Special thanks to 16DarkMidnight80, who goes over these chapters. This story is not abandoned, I'm just having a slow spell for updates. (Sorry!)

-K-

I didn't see any reason why I shouldn't make a detour to Windhelm, especially with two good reasons for visiting: firstly, to check on Svana in her new situation, secondly… to pay Rolff's home a visit.

As I'd been planning, I stopped at the local apothecary—an Altmer named Nurelion—and purchased the ingredients for a first-class itching powder, which I prepared on-site.

Why do I know how to make this? I was friends with our special effects alchemist, who had a very childish sense of humor. It's why we got on so well.

According to Hinmatu, the first day will be an annoyance. The second day will be a penance. The third day—unless the victim is smart enough to realize what's going on—will be bloody. Even if Rolff bathes, the effect is cumulative through contact. So unless he thinks to wash his already 'clean' clothes, he's going to be in some serious pain and hurt.

I'd like to think even this unwashed Rolff would be civilized enough not to go out in public with his crotch itching like it's going to be. Itchy-itchy, scratchy-scratchy, and no one wants to see that. People might think it's contagious.

…actually, that would be amazing! Make him even more unpopular than he already is!

Once night fell, while Rolff was drinking, I slipped into his rather rundown shack of a house, and laced all his underclothes and his socks with the itching powder, being very careful to put things back the way I found them. I have no idea how quickly he'll catch on, but I hope he's about as swift as he looks.

-K-

Lady Grey—and, by extension, Svana—lived in a house called Hjerim on the western side of town. It was a nice house, in a nice district, the kind of place I'd expect to find Lady Grey, who was so obviously from an upper class herself.

Naturally, I did some checking-up on the lady. She was an import—that is, she wasn't native to Windhelm—who had solved a particularly grisly and gruesome set of murders. More than that, she was accorded the position of Thane in recognition of that service, and rumor had it that she was increasingly valuable to Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm.

People weren't really sure what she did, only that she was in service to Jarl Ulfric for the purposes of the war.

Me not being terribly political—neither is the Thieves Guild, in and of itself—I knew 'Stormcloaks vs. Legion, for traditional independence reasons' and that was about all I knew of the Skyrim Civil War and Skyrim's politics.

I'm not really interested in politics until the people who are start pissing on the little guys. Like the Thalmor. Then, I'll do what I can. I liked 'Thalmor, get out!' but wasn't so thrilled with the 'everybody not a Nord, get out!' bit I've heard in my travels. It's not a total consensus, and you get loudmouths in every bunch… but still. I found a lot of the Stormcloaks I met in passing were kind of rude.

I digress. Still, I thought Lady Grey was classier than slumming around with that kind of attitude.

The Thieves Guild uses what we call shadowmarks to communicate with our fellows. The most commonly used ones are 'the Guild,' indicating a building associated with us, indicators of safety, danger, or escape routes, and the sign for protection.

Back in the day, so I've been told, when the Guild's reach was all across Skyrim and our presence strong, the beggars were in our pay. They would use chalk to identify which houses had something worth our while, and which ones were empty as Talos' alms box nowadays. In return, we'd be generous with our coin.

These shadowmarks, when they aren't written in chalk (that is to say, when the condition isn't likely to change) are typically carved into a supporting beam of a building, somewhere discreet where only someone attentively casing a place would see it. It's been a curiosity to me how shadowmarks stay so secret, but apparently they are, and they work. There's no record of a city watchman seeing the marks, recognizing from patterns in crime what they mean, then setting a trap for an unsuspecting thief, for instance.

I thought it was risky to identify fences via shadowmarks, but there's no record of the marks ever contributing to the arrest of a Thieves Guild fence. It's almost like the people who shouldn't see them don't. But that's ridiculous.

So I discreetly marked Hjerim as 'protected.' It'll stay that way as long as Svana is there. After that, the lady of the house is on her own.

"Kitty!" Svana beamed when she opened the door in response to my knock. The first thing I noticed was her dress: it was nicer than the ones she wore in Riften, a wonderful rusty red that suited Svana's pink and gold tones. It was also a touch larger than it should have been, as if it still needed a few finishing touches from a needle. But it was thick and warm, well-suited for the chillier environs of Windhelm. The white kerchief tied around her hair and her apron were both very white, and her feet were well shod.

