Hey all you readers, lurkers, and reviewers :D Glad to see most of you enjoyed the last bombshell I dropped. And I'm kind of sad I broke my daily update streak—life got in the way, you know?

And to those of you without PM:

Aledis: Thank you so much :) And sure, go right ahead :) I'd love to see anything you end up drawing or painting or whatno. If you'd post it to DeviantArt or Tumblr or something, that would be awesome :)

Kazu: Thank you :) I love Paarthurnax so much; he had to get into this story somehow.

LiveLaughLove: Wow, what a review! Thank you for your thoughts :) Glad you decided to join the party.

Sndbi: Not sure I can help you there. If you don't like the character, just don't read the story. Simple. Here's hoping the next story you click on is more to your liking **raises glass**

-)

We arrived in Riften three days later. Not much was spoken between us in interim, though at first Brynjolf had tried to coax the old, spirited Tiberia out from the haunted shell of this new one. But even his patience has its limits, and besides, there was still a good chance the Riften Guild would kill me. We left the horses at the stables in the capable hands of the Redguard Shadr, and the silence was finally broken when Brynjolf turned to me and said, "We'll do this the right way, Elfling." He produced a short length of rope out of seemingly nowhere. "Make life easy on yourself and come quietly. And I'll be needing your weapons."

I knew I was in deep shit when he called me 'elfling.' Brynjolf referred to me as 'lass' or 'Ty' or even 'that damnable woman!' but never by my race. Wordlessly, I unbuckled my sword belt and yanked the steel dagger out of my boot and held them out. He took them, bound my hands together behind my back, and I momentarily was thrown back into Helgen, back to the screaming and fires and blood of Alduin's first attack. He yanked the hood of my cuirass over my head, brining me sharply back to Nirn, and pushed open the door to the city.

Delvin Mallory met us just past the gate. The old Breton and Brynjolf exchanged curt, knowing nods, and clamped down on either of my arms. They led me through the city, and I felt the eyes of its inhabitants boring into me. There hadn't been a Thieves Guild trial in years, I later learned. The Guild hadn't dared. But now they were back in force, and Skyrim knew it. My impromptu escort led me down through the Ratway and into the Ragged Flagon. Brynjolf's face was contorted into a thin-lipped, stony mask, and Delvin was just staring forward unblinkingly.

Funny, the Flagon used to be as comfortable to me as my family home. Now it felt harsh and alien, like the darkness was pressing in on me. Not unlike the Jorrvaskr darkness just after Kodlak had been killed. My guard led me into the Cistern, bringing me forward to the circular dais in the middle of the room. They deposited me there, and receded into the shadows.

"Tiberia Morwyn!" boomed a raspy, familiar voice. "You are wanted for crimes against the Riften Thieves Guild."

The owner of the voice stepped out of the shadows—the notorious Mercer Frey himself. He stood just before his Guildmaster's desk, flanked a short distance away by Vex and Brynjolf. The rest of the Guild filled in around the room, creating a perimeter a few paces back from the water in the Cistern. Every member of the Guild—including honorary members like Vekel the Man, Dirge, and Maven Black-Briar—was in attendance.

"When asked a question," Mercer growled from his vantage point near his desk, "you answer aye or nay. There is no other answer. Are we clear?"

My hood was down over my eyes and my hands bound behind me at the small of my back, but my teeth were still bared. "Aye."

Mercer snatched a scroll off his desk. "Are you, or are you not…" He began, and let his subordinates finish.

Delvin spoke first, from somewhere behind me. "Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold?"

So it was to be a list of my titles, then? Shor's bones, we'd be here a while. "Aye."

Tonilia was next, from somewhere to my left. "Harbinger of the Companions?"

"Aye." It felt like the wind had been knocked out of me, when I remembered my Pack.

"Thane of…" Vex began, and counted off each hold on her fingers. "…The Pale, Eastmarch, Haafingar, Whiterun, Hjaalmarch, and Falkreath?"

More useless titles. "Aye."

"Blood-Kin of the Orcs?" Rune asked, and I lost track of where all these voices were coming from.

I bit back on my molars. "Aye."

"Champion of…" Niruin's smooth Elven accent began, and like Vex, he counted off on his fingers. "…Azura, Meridia, Peryite, Malacath, Vaermina, Mephala, Sheogorath, Hermaeus Mora, Molag Bal, Sanguine, Clavicus Vile, Hircine, and Mehrunes Dagon?" The entirety of the House of Troubles was there, I noted.

