((13th of Last Seed/August, 4E 202))

My orders were clear. With the tip from Brynjolf, he directed me to an easy escape from the cistern. "Go up the ladder," the Nord had said. "There's a pull-chain up above that'll open a trapdoor."

It didn't take long to prepare myself. My unease over returning to Whiterun was the only thing that held me back. The disdainful stares from the others only served to push me onward, a challenge to excel and to crush their doubts. It wouldn't be a long journey, as with Brynjolf's initial payment of approximately fifty septims, I'd be able to cover both the ride to and from my destination.

My fingers curled around the splintered wooden ladder, but I didn't get a chance to go up. I paused before climbing at the sound of pounding footsteps heading my way. My sword was instantly drawn but also knocked away in the same second. Something rough- an elbow, my mind whispered- slammed into my chest. The force threw me against the wall, and my attacker gripped my chin tightly. Sharp nails curved into the skin. Somewhere, my mind wondered: Why in Oblivion is everyone trying to kill me?! All I want to do is get this job finished!

"You little wretch," the foe snarled viciously, slamming my skull against the rough bricks again. My vision swam, leaving me unable to focus. The voice was vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place a face through my dazed state. I scratched at their forearm, trying to escape the grip. Despite my attempts, they held fast. "Don't try it, whelp." I took the chance to gather a mouthful of saliva and hurled it at them.

My move successfully surprised my opponent enough to loosen their grip and wipe at the spit in their eyes. I took the chance to breathe deeply when my throat was released but still couldn't see quite correctly, and a horrible headache was on its way. Even so, the pain didn't stop me from recognizing the person on her knees in front of me.

"What in Oblivion are you doing here, Sapphire?" I hissed, touching my throat. It would undoubtedly bruise and pain me for a few days. In addition to the previous battering from Vex, it wasn't going to be a picnic. I reminded myself that I'd suffered worse in training and focused on the ginger-haired woman readying a knife.

"Kicking your ass!" Sapphire lunged towards me once more, and I prepared to turn. I'd held it back with Mercer and Vex, but gods be damned, I wasn't going to let this one go.

My transformation from Nord to wolf never began. Someone behind the irate woman had wrapped an arm around her waist, a Wood Elf whose name I had yet to learn. "Let me go, Niruin!" she demanded, not bothering to hide her hatred. "That- she was- she did-"

"Did what?" I challenged, squinting as my vision cleared.

"Your little stunt at the bar? I lost respect. Lost a client!" I pressed my lips together, trying not to respond in an equally violent way. Niruin seemed to have difficulty restraining her the longer the banter lasted.

"That's not my problem, Sapphire." She shook off the Bosmer but made no further move to attack me.

Slowly, a half-smirk, half-snarl made its way onto her face. "Like Oblivion, it isn't. Are you trying to become a part of the Guild now? Brynjolf has been known to pick random hussies off the street and throw them into the thick of things." My nostrils flared at the harsh insult, and I noticed even Brynjolf bristling slightly off to the side. "But it's not all about me, you rat! You cost the Thieves Guild!"

"And you're doing so much better with this attitude?" I growled lowly, flexing my fingers and trying to keep myself under control. My fury was flaring back up again, bringing real danger back into the situation.

"You-"

"That's enough!" The angry words echoed around the cistern, and the low chattering around us instantly quieted. "Russet, what do you think you're doing?!"

Brynjolf's eyes widened. "Mercer," he greeted, taking a step away from the Guildmaster. I tried explaining what had happened- even though I didn't entirely understand it myself- but the stubborn man refused to listen.

"Again?! Less than an hour, and again?! Why, you little- you're out, Companion. Out of here, out of the Guild! Consider yourself lucky I'm not splitting you in half here and now!" His authority in the Thieves Guild meant that his commands were to be obeyed. Unfortunately for him, the only person I respected enough to listen to was Kodlak Whitemane. Mercer was a prick, and I wasn't going to let him lord over me.

