Look, an epilogue! Why? Because I can!

So...Enjoy!

Sharah and Oreyn walked up into the Guildmaster's office—her office, together. They cleared the desk of most everything. And it took two trips for them to transfer the fallow paperwork on the back table to the desk. Sharah planted her hands on her hips and looked down at the pile like a mountain to be climbed. "Well, this looks sort of familiar, doesn't it?"

Oreyn grunted and pulled the spare chair over. "And the sooner we start, the sooner we get it done."

He sat down in the spare chair and Sharah went around to the Guildmaster's chair—her chair. She sat down and scooted it in a little clumsily, sorting her legs and feet beneath the desk. She'd sat here a few times before while doing paperwork. But this time the desk seemed bigger. Or maybe she felt smaller.

Oreyn watched her shifting around, and reassured her, "You're going to do fine, Wolf."

"Yeah. Yeah, you keep saying that," Sharah said, finally getting a comfortable distance from the desk. Maybe she'd add a pillow later. "Well…let's get to it then."

The two of them began by sorting through the pile, organizing by priority. There were some contracts that the local halls had probably already completed without expecting contact from headquarters. They'd need to get confirmation on those. Some still called for instruction. The monthly reports would probably come in about a week from now, provided the halls had kept on top of things during this whole business.

She and Oreyn were about to get into the detailed work when Sharah abruptly looked toward the stair. Her Second caught the shift in attention and twisted in his seat to follow her gaze. Then looked pleased. Vilena Donton was standing on the third step from the top. She wasn't wearing her iron cuirass. She wasn't armed. She seemed uncertain of her welcome, but she had come.

Sharah smiled broadly and motioned her forward. "Welcome back, Vilena. Oreyn and I were just getting started here. But if you'd like to pull up a seat, we can talk while we work. Or…you could lend a hand. If you're feeling up to it."

Vilena came up the last steps slowly and halted as Oreyn stood. When he offered her his seat, the tension drained out of Vilena's shoulders. She walked over and lowered herself into the chair while Oreyn went to fetch the last spare seat on this level. Sharah flipped the older woman smile before they all settled into the task before them.

This was going to work. The three of them working together to manage the Guild…this was going to work.

XXX

Sharah sat back, satisfied. "Well, that didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would."

Oreyn grunted, cracking his back. "That's what happens when you've got three heads working."

Sharah tapped the stacks as she referred to them. "So these contracts need to be sent out. And the recruitment strategies…Anything else?"

Vilena shook her head. "I think that should do for now."

"Yes," Oreyn agreed. "That will catch us up. The next few weeks will tell us how things work out. Now it's just a matter of paying attention and keeping on top of things."

"I think we can do that," Sharah replied.

XXX

Oreyn looked over the latest word from the halls. "Looks like two of those contracts were taken care of already. But the rest will take the instructions we sent. You also got something from Bruma, along with the letter of congratulations. That's the last hall to send one in, I think."

Sharah took the package and unwrapped it. Then laughed. "Cyrodiilic Brandy." She plucked the note tied around the bottle's neck. "'Cheers for our new Guildmaster. We drank the rest in your honor. And one of our guildmates might have ended up on the chandelier during the festivities.'" Sharah laughed and her hand drifted to the carved Companions' tooth that still hung around her neck. This was sort of a gift from both the Bruma Guildhall and the Companions, if you looked at it sideways.

Oreyn shook his head. "If we get a reimbursement request for damages, I'll be denying it. On that note, we should be receiving the contract cut for headquarters this next week. It'll be low this month, but I expect we'll pull in more as time goes on and folks come back to the Fighters Guild."

"About how much?"

"Cumulative? Hm…five hundred this month. As things pick up, so will Headquarters' cut. The good months turn out over a thousand. And most of that will go to you."

Sharah blanched. "What? Oreyn, I don't need that kind of money coming to me."

He replied, "A percentage will go into our vaults to be used for fund requests from the halls. But you are the Guildmaster. You'll get an income. Especially considering you won't be doing contracts anymore."

Sharah actually deflated a little. "Right…But it's not like I'll be doing anything with that sort of coin."

