Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long. I have been battling sickness recently and so apologize for the gap in time. Hope this will hold you over for awhile.

Rumors and Prophecies

I cooled my anger, surprised it hadn't gotten me killed as I lowered my sword.

"Put your weapons down. We aren't the Brotherhood," Mercer shouted. "Get back to your own business." He then quieted his voice and turned his attention back to me. "You girl, have quick reflexes but are very very stupid. Consider yourself lucky for next time we meet I will dispose of you. Brynjolf, escort her out."

"Mercer, you can't really believe those rumors about that stupid –" Brynjolf began.

"I said escort her out!"

"Aye, come with me lass," Brynjolf said.

He led me all the way back to the lower section of Riften.

"What was that?" I asked once we were outside. "What was his problem?"

Brynjolf sighed and rubbed his neck. "I could ask the same of you lass, putting your sword to his neck. Not that I blame you really, after what he said, but that was intensely reckless. Color me impressed that you had time to draw your sword at all though, Mercer is deadly with that sword of his and you out-drew him. I've never seen anyone attempt to that and live."

I didn't respond to the semi-compliment. What I had done was nothing but foolish, letting my emotions get the better of me yet again.

"I'm amazed he let me live as it was."

Brynjolf shrugged, his arms dropping to his sides. "If he wants to punish you he'll do it another way. You submitted to him and so that was that…for now. We're not the Dark Brotherhood."

"What is that, your motto?" I asked irritated.

Of course he laughed because that was likely the only response that could annoy me further while simultaneously making me appreciate his confidence. If our acquaintance outlasted the day I knew our relationship would always be this, a constant mix of emotions and reactions, being impressed and irritated at the same time.

"You said something about a rumor?" I continued when I had a grip on myself.

"Aye. See, some of the Guild are a bit superstitious. You hear about how we've been having bad luck of late?" he asked.

I said I had and he went on to explain how some thought it was a curse and that somewhere right when the bad luck had all begun rumors of a "prophesy" had surfaced.

"A prophesy?" I asked doubtfully.

"About a half-Breton who would come in and destroy the Guild," Brynjolf replied as if he put as much faith in the idea as I did. "Now most don't believe this and I haven't ever picked out Mercer as the sort who would go for this sort of nonsense either but after that scene…"

I rolled my eyes. "Guess you dodged a tragedy then."

So my whole trip had hit a dead-end with more questions than answers. Who was my father? Who had sent me that letter? Why was I morbidly attracted to the Thieves' Stone and all it stood for? Why was I in an orphanage at Riften? Is the mother I had known and loved all my life not my biological parent?

"Look, I'll try talking to Mercer when he's had time to cool," Brynjolf said. "In the mean time, I'll keep my eye open for information to send your way."

"Thanks."

With that we parted ways and I headed back to camp, the whole day a loss. I lingered in the outdoor market after retrieving the bag of Grelod's belongings from Brynjolf's stall. I was hoping to hear the gossip I normally ignored. My life could very well depend on those rumors spreading the way I wanted so I stayed alert to it.

I heard snatches of conversation that kept getting lost:

"Did you hear –"

"Grelod –"

"I hear she had a thing for –"

"Took off in the middle of the night."

"A hunky Argonian miner!"

"orphan kids –"

"Inherited a huge fortune!"

"Yes, much better off."

Satisfied that whatever suspicions the town had about Grelod's disappearance did not involve murder, I returned to Lynn.

Author's Note: Thank you to all of you have reviewed so far! I hope you continue to do so. Thank you guest, that made my day. Please review!