"This," the Guildmaster said, gesturing to the Thief behind him as they both sat down, "is who I had in mind. He knows Aldmeris and he hates the Thalmor more than most. Dragonborn, I believe you've met before."

Nariilu nodded at Etienne Rarnis. She noticed he was still walking with a limp from his time in an interrogation cell, though the scars visible on his face and neck had faded considerably. If he was the forger, that just made negotiations that much more in her favor; a life debt wasn't easily repaid. "Should we take this conversation to a more private location?" She asked. "I don't intend to set a price with half the Guild able to hear my offers."

"Smart woman," the Guildmaster replied, "but I'm afraid this is as private as the Guild has, at the moment. I can assure full security of your assets from any of our members. It would be bad business to harm any of the Guild's employers, you see."

Nariilu sat back. "And you can assure anonymity for myself, my companion, and the rest of the College? I'm sure you understand that we cannot be attached to the Thieves Guild, at least publicly."

"You have my word."

"And how much value can we place on the word of a master thief?" Stormcloak asked. Nariilu kicked him under the table, but he had an excellent point. Stormcloak kicked back.

The Guildmaster smirked. "Almost none, but it's a little too late to be anonymous, isn't it, Jarl? Enough of this banter. We have business to do. You said you had an example of the handwriting?"

Nariilu nodded and pulled a folded stack of parchment from her robes. Five of Ancano's letters, about Divines knew what. She passed them across the table to Etienne, standing up to reach to his waiting hand. He inspected the letters for a long quiet while, occasionally flipping through the sheets and then back again.

"This is partially coded," Etienne finally said. "But the writing style will be easy enough. If I can figure out the code, I can do it. No problem."

"How long will you be contracting Etienne?" the Guildmaster asked.

"Hopefully, for a few months, at least," Nariilu replied.

"How many pages will I need to forge each day?" Etienne asked.

Nariilu thought for a second. She'd never given any thought about what Ancano did, except when he made it his business to find out all of her business. She knew he had spent most of his time either shadowing the Arch-Mage or writing reports back to the Embassy. "Five or ten, at least."

Etienne closed his eyes in thought. "Simple enough."

"We don't expect you to simply forge documents already written," Nariilu continued. "You'll need to keep up regular correspondence with the Thalmor Embassy to keep any unwanted attention off of the College. We'd also appreciate if you can pass along any information about the Thalmor to the Archmage, and to myself."

"Mimicking the voice of a Thalmor won't be easy, considering I have a brain and a heart. I would say you've just raised the price, but lucky for you, I owe you," Etienne said.

"Speaking of price, how much?" Nariilu asked.

"Well, considering he doesn't want to raise the price-you want to charge the base?" the Guildmaster asked Etienne. He nodded. "Fifty Septims per page, then."

"Forty."

"Fifty-five."

"This job includes a room and food for free."

"Sixty."

Nariilu cursed under her breath. Some discount, considering she saved Etienne's life. "Twenty Septims each page, and a silver ring with your choice of enchantment every fifty pages."

"Deal," Etienne spoke up, folding the letters. "It's a simple code, by the looks of it. I'll contact you some time tomorrow to let you know if I'll accept the job."

"What time tomorrow?" Nariilu asked. If they could leave by the afternoon, she could have this whole mess cleaned up in three days and be on her way to Whiterun. "And were?"

"I'll visit Honeyside when I've decided."

Of course they knew where she lived, Nariilu thought. With the negotiations over, it was a simple matter of waiting for a contract to be written; Etienne would bring the contracts if he decided to take the job. She gave her thanks to the Guildmaster and Etienne and grabbed the two bottles of Blackbriar Reserve off the table before walking back towards the Ratways. "Well," she said, "that went well."

"You do business with criminals as easily as a child buys a sweet roll from a baker," Stormcloak replied.

Nariilu lowered her voice to keep it from echoing loudly on the damp stones of the Ratways. "If I hadn't saved Etienne's life, we'd likely still be there negotiating with that Guildmaster. I didn't like the looks of him, and I'm not happy about making a deal with him. I'd rather be working directly with Etienne, but who knows if he'd have any honor if he weren't with the Guild?"

"Thieves lack honor from the moment they earn themselves the title."

"Yes, but I'd rather have thieves who at least pretend to have any than those who steal indiscriminately," Nariilu replied. The Thieves Guild had always been legendary to her and her friends when she was a child. Stories of the Grey Fox, who took from the rich and gave to the poor, had entertained them for days. As she grew up, she realized it was just hopeful thinking from the beggars, but it was still nice to pretend.

Now that she thought about it, nothing was ever stolen from her house back in the Imperial City. She and her mother had been poor, but, like most of the families in the lower-class districts, held on to a few valuable antiques. It's not like they were behind locked doors; locks were a luxury. "At least Etienne agreed to a small discount. Did you see the look on the Guildmaster's face? He wasn't pleased with the price. I wonder how much of a cut he gets."

"The forger was the one you saved from the Thalmor?" Stormcloak asked.

"A great coincidence, isn't it?" Nariilu replied. "I'm a bit concerned with how little value he places on a life debt. Still, we're lucky Etienne has use of his fingers." Very lucky. Anyone that couldn't be of long-term use to the Dominion received the worst treatment and the quickest death. From what Etienne had told her, they had kept him in the cell for about a week. Obviously, Esbern was high on the Thalmor's hit list.

Stormcloak went quiet for the rest of the trip back to the Riften docks. She didn't think much of it; Stormcloak had been silent for most of their time together. The man selling Hist Sap and Skooma was pushier this time, but still didn't bother them much, or threaten them like other dealers Nariilu had met in shady places.