The mer regarded her. "Actually, I would recommend putting it aside for the purchase of a home in Chorrol. The owners of Arborwatch are moving to High Rock. They'll turn the property over to the Countess and she'll be looking for a buyer soon after."

Sharah leaned back against her desk. "I already own two homes, Oreyn."

"But not a residence here in Chorrol. You're the Guildmaster. It's appropriate for you to own a proper home instead of sleeping behind a cloth partition."

Sharah had settled into her old bunk since she'd come back and been promoted to Master. The communal sleeping arrangements had never been a problem before. But with her being their Master, Oreyn had insisted that her bunk be set apart from the rest of the Guild members. Now he was looking at her moving from the Hall entirely.

She supposed it made sense. The Dontons had owned their own manor for generations, living seperate from the Hall. Even Oreyn had his own place. But Sharah didn't feel the need. It felt…like setting down roots. Which is what it should feel like. She was Guildmaster. She was going to be Guildmaster for the rest of her life. Or course she should live in the city of her responsibility and in the manner due her station.

But owning three homes was just ridiculous. True, one was a shack. But the other was a manor that she had a special connection to. If she were to sell it, Sharah didn't actually know how to break the blood-bond to it. Or even if she wanted to. Sharah had put some work into that Benirus Manor. She didn't really want to give it up, even if common sense told her she should.

And…Sharah didn't feel exactly ready to put down the sort of roots that involved buying a house here in Chorrol. She'd rather move into the Guild tower if separation was the intent. Or rent from Vilena.

"I'll think about it."

Oreyn grunted softly, but didn't argue.

XXX

"Recruitment is already up," Oreyn reported over the table. "I advise we send most of them to Anvil for training. It's the best place. And Azzan needs to choose a trio from the number. We need to replace the threesome in Skingrad. In fact, we should consider some reassignments to even out the halls a bit."

Sharah nodded. "I noticed. Skingrad and Chorrol seem to be short in general. Cheydinhal, too."

Oreyn said, "There are a couple recruits finishing training in Anvil right now. We can have them up here in a couple weeks. We'll set Skingrad to receive their trio as soon as Azzan finds a compatible team."

"And Cheydinhal?"

"Not everything is going to happen at once. He's got his trio and three more. Skingrad is in greatest need right now. Everything in its own time, Wolf," Oreyn assured her.

"Right, right. I guess I'm just a little anxious for all this to get done," Sharah said, kicking her feet beneath her desk.

"But you've got to give it time," he said, picking up what they'd completed that morning. "Things are in the works. Now you've got to trust the Guild to get it done."

"Right," Sharah repeated, her legs still swinging. "Right."

XXX

"How's Vilena?" Sharah asked, wiping her brow free of sweat now that their training period had finished.

Oreyn drank from the water pitcher, then dumped the rest over his head before replying. "Better since the new boots showed up. I think working with them energizes her. Long past due, too."

Sharah nodded understandingly from the stair. She was actually jealous of the woman. Not enough to deny her the task that was doing her good. Vilena was more spirited now that she was being productive. The new boots had finished general training, but there was still improvement to be had. The last Donton wore her sword more often. Her cuirass, too. And the boots responded well to being trained by the former Guildmaster.

The same could not be said for Sharah. Perhaps the word 'former' was the important term. Sharah had tried training with them at one point. She worked with Oreyn regularly, but he had tasks of his own to accomplish and Sharah was finding more and more of her time free and in need of filling. And she couldn't just commandeer Oreyn every time she felt bored and wanted to hit someone. Even if she was Guildmaster, exercising such power would be irresponsible. And, again, he had work to do that didn't center around amusing her.

But those new boots…Any hope of training with them had fallen flat on its face the first time. They'd taken one look at her, saw her stature, saw her rank and were immediately afraid of breaking her. Even the more experienced Guild members here were that way. And Sharah had had no luck knocking the sentiment from any of them. Oreyn was the only one who didn't pull his punches. And training with anyone who took it easy on her was pointless.

At least Vilena was having better luck. Even if it did mean that Sharah had less to occupy her time. Sharah sighed and leaned back on the stairway. But all in all, things in the Guild were keeping steady. Things were working out well. Very…well.