I sighed. That explained a lot. "Aye. More or less."

"What did I say?" Mercer barked.

I winced, but did not back down or revise my answer.

"Sympathizer to the Forsworn?" Cynric asked. He sounded… not quite approving, but certainly hopeful.

The Old Gods, indeed. "Aye."

"The until-four-days-ago-unwitting daughter of Ulfric Stormcloak?" Brynjolf said, cutting swiftly through the silence, only to elicit gaps and shocked stares from the assembled thieves.

I graced him with the sort of glare that made Avalon quake when we were children. "Aye."

The Guild was in an uproar, but Mercer swiftly called it to order. "Are you or are you not," he began, "the Savior of Skyrim, the Slayer of the World-Eater, the honored Dovahkiin? Dragonborn."

"Aye…"

"Did you come to the Cistern as a Stormcloak spy?" Thrynn inputted, his voice stony.

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. "Aye."

"And did you report to Ulfric Stormcloak during the entirety of your time here," Sapphire said, and I was fully ready to answer 'aye,' but she added, "with information of use to him?"

I could have kissed her. "Nay."

"And were you, or were you not, stealing from the Guild fund?" Mercer asked.

I physically recoiled from the suggestion. "What? No! Er, nay... Sweet Meridia, I wouldn't even know how to crack that vault back there."

"Best puzzle locks money can buy," Vex said proudly.

"You're good, but you're not that good," Delvin added.

I nodded. "Yes I'm aware."

"Can we get back to decorum, please?" Mercer interrupted.

"And did you, or did you not, Shout at a certain Altmer?" Vipir asked, picking up the slack with that same awestruck look he'd had the last time I'd seen him.

I let out a large sigh at that. "Aye."

"And could you, theoretically," Vipir continued, "Shout again, right now?"

The corner of my lips quirked up in a smirk. "Aye."

"Do it," Maven urged.

I glanced to Mercer, who shrugged and waved me ahead. I shrugged, threw back my head, and shouted, "YOL!" Fire leapt from my mouth, but the weakest form of the Shout meant it didn't really go anywhere except up into the roof of the cistern.

When I leveled my gaze back at the tribunal, Mercer, Vex, and Brynjolf weren't looking too lenient. My hood was down around my shoulders now, and my eyes burned with the fire for which the Companions were so famous. "Well, ladies and gentlemen of the Riften Guild, I do believe that's all we need to know," Mercer rasped, almost mocking me with the casualness of his tone.

"Take the bitch to the block!" Dirge called.

"Hold on, Mercer," Delvin said, physically holding Mercer back. I blinked; I hadn't even noticed him rejoin the rest of the Guild leaders. "What say you in your own defense, Tiberia?"

I drew in a shuddering breath, and my resolve just got that much more rock-steady. I was not afraid to die, but it wouldn't be here. Not at the hands of those I once called friends. Not because of my own stupidity. "This is what happens when Tiberia comes before the Dragonborn, I guess. Duly noted, my friends. I won't make the mistake again." I sounded more ominous than furious.

"What do you mean?" Thrynn asked from behind me.

"Even after I stopped reporting to Ulfric," I said, forcing an even tone through the fury lurking right under the surface, "I told no one I was Dragonborn so that I would be just a person. Not the Thane of half the Holds; not Arch-Mage, Harbinger, or Blood-Kin." I shot pointed looks at Delvin, Tonilia, and Rune. "Just the woman. And by the bloody Daedra, it was working."

"As I said, Delvin," Mercer growled with a pointed glare in the direction of the other Breton, "I think we've heard enough…"

Vex hummed in response. "More than enough."

"THEN YOU'RE BLOODY HYPOCRITES!" I shouted at them with the sort of fury I hadn't felt since my werewolf days. "HYPOCRITES, ALL OF YOU!"

My sudden volume shook the ceiling, dirt suddenly raining down on us. And more importantly, it made Vex, Delvin, and Mercer pause. I was pretty sure I knew Brynjolf's thoughts on the matter. Ivarstead had told me that.

"Listen to yourselves!" I called to them, refusing to sound desperate. "You would damn a woman for keeping a singular secret to keep people from staring at her like she's the second coming of Akatosh? Like Vipir over there…"

The offending thief immediately averted his eyes, but everyone had seen his awestruck, adoring gaze.