I bared my teeth, readying myself for a fight. "I dare you to try; I don't think you understand just how capable I am to thrash your pretentious little-"

"Russet, you have no damn concept of respect!" He motioned to a set of men watching the altercation. "Thrynn, Rune, take her," he ordered, to which they instantly obeyed.

"Get your dirty hands off me!" I snarled, tugging myself free from their grips. They didn't go for me again, Brynjolf having pushed himself in between his pissed-off leader and me.

"That's enough, Mercer." He pushed me back against the wall, far enough away from Mercer that neither of us could touch one another.

The Guildmaster shot me a glare. "She's out, Brynjolf. This is the second time she's assaulted a Guild member!"

"That's a lie," I insisted, aggravated. "I was going out on a job, just barely made it to the damn ladder, and she came after me!"

"Shut it, whelp!" Mercer snapped, eyes blazing with fury.

Sapphire gave a snort. Despite her being a core part of the argument, I'd nearly forgotten she was there as well. "And why should anyone believe you?" she scoffed. "I've been part of the Guild for years while you've managed to get yourself thrown out on your first day."

"Mercer, at the very least, I can attest to Russet's innocence." I gave Brynjolf a grateful smile. A disbelieving scowl seemingly permanently etched onto the leader's face, Frey scanned the three of us. "Think, old friend. Is it really wise to rid ourselves of such a promising recruit?" he coaxed. His words flowed like honey, persuasive and charming. I had no doubt it was purely for my benefit, to convince the Breton twit I was blameless. Mercer grunted but didn't immediately reply. Sapphire grumbled to herself furiously. Several minutes passed, everyone listening intently while Brynjolf and Mercer argued back and forth. I was glad that the red-haired Nord man was willing to defend me, even if I didn't quite know why.

Mercer groaned and shot daggers after what seemed like an eternity of angry bargaining and agitated statements. "Fine," he muttered reluctantly. "Fine!" His dark green eyes glinted, a starkly different color than Brynjolf's. "But don't blame me when she comes up and kills one of us." The thieves in the cistern hadn't exactly been chatty, but at his statement, the room became deathly quiet. "I'm not letting her pass through this without punishment." I opened my mouth to argue, but Brynjolf's hand darted out and covered it.

"Of course. What were you thinking?" Brynjolf queried, his tone remaining even. I threw his hand away.

Mercer grinned wickedly, avarice entering his voice. "I think she should owe the Guild, hmm? Two thousand septims."

"Two thousand?!" I squealed in dismay, the Guildmaster visibly enjoying my shock before continuing.

"In addition, any and all profit gained until her debt is repaid belongs to us. Depending on the target she'll have a maximum of five days to complete the contract and return to us."

"Wha-" Brynjolf elbowed my side, still looking at Mercer as I cradled my ribs.

"But this is her very. Last. Chance." Mercer's enunciation made it clear he wasn't playing around as if his former demeanor hadn't said that already. "If she steps out of line one more time- she's out. No complaints, no protests. No more backing." He smacked the Nord on the side of the head. "And I'll put this debt on you if she decides not to pay it off." Brynjolf gave me a very wide-eyed and dangerous questioning look, ensuring I agreed. When I nodded in acceptance, he copied my motion to Frey.

"All right." Brynjolf smiled insincerely, poorly masking his apparent irritation. Mercer seemed vaguely satisfied and stormed off, leaving the rest of the Guild to mull about. I didn't speak, instead giving a playful punch to Brynjolf's shoulder. My nervous grin withered away at the Nord's critical expression. "If I'd known he'd be adding that clause for me, I likely wouldn't have stopped him from tossing you out." I avoided his eyes and reached for my sore throat, feeling less than stellar from both my shame and the physical pain. "Remember this much, lass. We're thieves, every one of us. There's nothing we value more than gold." Although his angry grimace did not lighten, his voice became slightly less harsh. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please, lass, please don't get yourself in trouble again. Don't make me regret this more than I already do." Another moment of awkward silence passed, and I muttered a hesitant thanks for his help in the first place. A shiver went down my spine as he watched me head out of the cistern, his green eyes sending a steely glare.