XXX

Sharah looked down at the day's paperwork Oreyn had brought back from the courier. "Is this it?"

"This is it," he replied. When she thumbed through the pages with a frown, he asked, "Not enough for you?"

"No, it's not that," she insisted. "It's just…it seems a little…thin."

Oreyn sat down across from her in his usual seat. The seat she used to occupy when she'd been his assistant. "It's a result of the system we've got. Vilena set it up once she got married, so she'd have time to raise her children while still being Master of the Guild. The individual Halls handle everything but the most extreme of situations so that we're not dealing with every lump and nail that comes up. Worked out well overall. I think you pushed it further with that declaration to the Halls during your Guild Championship. The individual Halls are more than used to handling most matters on their own. It's important for them to all be self-sustaining."

Sharah nodded, kicking her legs beneath the desk. "I see. This doesn't look like it will take long."

He grunted in agreement. "I should be able to go home early. And pick up some paints from Seed-Neeus."

She looked up eagerly. "You finally decided what you're going to put on that canvas."

Oreyn tried to smother his smile. "Yes. But don't ask what. And don't drop by unannounced. I don't want you to see it until it's done."

"No problem," Sharah agreed. "I'll look forward its completion." They went to work. But, out of sight, Sharah's legs were still swinging.

XXX

He slept. Never lengthy and always lightly. The necessary habit called to heel. And yet, despite his training, the intruder entered without his notice. They stole into his asylum and to his very side without him realizing. Lucien only woke to a weight settling on the bed beside him, making the mattress dip and bringing him awake in the vital instant of their closest proximity.

He remained motionless, breathing evenly, giving no inclination he had woken. His hand snaked out, moving so slow as to be imperceptible, toward the hilt of the dagger beneath his pillow. He touched the cool metal, his fingertips brushing the polished pommel when the intruder's weight shifted and his wrist was caught and pinned.

Lucien's eyes flipped open, ready to deal the one who had invaded his private refuge—and was frozen on the spot.

Sharah smiled down at him, a vision in black. "Hello, Lucien."

He barely breathed. How had she found him? How had she learned his name?

She continued to smile as she leaned further over him, her hair falling as a short curtain about her face. Laying a hand upon his chest and leaning more heavily into his wrist to steady herself as she maneuvered on top of him, Sharah placed her knees to either side of his hips. Lucien watched, keenly aware of the position he was in. And the position he wished they be in. Lucien far preferred to be the one in command. It would take little to reverse their positions. But he already knew she possessed a unique control over him. Which should have infuriated him and yet he found himself oddly willing to give himself over to her in this circumstance. Sharah released his wrist and sat back, his hips absorbing her full weight precisely where he desired it.

Her hand lifted to the first button of the black robe that covered her form. He watched, still as the dead, as she unfastened it with agonizingly deliberate care and her fingers trailed down the fabric to the second, his eyes taking in everything. How the fabric fell around her frame, the darkness of the cloth soaking in the curves he knew were beneath. The fabric was loose. Not unattractively so, but the robe was clearly too large for her. Then he noted the barely perceptible mend on the right shoulder. And another longer one on the left sleeve. Mends he had performed with his own hand. She was wearing his Speaker robe! He wasn't entirely sure how to react to that. Then she released the third button and he didn't care. The fabric parted slowly, revealing the skin of her throat, her chest, and lower…

She continued to smile down at him. "What are you waiting for?" she asked, almost teasingly.

What indeed? When the fourth button came loose, she chose that moment to rock her hips against his. Lucien couldn't restrain the groan that issued from him as all his blood rushed to his nether regions. She laughed gently and released another button. The robe was well open at this point, showing nothing but skin beneath, the folds falling further apart and catching on the swell of her breasts.

Sweet Sithis, it was exquisite agony to lie there and know it would take but one gesture to reveal all. But he couldn't move. Lucien remained frozen where he lay, watching as she put him through the most perfect torture he'd ever experienced.

Sharah's hands abandoned the robe and fell upon his chest as she leaned forward over him. Their hips still flush as she shifted, Lucien was now certain she wore nothing beneath his robe. And cursed that he himself did not sleep in the nude. If he could only remove his garment from her completely. Or just brush it from her shoulders. But she kept him frozen in place with naught but her eyes, leaving him her prisoner and victim.