This lady must be rich, if she can afford to ensure a housemaid and (apparently) cook is well-dressed. And I knew, from my researches, that she employed two others: a steward and a housecarl. I couldn't imagine they would be any less well cared for.

"Are you busy? Can you talk?" I asked, shivering affectedly.

"Of course, come in." She stepped back to let me into the house, waving me to hurry up.

"Your lady won't mind?"

"I don't see why she should. I've mentioned you, and before we left Riften she said she'd met you, herself," Svana answered, helping me out of my wraps.

"Oh?" I asked, as she ushered me into the kitchen, which was full of the smells of decent cooking. I'm not much of a cook, myself. I can survive… but it's not my forte. "What did she say, exactly?"

Svana shrugged, checking the pot in the fireplace. "Nothing much, really. Just that she thought you were a clever person, and that you must be a good friend to me. I told her you were, of course, and told her how we met. I think it amused her."

"Is she good to you?" No sense dancing around the subject.

"Oh, very," Svana said rapturously. "I know, to you, it probably looks like more of the same, but…" Svana shrugged. "But I'm really quite content."

"Oh, Svana, it looks nothing remotely like 'more of the same.' No drooling letches everywhere, no advanced harlotry in the corners." Svana joined me in the laugh that followed. It was good to hear her laugh, without that laugh dying a wistful death. "If you're happy, I'm glad for you."

"Thank you, Kitty. I am happy," she assured me, pouring me a glass of hot wine with honey in it.

I was glad to get the wine. It's cold and depressing in Windhelm.

"It's a little lonely sometimes. I miss your visits," Svana observed fairly. "But with Mjoll and Aerin here, it's hard to be homesick."

"Oh, Aerin came too? Is he the steward? I heard there was one here."

"Indeed."

"And has he made any headway with the lovely lady Mjoll?" Most people who pay attention to such things are aware that Aerin is pining quietly for Mjoll, who is totally oblivious to the fact. I think it's not a good match. She needs someone with a little more starch than Aerin, if my opinion counts for anything.

Svana snorted, shaking her head. "Unfortunately for him, no. And I don't think he's ever going to, poor man. He's too passive, and Mjoll needs someone with a little more starch in his backbone." She said all this very kindly, clearly liking Aerin in spite of his passivity.

See? What'd I say a minute ago?

It's a pity the man is so infatuated with just the wrong sort of woman. Naturally, though, no one is going to try to tell him he and Mjoll aren't a good match, because that never helps. Either people are jealous or don't know what they're talking about, so why listen to them? I've seen it before, elsewhere.

"So, tell me about the people here. Anyone I should watch out for?"

"Well, there's that wretch Rolff Stone-Fist. He's the town drunk."

"Oh, him," I giggled. I couldn't help but giggle.

Svana turned. "You've met?"

"This isn't my first time in Windhelm. I met him last time. Charming fellow. A real treasure." Heavy fell the irony as I spoke.

Svana began to frown.

"What?" I asked, innocently.

"…Kitty, you didn't…" Svana asked slowly, her speculative expression unusually shrewd.

"Didn't what?"

"There was a dustup involving Rolff a few weeks ago. Something about someone throwing stones?"

I grinned at her. "Well, not being in a glass house, I felt perfectly justified. There he was, staggering around—drunk as a skunk—shouting and making an obscene racket. He'd scare the kids who were trying to sleep. And people who work have to get up early. So, since I was staying in the Grey Quarter that night, I decided I'd had enough and sunk a few stones into his lardy bottom. Chased him right out of there."

"Good," Svana said fiercely. "My lady doesn't like him either."

"Well, anyone who doesn't like him is going to love what I've got planned next," I said, leaning back in my chair and stretching until my back crackled.

"…should I be a party to this?"

"I trust you not to spread it around. But if you'd feel safer not knowing…" I shrugged.

Svana considered, then poured herself a glass of wine and sat down beside me. "What did you do?" she asked eagerly, eyes shining.

I leaned forward until our noses almost touched. "I put itching powder in his underwear and socks. All of them that I could reach."

Svana began to giggle. "Brilliant, but juvenile."

"That's the beauty of it! What kid could possibly pull something like that off? And what adult would want to? I didn't want the Watch blaming someone out of convenience."

Svana's giggles began to subside. "That's a real concern here. Thank you for having it."