...

((14th of Last Seed/August, 4E 202))

On foot, the trek would have taken at least two days, but now that I had the money for a carriage ride, it took only a day, meaning I had a chance to beat Mercer's time limit. Dragonsreach loomed over the city as I stared up past the walls, its figurehead both familiarly welcoming and ominously foreboding. My leather-clad feet sent dust into the air while the setting sun at my back showed my shadow on the ground.

I knew every twist and turn of the city, including ways that wouldn't involve passing through any doors and risking recognition: a few loose bricks here, a swift climb, and tuck into brush there. I again reflected on the fact that my target was Nazeem and figured that was why he was being targeted in the first place. His claims to have friends in high places was a load of dragon dung; he didn't even have friends in low places.

Shaking my head, I forced myself to focus on not being caught. The time I'd arrived was rather fortuitous as the guards' evening shift was ending. They were eager to head home and put their feet up for a rest while eating their supper. Their attention lax, it was easy to fiddle with Wintersand Manor's window lock without much worry. Eager not to fail, I still sought that thrill Brynjolf's initial praise had given in addition to a desire to avoid forcing a punishment onto Brynjolf. The shame would have been bad enough, even if it was directed toward a thief. Besides, I wanted into the Guild.

I ducked inside the man's house and spotted the candlestick immediately, unlit and just waiting for the taking on the shelf. The other items were also easily found, right out in the open. Congratulating myself on a simple mission, I faced the back door. The congratulations seemed a bit premature as the owner of Wintersand Manor strolled right through the front. His wife trailed just behind him, a pleading look on her caramel face. I wasted absolutely no time rolling into the nearest wardrobe and prayed to the Nine despite the fact that what I was doing was hardly something one of them would support. I'd be better off praying to a Daedric Prince, though which one I had no idea.

A muffled voice came from outside the thick wood. "I'm tired of you ignoring me, Nazeem. You only care for yourself. What happened to the man I married?"

"Oh, stop being ungrateful, Ahlam." I would have recognized the sneering voice anywhere, even without the prior knowledge of who waited outside the wardrobe. "Do you see this lifestyle I've provided you with, you ingrate? I spent years working up to this, woman! Do you see this manor? Do you see these wonderful-

"That's all a lie, and you know it! Both the manor and the farm belonged to my father, and despite your promises before we married, the business continued to fail," she protested. It was clear from how the Redguard man prattled on that he would endlessly continue to disregard his wife.

"Chillfurrow Farm flourished under my hard labor, Ahlam."

"I did all the backbreaking work!"

"And I managed the finances. It's not as easy as it seems, you know. Bah, if the Jarl knew you disrespected me like this, he'd have the entire Whiterun guard toss you into the dungeons! You're lucky I'm so patient." I might have decked Nazeem for that comment alone if I wasn't here illegally. I cracked open the door, hoping they weren't in the hallway directly opposite my hiding place. Luckily, they seemed to be on the other side of Wintersand Manor. With care, I lowered myself out the window and slipped into the night.

...

((16th of Last Seed/August, 4E 202))

"Glad to see the plan went through." Vex seemed uncaring as she congratulated me. I'd been informed I was to go right to her when Brynjolf was on a job himself. "Nice going, I suppose. Mercer told me to withhold your pay this time. Heh... sorry." I winced, almost having forgotten the punishment. She pulled a few pages from her back pocket. "Feel like another job? You've got a debt with the Guild now." She inspected her fingernails and lifted a single white brow. "Doesn't pay to beat up your business partners, now does it?" Fighting Vex, squabbling with Mercer, and an assault from Sapphire had set me up with a reputation. I huffed audibly, rolling my eyes.

"Save your strength," I muttered, glancing around the Ragged Flagon. "Who else can I pick up a contract from?" Vex tipped her head upwards at Delvin, who had buried his face in a bottle of mead.