He absorbed the roll of her body as she stretched out atop him, feeling what he could not see before. She brought her face down to him, her lips barely brushing across his, and she breathed, "What are you waiting for?"

Lucien's eyes fluttered closed, waiting for the taste of her once again. But it never came. She moved from his mouth, her breath sending shivers across his skin as she traced her lips along his jaw to his neck, pressing them to his flesh all along the way. And just to be certain she was keeping his attention, Sharah rocked her hips every so often, reminding him of where they stood. Or lay. As if he needed it. Not when she closed her mouth upon his throat and she sucked his more delicate veins to the surface, leaving her mark on him in more ways than one.

In the midst of his heart rate's redoubling with the woman he wanted sprawled upon him, as in want as he it seemed, something prompted Lucien to open his eyes. The heat in his veins was quenched in an instant. The Black Hand stood in the shadows around the bed, their expressions angry and grim, watching everything. Knowing everything.

Lucien tried to move. Tried to speak and warn Sharah who was here and that they knew what he'd done for her. But the paralysis persisted and she remained unawares, continuing her attentions to his flesh, her tongue now trailing up the column of his neck. Standing above them, Lucien watched as the Black Hand unsheathed their wicked blades.

He couldn't move. He couldn't budge. Lucien railed against his prison but nothing came of it. He barely noticed Sharah's ministrations any longer, too focused on the Hand as they raised their daggers into the air with points directed toward the woman that lay over him. Sharah finished her lip's journey up his neck and whispered into his ear, "What are you waiting for?"

The instant the daggers descended, Lucien's bonds broke. He wrapped his arms around Sharah and rolled, putting himself between her and the deadly points, shielding her with his body. His back bloomed with indescribable pain as they pierced him and drove deep. He opened his mouth in a shriek and—

—Lucien hit the floor, having rolled off his bed, and the air was forced from his lungs with a dull thud.

He lay on the ground immobile, trembling and gasping for breath. Then he jerked up and around, searching the room to be certain, and found himself alone. No Black Hand. No Sharah. She hadn't come to him. She hadn't discovered his refuge. And his secret hadn't been found out.

Lucien collapsed back on the stone floor, soaking in the cold as he willed his heart to slow back to a normal tempo. It was a while before Lucien judged his body back under his control. And, although he knew full well it had all been a dream, the Speaker could not resist reaching up to check his person for injuries. No, nothing but whole flesh and cloth. Although the ghost of the daggers' strikes still echoed through him.

Lucien's search for physical reassurance revealed another persistent affect: his trousers were tented, as he remained hard as a stone following the dream's more erotic content. Lucien growled and lay back, refusing to give the thing the satisfaction of his attention. He had more important things to occupy his time than an empty jaunt below the belt.

The dream stuck with him. The parts in regard to Sharah were not new. Quite simply, Lucien was glad he lived alone in Fort Farragut. Better no one know just how often he woke aroused with her name on his lips. It was the dream's finale that struck him to the core.

Her Shading had done its job. It kept the Black Hand and the entire Brotherhood away from her. It kept her safely out of reach while Lucien hunted the Brotherhood's inner threat. A threat whose existence the Black Hand continued to deny. A denial made all the easier because, since Maria, the killings had ceased. Lucien had no leads to pursue and, until the killer gave some sign of his presence, no way to track them.

But this dream…

Lucien covered his face with his hands. He couldn't stall any longer. Shading Sharah had worked in the short run. But the longer he waited, the more likely it was that Lucien's trick would be found out. He needed to recruit her. Before something slipped and they both paid the price for his actions.

He had his excuse at least. In the beginning, Lucien had been distracted with how he could see the Void Price met without involving Sharah directly. And then, to his surprise, at one of the meetings of the Black Hand J'Ghasta made a comment about 'Lucien's new assassin'. That she was making quite a step toward meeting her Price. And boldly, too. Killing in the streets of Bruma. Lucien had played it by intent. Of course she would wish the Price met as soon as possible. And of course she was capable. He'd recruited her to his Sanctuary, hadn't he?

