to do," he murmured, trembling with the effort of holding back tears. "There's no way she's still in Cheydinhal. But I don't know where she went, and there's no way she'll forgive me for abandoning her…"

"You've told me a lot about her, Jake. I think she'd forgive you," Methredhel said soothingly. "She's a priestess."

He snorted and opened his eyes, but his vision was blurred with wetness. "Yeah, and I'm a thief. A homeless, penniless, foodless thief. See? I fucked it up."

The little waterfront shack was silent for a long time. Finally, after an aeon of silence, Methredhel murmured, "Do you love her?"

Jake glared at the fire and felt a tear of frustration slip down his cheek. "She's got her heart set on somebody else," he muttered. "And he could do a lot better for her than me."

Silence overtook them again. He simply sat there with Methredhel cradling him for some time, until the door to her shack creaked open and their doyen stepped in with a bundle of parchment in his hand.

"Hello, Armand," Methredhel greeted with false cheer. "What do you need?"

Jake could feel the Redguard eyeing him nervously, but he continued to stare into the fire, running through his mind the things he should have done differently.

"The regular reports from the fences came today," Armand Christophe said, handing the parchment over to the Bosmer. "I, uh, thought you two might want to read the one from Bruma."

Methredhel released Jake to take the letter from the doyen. She unfolded it and read, and when she was finished, she let out a little gasp. Jake ignored it and pulled his knees up to his chest, as if it would help. He should have comforted her in the Sanctuary. He should have fought them. He should have kicked Baran's sorry ass until he agreed to go into Cheydinhal to find her.

"Uh, Jake," the Wood Elf said carefully. He looked up at her with a frown, and she shifted uncomfortably, glancing between him and Armand. "I don't think the fellow she's got her heart set on could do a lot better than you."

Jake's frown deepened as he thought of Martin Septim. An emperor definitely outranked a thief. What the hell was she talking about?

"What do you mean?" he asked slowly. He hadn't told them about the heir because he liked his head on his shoulders, so there was no way they could know about him.

Methredhel and Armand shared another look, and Jake looked up at the doyen, then back at the Wood Elf. "Um, she's with another thief," she admitted. "She's with Ongar."

Jake simply stared at her in numb disbelief. Lily and Ongar? The young, sweet little Breton and the old Nord fence? "Are you sure?" he choked out.

Her eyes returned to the letter. "He says her name's Lily Laroque, and he's sure it's the same Lily you told him about. He likes her, but he doesn't want to do anything in case it is… Jake…"

He didn't remember getting to his feet, but he was pacing and grabbing at his hair again. "Oh, gods, oh, gods," he mumbled, looking between Methredhel and Armand. Both were watching him worriedly. "Lily and Ongar. Lily and Ongar. Lily and Ongar. I need—he might—she'll—Nords were higher than dead Sloads," he gasped.

"Jake, you aren't making any sense," Christophe remarked. "What's all this about Sloads?"

Methredhel, on the other hand, had been told the story about the Sloads. "Oh, Jake. She won't do anything with him. He's ancient, and he'd probably die of a heart attack as soon as they were done."

"You aren't helping," he said, scowling at her. "I need to go to Bruma."

"Jake, you were there three times since you left Cheydinhal. Chances are she was there too, and you didn't freak out then," Armand pointed out.

"Yeah, but I didn't know she was there! I have to go."

"I thought you were too afraid. After all, you're foodless, penniless and homeless," Methredhel said, though he could tell from her tone that she wasn't saying he should stay. "What are you going to say?"

"I don't know… I don't think I'll know even when I get there. But I have to. I abandoned her, Methredhel."

"I'd advise against this," the doyen argued, watching Jake grab up his meagre belongings from the floor. "You don't know when that Khajiit is going to start following you again, or if he's bringing friends—"

Methredrel hopped to her feet. "I'll go with him," she said, cutting Armand off. "Two heads are better than one, and I've never seen Bruma in the wintertime. Helvius will tell us if anything's amiss while we're gone."

Jake waited impatiently for her to get her things together. When she was ready, Armand held the door for them and they stepped into the chilly autumn air. After bidding their doyen farewell, the two hurried toward the City, and Methredhel asked softly again, "Do you love her?"

Jake didn't answer, but the Bosmer nodded and looked back in front of her. "You'll win her back. Apparently she's got a weakness for thieves and old men."

He shot the woman a dark look. "I'm twenty-nine. That isn't old."

"And how old is she?"

"Twenty."

Methredhel laughed and led him in the direction of the stables, and he tried to swallow his fear. "You're old. And a thief. Lucky you."