I nodded. "Rolff seems kind of untouchable. I'm flummoxed as to why."

"It's because of his brother, Galmar. He's the Jarl's housecarl, his personal bodyguard, like Mjoll is for my lady. I'm not clear whether Galmar actually throws his weight around on Rolff's behalf, or just doesn't want to be bothered with whatever Rolff is doing—or not doing—while he's got a war to win. If I were him, I wouldn't let my brother embarrass the family as Rolff does, but Galmar doesn't seem to care, as long as he's not bothered about it." Svana sighed. "I keep telling Elda that she should cut Rolff off when he's had enough, but she's afraid that he might go to Galmar and, I don't know, make things difficult for her. If she was a little younger, she might stand up to him better, but she's getting older and it's all she can do to handle her establishment."

It occurred to me that Nurelion knew what I'd mixed up in his shop today. It also occurred to me that, as the only alchemist outside the Grey Quarter, he would be the one Rolff would go to for a remedy. And, depending on how well or badly Rolff has behaved towards Nurelion in the past… Nurelion might just help draw the suffering out.

I wouldn't want to count on it, but he might. It sounds to me like everyone who has to deal with it is tired of Rolff's bad behavior… but no one wants to deal with his brother, who doesn't want to deal with Rolff, either.

Yikes, no one wants to deal with him! So why not let him chill in a cooler cell overnight?

"Yes. She felt I was starting to get a little mouthy, and asked me to leave. Sent me away with a pasty, though. It was delicious, so I can't complain too much."

"Poor Elda doesn't need trouble."

"Poor Windhelm doesn't need Rolff," I said firmly. Then, with equal seriousness, "I could probably contrive a way to get him put in a cooler for a few days."

"That wouldn't be right," Svana said promptly, though wistfully. "Though I wouldn't argue that it might do him some good. Give him some sober time to think about what an ass he is."

I took one of her hands. "For you, my dearest friend, I'll stick to childish pranks. But if he ever messes with you, or makes you afraid… I'll get him sent to prison, where he can't bother anyone but his guards."

Svana squeezed my hand. "Sometimes I think your moral compass is terribly wonky… but your heart always seems in the right place. I appreciate the thought."

"I mean it."

"I know you do. That's why I appreciate it," Svana said, smiling. "Now, I've got to finish dinner for my lady and her household. Can I prevail upon you to stay and have supper with me?"

"You don't eat with the rest?"

"It's my preference not to, to make sure the meal goes smoothly. I eat afterwards, before I do the dishes," Svana answered.

"Okay. Sure."

I had a lot to think about.

-K-

I arrived back in Riften soggy and feeling utterly woebegone. After nearly ten days since having raced out of the Guildhall like my butt was on fire, I'd calmed down enough and felt brave enough to deal with anything that might need dealing with…

…except for the torrential rains that opened up on me about two hours out of Riften. Hence why I was soggy and woebegone when I arrived.

I'd just entered the Ragged Flagon when…

"Where in Oblivion have you been?" Bryn demanded sharply, rising from his chair. He snapped the words out at me, true, but his overall demeanor was one of concern and relief.

Vekel huffed, which I took to be 'thank goodness' and Sapphire looked ready to slap me if I came close enough for her to do it.

What's with all the hostility?

"Where have you been?" Bryn repeated, moderating his tone so the irritation at seeing me just fine—when apparently he'd been imagining all sorts of awful things—disappeared, leaving only weary concern.

I shifted uneasily at the reception. "You were mad at me, so I went to fetch an apology and give you some space," I answered awkwardly, wishing there weren't so many people listening in on this conversation. I started to kick the floor with my toe, but stopped. I thought I was out of that habit…

Bryn looked like someone had just hit him in the face with a fish and he hadn't quite figured out what had happened.

I walked up to him, chastened, and handed over the satchel with what I'd taken from Elisif's jewelry box. "Here. It's for the Guild." I didn't apologize, because it looked like it might be overkill, but I squirmed under his solemn expression. I bit down the habitual 'please, don't be mad' just in case it irritated anyone else. Or re-irritated him.

"…how do I say this?" Bryn asked the room at large, waving a hand vaguely.

"Amulet'd come in handy just now, wouldn't it?" Vex asked, sauntering over.