Lucien kept a closer eye on her through rumors after that. He didn't know how, but Sharah was doing his work for him. Meeting the Void Price on her own. The killings in Bruma's streets were just the start. She'd led an attack into the mountains against the Companions, there was talk of a cavern of mercenaries she'd slaughtered in the Great Forest. And just this last week, Uvani had spoken angrily about how he didn't appreciate mass murder happening in his town without his say-so. Even if torching the Blackwood building with Company members inside, and with the Count's approval no less, had been a master stroke. One which finally shut Uvani up from flaunting Mathieu Bellamont for a while. The boy was doing well in his new role. Something Uvani felt the need to remind everyone of on a constant basis.

Lucien couldn't be sure of the exact number of people she had killed. But it was enough to give him his excuse to lift her Shading and bring her 'back' into the Brotherhood. Lucien's hands drew down his face and rested on his chest, still feeling the daggers in his back. He needed to do it now before the dream became a reality.

But there was the matter of actually recruiting her. Lucien had yet to speak a word to her. Yet to actually meet Sharah properly…Too often previously, being near to her was enough to rob him of sense. And yet…Lucien had the feeling he might be able to do it this time. He'd have to. But it wasn't just about speaking. It was about convincing her to become an assassin.

She would resist. To her, the Dark Brotherhood had only ever been her enemy. And Lucien did not know if she would recognize him. The only time they'd been together, she had been blindfolded and somewhat inebriated. Lucien's hand drifted lower along his person. He'd need to convince her. And use every trick he had to do it. This would mean preserving her life. It would mean finally having her within reach. This would mean everything. For her sake, he would find the words. Although, just to be certain, perhaps he should bring more than that.

Lucien's considerations were interrupted by a near-violent twitch from his still solid rod. He cursed and shoved his hand beneath his waistband, just for some relief. If only the blasted thing could recognize when it wasn't the time for such things. And he couldn't focus with it bobbing about down there. Lucien handled it roughly, and his member didn't so much release as it swore out loud. But at least it wouldn't bother him for a while and he could think.

Sharah's recruitment, yes. He'd have to find her. Lucien didn't expect that to be too difficult considering how public a figure she'd become. And then would come the real test: opening his mouth and saying something to her. Lucien cursed. It sounded so simple. And would likely be the most difficult thing he'd done in his life. Night Mother, help me.

Just a little taste of Lucien. Ain't I a stinka?

HAHA! And there we have it: the culmination of the first book of The Wolf of Cyrodiil, Sharah's journey through the Fighters Guild! I'm so glad to have been able to share this with you all. This first fanfiction post has been a hell of a journey for me, and I can't say enough about how grateful I've been for the support and interaction with the community I've found here on . Thank you all so much!

(perfunctory explanation below; read at your leisure…or not)

When I first began writing, I had no idea how long this story would get, and so I assumed I would post it all under one title and be done with it. Would you believe that things changed as the story grew? With the first run-through, I resisted splitting the story at this point, still convinced I could write it in one go, and continued this tale up to Ch 63. Then, 2015 brought a major mental roadblock. Creative doldrums—at least where the Wolf of Cyrodiil was concerned.

At the end of the year, I reviewed the story and found…issues. Specifically with Sharah's character. I didn't like how I'd depicted her when I let her out of the Fighters Guild and concluded that the Wolf of Cyrodiil needed to be rewritten. So I chose the spot where the issues cropped up and proceeded to delete everything after that point. Or, in this case, after this chapter. Which is why you might notice reviews to chapters that no longer exist.

Those of you who've been with me since first posting know exactly what I'm describing: the Dark Brotherhood, the intrigue, the passion, the danger…the year long period of silence and the unprecedented deletion of content as of 2016! Ack!

Regardless of how it happened, the end result is as follows: the Wolf of Cyrodiil to be split into more manageable, bite-sized installments before anyone starts choking on it all. How many? The hell if I know! Didn't I already say I didn't expect it to get this long? Anywho, thank you to those of you who've stuck with me through this existential crisis…of a fictional character's character. I declare this installment COMPLETE and look forward continuing The Wolf of Cyrodiil with Book 2: Assassin.