"This is no longer about my half-assed spying; this is about your blasted pride! You would damn a woman for keeping a singular secret in a Guild full of them?!" I continued, just shy of shouting. "Half of you aren't even using your real names! What makes this any different?"

"You outright lied," Mercer barked. "If Sapphire decides to use an alias, that's her business. If you decide not to mention things that could kill us, then it's our business."

"She didn't lie to our faces, Mercer," Delvin said, ever the voice of reason. "Just omitted some things."

Mercer glared at his Third like he didn't appreciate having his authority questioned. "And the letters make no sense," Vex added quietly. "If she were truly reporting, not just going through the motions, why would Stormcloak get so mad?"

Mercer's eyes narrowed. "The Guild speaks, the Accused listens." And with those words, the trial was closed.

He strode forward, calm as you please, and trapped my bicep in a wicked vice grip. "To the block," he rasped.

I was led out into the Riften Marketplace, and the Guild reassembled its circle topside. Twilight was falling, and the entire town was gathering just outside the perimeter of thieves, trying to catch a glimpse of the trial. "This woman is wanted for crimes against the Riften Guild!" Mercer shouted, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking backwards, exposing my throat to his thirsty blade. "The Guild speaks, the Accused listens!" I had broken his Dwarven one; he held Dawnbreaker up to my throat. Good to know my gear was getting used by someone. "Is there any active Operative who objects to the death of this woman? Let him speak, or let him swallow his words whole."

For a moment, there was no sound but the wind blowing in off Lake Honrich and the crying of a baby in the captive audience.

And then, a thick brogue that evoked the misty woods and rolling hills of Falkreath Hold spoke: "I object."

"And why?" Mercer called.

"She's a good thief, a good woman, and a damn good fighter," the brogue continued. "She just got played by a politician. Happens to the best of us."

More silence.

"I object!" called a voice that evoked dark, dusty, desert winds. "For his reasons, and the fact that if we can't rely on ourselves, how can we call ourselves a Guild?" She said Guild; she meant family.

"I object!" came another voice, this one hard-edged and feminine, speaking of cold facts and hard truths. "Anyone who will wreak vengeance for me deserves to live to do it again."

"I object," added a smooth-talking voice that conjured up the giant forests of Valenwood, "for I have no wish to add 'kinkiller' to my list of titles."

Socked me in the gut, that one did. And still, the objections kept coming. "I object!" spat a vicious voice that brought to mind years lived in the Imperial City in Cyrodiil, and years served under uncaring masters. "Because Divines take me before I damn a woman for doing exactly what I am!"

"I object," came a voice that spoke of the craggy, unforgiving Reach, "because any kin of the Forsworn is kin of mine. And as said before, I have no wish to add 'kinkiller' to my list of titles."

"I object," murmured an awestruck, Nordic voice, "because what kind of man would I be to damn the Savior of Skyrim?"

"I object," said a voice, simple and strong, calling to mind years spent on the roads in a bandit clan. "For all the reasons stated, save kinkilling, and for the fact that the last time we lost one of our own, we nearly lost our minds. A certain one of us, most of all. And we call ourselves family—how could we do that to the same man, twice?"

"Don't let me stop you," muttered the brogue.

"I object," came a quieter voice, one that evoked years of fishing off the coast of Solitude. "If her own father put that kind of bounty on her head, she must be doing right by us."

"I object," came a broken-nosed accent that called to mind years on the run, fortunes won and lost, and a fatherly sort of affection, "because I've already forgiven the damn woman."

Mercer's blade quivered near my throat as he glanced about his Guild again. "Does everyone object?" he asked in frank disbelief

An overwhelming chorus: "YES!"

He clocked me in the forehead with the flat of the blade, then sheathed it once more. "The Guild speaks; the Accused listens!" he called, and the trial was over.

I choked out a half-laugh, half-held breath in disbelief. Every last member had objected. I learned later, that was unprecedented. Never had happened before, not in the entire history of the Riften Guild. A pair of many-buckled boots suddenly thudded into my line of sight. I glanced up, and found myself trapped in Vex's vicious gaze. "Get up," she ordered, jerking me to my feet and then cutting my bonds with the dagger at her hip.

I realized now there were tears in her eyes, something I'd previously thought impossible. "Vex…" I began.

"There's a story you need to hear," was all she said, and she dragged me by the scruff of my neck into the Bee and Barb.