I knew what this meant: the reason Bryn's sales pitches were so good (and why he could stay a snake oil salesman even when people knew what he was doing) was because the Guild had an Amulet of Articulation which turned a silver tongue to something incredible. I'll bet he could talk Maven Black-Briar out of her knickers with that thing on.

Not that he'd want to. That would be gross. Even I'm prettier than she is.

"What Bryn means to say in his own sweet way is…" Vex whacked me on the back so hard I staggered into Bryn's arms with a yelp. If he hadn't been standing right there, I'd have gone face-first into the bar. I don't think she felt so strongly, she was merely interpreting Bryn's request in the manner that would provide the most amusement. "You nitwit!"

As Bryn deftly caught me, I felt a vague twitch of something I pushed down too fast to recognize or identify.

He's with Tonilia.

I'm not that kind of thief.

I wouldn't be, even if I could.

"Oh, that really helps, Vex!" Bryn growled putting me back on my feet. "Bust out her teeth on the bar, why don't you?"

"She's such a talker, she doesn't need them! Besides, there's always her," Vex indicated to the so-called 'face sculptor' who had wandered into the Flagon not long after I arrived and set up shop… somewhere. She didn't actually do her work in the Flagon or the Cistern, so I could only assume she had one of the rooms out in the Ratways and just used the tavern as a kind of office.

It makes me even less desirous of employing her services. It's gross out there.

"You little bonehead!" Vex continued, waving viciously as she translated for Bryn… or maybe she was talking for herself because Bryn never gets angry like that, redhead or not. "Next time you go off in a temper you tell someone where you're going! There's a war on, you idiot!"

"Bryn, she's so scary!" I yelped, ducking behind him, hopping onto one of the barstools, jumping onto the bar and sliding off to hide behind Vekel, peeking out from behind one meaty shoulder as if truly terrified.

"Will you cut that crap out?" Vekel grunted, shunting me out from behind the bar. "No patrons back here! Shoo!"

I shooed… and then looped around Sapphire, who still looked like she might cut in on Vex's act if she got the chance.

Vex moved towards me and I recognized the look of a woman about to seize a pup by the scruff of the neck.

"Delvin!" I wailed, glancing at the Guild's granddad.

"No sympathy here, girl. Bryn's only human, you were bound to annoy him sooner or later. Take note of the red hair, my girl, take note," Delvin declared unperturbed, not even looking up from the paper he had before him and was scribbling on.

Bryn gave Delvin a 'gee, thanks for perpetuating that stupid stereotype' look. If he'd been the type, he might have added a middle finger for good measure.

"Where'd you go, by the way?" Delvin asked as Vex stopped moving in order to glare at me. Maybe she was thinking of coming over the table…

"I was in Solitude," I answered with a squeak, wondering if maybe I might need to run away again until all this blew over! Then again, things being as they were… that probably wouldn't help… it was nice of them to worry, though. I didn't think anyone would be worried.

"Oh, very apropos," Sapphire growled, levering herself to sit on the table at which Tonilia was sitting. Of the occupants of the tavern, Tonilia was the only one utterly ignoring the proceedings. Unlike Delvin, who only pretended to, Tonilia really did seem totally oblivious to the drama or the comedy.

Bryn, meanwhile, opened the satchel and poured out the contents. "Oblivion's teeth!"

Everyone looked at him.

"What'd you do, run a bedlam job on the Blue Palace?" Bryn looked shocked. Numb with it, almost. He held up one of the ugliest and undoubtedly expensive pieces, regarding it with a critical, experienced eye.

Well… there was a lot of treasure in there. There have been a lot of queens in Skyrim, and all of them—or their husbands, or lovers, or whoever—have added to the jewelry trunks over the centuries! "…yes?" Then when folks looked flabbergasted, "Did you know Jarl Elisif likes pale pink satin undies? With little ribbons on?" I poked my hips to indicate where said ribbons were.

"Should've nicked a pair," Delvin said, finally looking up from his paper. "I'd've paid handsome for those."

Lecherous old coot. I meant that fondly—and truthfully. Everyone knows Vex has threatened to pull an Argonian the next time he tries to spy on her bathing in the lake. And when I say 'pull and Argonian' I mean come up out of the water when he least expects it and drag him in, holding him down there until he loses his breath and drowns. See, we're all convinced Vex is part Argonian. She can hold her breath forever without use of potions.