"Delvin takes care of a few different kinds of jobs," she informed me, crossing her arms. "Sneak in, sneak out..." Vex squinted at me, then brushed her fingers against my sore neck. "Oh, and before you go out again, get someone to look at those bruises of yours." I shoved her hands away and fought the urge to shove her into the foul water. Without thanking Vex, I turned around and marched over to Delvin.

The Breton lifted an eyebrow when I sat down across from him, but aside from that, didn't change position. He seemed to be waiting for me to speak. "I'd like a job, Delvin." He set his tankard down and scratched at his mustache.

"Really?" he murmured. "Well, ain't that just fantastic." I began to play with a bottle of mead on the table. "Good, good. See, I've got the jobs with the more personal touch."

I poured the bottle into a nearby iron tankard and took a swig. "What kind of-" Loud noises crashed from the bar, and broken glass covered the floor. I bit my lip and waited for the sudden clamor to die down so I could get back to business and back to the thrills. Dirge was shouting drunkenly, blood on his hands from a shattered bottle. Vekel muttered a complaint, earning him a furious glare from Dirge.

"If you got some'n t'say, Vek... th-then say it!" The blonde-haired man stammered, and Vekel aimed a punch.

That was the end of that problem. With the glass being swept up and the unconscious Dirge thrown into a bed, I returned to my conversation with Delvin. Once he explained the three kinds of jobs he offered, I agreed to a numbers job. To my dismay, it was once again in Whiterun.

"We need you to change the business ledger at Belethor's General Goods."

"That shop in Whiterun?"

Delvin lifted a bushy brow at my sour expression. "Got a problem, miss?" Of course, I again denied any issue and continued the conversation. I wasn't officially in the Guild, therefore they didn't need to know about my banishment from the trading hub of Skyrim. Delvin laid back in his chair, staring at his almost-empty iron cup. I tipped in the rest of the mead from my own mug, earning me a grin from the thieving Breton. "Well, that's the one. We've got some merchandise that needs to... hmm, change owners. The ledger should say the same." He tipped his wrist backward towards the cistern in the back. "Go on, get to it."

"My thanks." I shook his hand and walked into the cistern, a half-smile stretching my lips. It vanished as soon as I contemplated the job ahead of me. Once again, I was headed to Whiterun. Last time had been difficult enough; how was I going to handle a second job?

I plopped down on the bed assigned to me, trying to figure out what to do. Throwing my satchel on the ground didn't help my irritation as a pack of papers went flying. "Son of a-" I gathered the pages as quickly as I could, the mere thought of one of my fellow thieves reading them mortifying.

Dear Russ,

Things haven't been the same here since you left...

Dear Russ,

I miss having you in the next room. It was easier to talk to you...

Dear Russ,

Do you think you'll ever come back?...

Dear Russ,

Skjor and Vilkas said I shouldnt still be w̶r̶i̶t̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ writing to you and that it's not right...

Dear Russ...

This is my last letter so I guess you should stop sending them, too...

Just as they all began with mine, they ended with the single sender's name.

-Farkas

Stuffing the papers back into my bag, I ignored the curious glances from the rest of the Guild and headed toward the exit. Along the way, I passed Brynjolf climbing down the ladder before he moved over to speak with Sapphire. I shared a glare with the Nord woman, and to be honest, I felt as though I hadn't done anything serious enough to warrant her piss-poor attitude.

Brynjolf must have noted the animosity and greeted me, likely in an attempt to calm us before Sapphire was at my throat again. "Hello there, lass. What are you up to?" His tone was neutral.

"Job for Delvin." My tongue ran over my canine teeth. "What about you?"

"I'll be doing a training session with some of the other recruits after I talk with Saph here." I nodded, pretending to pay attention and care about her. Brynjolf didn't seem fooled but let me go on my way nonetheless. Sapphire gave me a simpering smile, underneath which fury boiled.

"See you later, Russet," Sapphire mocked, teeth clenched. "Hope you come back safe."

"Aw, thanks for the concern. Glad I have such a good friend to support me." Even as I closed the hidden coffinway to the cistern above, I could still hear Sapphire's livid screeches underneath.