The midday rush was over in Dockside. The crowds had cleared out, though dozens of people still wandered from merchant to merchant, making purchases here and there. Nariilu led them across the bridges and to Honeyside, fiddling with her keys and trying a few incorrect ones before the tumblers finally gave and the lock clicked. "Iona!" she called. "Iona, I'm here!"

No answer. Not untypical; Iona liked to wander around the city and people-watch, or pick 'training brawls' with the city guard. Nariilu didn't care much; it's not like she was in Riften enough to justify Iona waiting at the city gates for her arrival. She slipped off her glass bracers, rolling her wrists to get used to the lack of compression. "Well, Stormcloak, welcome to Honeyside. I have a guest bedroom in the basement, just to the left of the stairs, and feel free to eat or drink whatever you like."

Iona had left out a bowl of dried berries and a dagger on the table. Nariilu popped a few in her mouth before disappearing behind the kitchen wall to grab her measuring string and scrap parchment from the dresser. She walked back into the entryway, where Stormcloak stood. His presence lorded over the room, making the humble entry and kitchen feel much larger than it actually was.

"Cloak off," she ordered, setting down the parchment and running the string through her hands, fingering at the knots tied uniformly down the length.

Stormcloak raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "I'm comfortable with it on," he stated.

"I'm going to make you armor, like I said. Ebony."

Ulfric looked the Dragonborn over. She had a slight frame unbecoming of a blacksmith, and though she swung a sword like a soldier, any muscles she did have were hidden beneath her mage robes, and soldiers were far removed from smiths. The blacksmiths he knew were built like fortresses, especially the rare ones who had the decades of experience needed to shape ebony armor. "Ebony," Ulfric repeated.

"Yes, ebony."

"You."

"I've been a smith for as long as you've been alive, Stormcloak."

Ulfric nearly protested; the Dragonborn looked in her third decade, just starting her fourth, at most. A far cry from himself, well into his fifth, until he remembered the exceptionally long lives elves had. Still, how does a blacksmith turn into a Battlemage? She stared him down, fiddling with the measuring string. Ulfric sighed, slipping his cloak off and draping it over a chair.

The Dragonborn gave him a slight nod before circling him once and wrapping the string along and around his waist, torso, arms, stopping every measurement to count the number of knots and write them down. "How does a smith turn to magic?" He asked, bending over slightly so she could measure around his neck.

"I started using frost magic to quench metals, instead of water," she answered. "The blacksmith I apprenticed under was contracted with the Imperial Army, and an officer saw me make a sword and practice with it. He thought a Battlemage who could repair weapons and armor if needed would make a great asset." She stepped back and lightly touched each knot to count. "Do you want a helmet, too? Of course you want a helmet. Bend over again."

Nariilu crossed the bridge back into Dockside, hoping that she would either run into Iona on her way to the Scorched Hammer, or Iona would return to Honeyside and see her note before the market closed at dusk. She trusted her Housecarl to get a good enough deal on the items she had picked up in her adventures; Iona had quite a reputation around Riften, and for a good reason. She was intimidating as hell and had the temper to back it up.

She also needed her ruined armor to try and salvage the metals, but she wasn't going to walk all the way to the stables and then back again just to get it. She had Iona to do that for her.

Balimund was working outside, grinding down the blade of an axe. "The fire salts are working well?" She asked when she judged herself close enough to be heard over the grindstone.

"As well as ever," he replied, checking the axe briefly before returning it to the stone. He chuckled. "What brings you, Dragonborn? Need some armor to replace those robes?

"I'd like to use your forge, and commission your assistance to make a set of armor," Nariilu said. "Ebony."

Balimund stopped the grindstone. "Not glass? You're switching to heavy armor, huh?"

"I'll need a new glass cuirass, as well. My Housecarl will bring the scraps of my old one later. The ebony set isn't for me." Nariilu pulled out the scrap of parchment with Stormcloak's measurements. "I have a new companion in desperate need of armor. I'm also willing to pay extra for a rush."

He took the parchment and looked over the measurements. "How rushed?"

"Preferably, by noon the day after tomorrow." It was exceptionally quick for a custom set, Nariilu was beyond aware of that. But, for two people to work on the same set, and really, she just wanted the cuirass completed before Stormcloak met another dragon or another Thalmor Agent. It would be nice to have a helmet and bracers and boots ready, but the cuirass would have to do if that's all they could get done.

"Asbjorn!" Balimund barked towards the open door of the Scorched Hammer. "Come out, and bring the salts!"

"Coming!" Asbjorn's distant reply made it out of the Scorched Hammer.

"We best get started now, with that deadline," Balimund said, standing from the grindstone and carrying the axe with him. "Help me carry the ingots."

"Mother," Hemming Blackbriar strolled into Mistveil Keep fresh from talking to a few of the city guard with all the confidence of a man who was newly immortal. "Mother, you'll never believe who just walked through the city gates!"

"The bitch-Thane and her new pet, Ulfric Stormcloak," Maven answered. "Hemming, dear, do at least try to remain up-to-date." She lounged on her throne, with a smug Maul standing behind her. "It appears they've made a deal with the Thieves Guild, as well."

Hemming blinked. Of course Maul beat him to sharing valuable information with his mother. He had eyes all over the city, but somehow Maul had more. Stupid Guild members. "What kind of deal?"

"Frey wouldn't tell, damn him, but he did say that any forgeries we require will be cheaper in the coming months. It seems Therel has paid enough for our forger to keep Frey's big mouth shut for once," Maven sighed. "But, perhaps this means Therel is finally open to a business arrangement.

"Would you like me to arrange a meeting?" Hemming asked.

Maven hummed. "Let's loosen the pair up with a nice banquet, in honor of the Imperial victory over the traitorous Stormcloaks. It's not every day a war is won, you know."