"And lace!" I added.

"Are you kidding? That creepy bitch from Windhelm would want them. Blackmail or something," Sapphire declared. "Seriously, though? Pink?"

It took a moment for me to realize she meant Lady Grey. Lady Grey might be upper class, but I had no reason to think she was bitchy. She's treating Svana very well, after all.

"I've never seen such delicate knickers in all my life. And she has matching breastbands! Only they were funny-shaped—like little bags held on with strings." Clearly made for someone who didn't move around much. The twins would have liked them… but only if they weren't planning on wearing them for long.

Sometimes the truth is better than fiction, and there was a great deal of laughing over Elisif's taste in underclothes as the treasure of the Jarl's jewelry trunk (the thing was huge) was looked over and admired.

"And here they are!" I cried when things began calming down, producing the underthings from my knapsack and slapping them down on Delvin's paperwork.

The appearance of Jarl Elisif's underwear caused quite a diversion. Even Tonilia got up to have a look.

As soon as everyone's attention was taken up with ribald jokes and critical assessments, Bryn's hand appeared on my shoulder. "Come with me, lass. We'll put this away," he whispered.

I'd heard of the Vault, but I'd never seen it.

We walked back into the Cistern, then to Mercer's office space. "Mercer," Bryn said genially. "I need to get into the Vault. Kitty's back."

"Hmph. I told you, you were all whinging over nothing," Mercer said frostily.

Ah, Guildmaster Grievous, how I have failed to miss you!

"So, what's the pittance?"

Bryn didn't answer, just dropped the bag onto Mercer's desk, as if to say 'pittance my ass.' Mercer opened the bag and began looking through the pieces. "It's all got to be scrapped; too recognizable. Jewels out, the metal melted into ingots."

By now, I was scowling with a foul-tasting bile in my mouth. Nothing is ever good enough for this creep.

"Still," Mercer dumped it all back into the bag. "It's more than some of the others have done. Put her on Markarth once she's had a chance to dry off. But before that, the Caravans."

The Vault took two people to open. I expected jewels and coins, works of art, sculptures and the kind of bric-a-brac rich people (or Guilds like this one) have, less because it's needed and more because… why not?

I was appalled. There were jewels… a few, anyway… and some coins… but nothing like what I expected.

Fabulous treasure of the Thieves Guild? No.

Fabulous treasure of a Jarl? No.

Maven Black-Briar was richer than us!

Anuriel the Steward was richer than us!

Keerava at the Bee and Barb was richer than us!

Bersi Honey-Hand and the Pawned Prawn were richer than us!

Even Haelga at the Bunkhouse was richer than us!

Oh, it was an awful moment to realize just how poor—penniless, compared to what I expected—the Guild of Thieves in Skyrim really was! The evidence before me was that the little dry spell of luck was apparently a great big monster dry spell of luck!

Mercer dumped the contents of my bag—which looked so pitiful, I should have grabbed more while I was at it—in a corner. "You take a cut?"

"No," I answered truthfully, looking at the pile of shinies which had seemed so large to me earlier. Suddenly, swiping a pair of Elisif's underwear wasn't funny anymore. The idea of Rolff scratching his private parts and feet bloody with no one to blame wasn't funny, either. The Guild had bigger problems, and there was me messing with people for reasons that didn't matter.

I don't think he believed me, but I hardly cared. "Then you'll get it as we get this mess," Mercer waved at my pitiful takings, "processed."

"Well then, I'll just rest a day or two and I'll head back out." It took more effort than I could muster to sound enthusiastic, so I sounded exactly as depressed as I felt.

Bryn reached over and patted my shoulder, then ushered me out of the Vault, which seemed to lock itself once the door closed. "What with that face?" he asked, once Mercer was mercifully gone.

"Did you see how empty that vault was? It's depressing." And it was. Oh, yes, it was.
"I need a drink."

Bryn chuckled, but followed me back into the Ragged Flagon.

"Vekel. I need a drink," I announced plaintively. I barely cared to notice that Elisif's pink underthings were gone. I didn't care to wonder who ended up with them. I dug out the three bottles of honeywine and placed them on the bar, to Vekel's joy. "I brought you three consecutively-labeled bottles of Juniper Honeywine, and I desperately need a drink."