When the male wakes up some time later, he finds himself somehow fully dressed and propped up against a tree on the shore of Lake Honrich, the Riften Fishery seen in the distance. A groan escapes his mouth as he tries to get on his feet, the throbbing in his temples making all form of movement damn near impossible.

You've done gone and fucked up there, old man, he thinks to himself as gravity once again proves that it is the master of all, forcing him back down onto the ground again. How in the name of Oblivion did you forget that the Guild Master was born under the sign of the Serpent?

"I've been looking for you. Got something I'm supposed to deliver- your hands only."

Cloudy citrine eyes blink at the courier standing before him in confusion. "What? I wasn't expecting anything."

The Imperial just gives the thief a shrug, then starts rummaging through his pockets, pulling out a letter and nods. "Let's see here... Ah. Yes. I remember now. From the Thane of Falkreath- seemed like a wreck when she handed this over to me as I passed by her homestead." He hands it over to the puzzled thief with a slight smile. "Looks like that's it, got to go!"

"But I don't...know..." Before the Breton could finish his statement, the courier was off and running to do his next delivery. With a sigh, Delvin unfolds the letter and starts reading the familiar script flowing across the page.

Delvin-

First... I'd like to apologize for leaving as I did. I should have explained to you what exactly set me off, but I was too angry, too upset, too triggered to think logically. Though, I will admit, part of the fault falls into your lap- not just forgetting the little things I know you looked into when I first joined the Guild, but seriously, calling me that? You know how much I utterly loathe that word...then again, maybe you don't. Here there was a blot of ink, as if the sender was trying to figure out what to write next. I suppose that's my fault for not putting a stop to Brynjolf's nonsense sooner, and in a more public manner.

Before you tell me that if I let Brynjolf get away with calling me that, then it should be fine for anyone else to use it, let me ask you this- if he told you he somehow found a way into the Deadlands and wanted to steal Mehrunes Dagon's smalls for a lark, would you go along with that stupidity? I would like to think not. I have been telling my rather obtuse Second since before he and I left for Irkngthand- in private, mind you- that I didn't appreciate his rather diminutive pet name, especially after I learned his rather liberal usage of the word with other women. However, to quote you, he's a rather stubborn Nord- once he's made his mind up, nothing will ever change his mind once he's made a decision. I suppose I just became resigned to the fact that no amount of threatening, pleading and the like would make that blasted mule budge.

Could I have fought harder on the issue with him? Of course. But, even over a year later, the ramifications of what Mercer did is still being felt by most of us. It is because of this that I show a united front with Brynjolf before the members of the Guild- the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one in my case.

Of course, it wasn't until after I managed to carry you outside of Riften that I had a sobering thought come to me. I remembered a conversation I had with your brother, with him telling me what he knew of the motley family I had become head of after Mercer's death. He had spoken of your and his years growing up in Honorhall Orphanage, of how you and Brynjolf had been- pardon the cliche- thick as thieves, a friendship that has surprisingly continued to this day. Then I realized that because of that closeness, both of you were bound to pick up some habits from the other- good ones and unfortunately bad ones. And, I'm ashamed to say, I ran.

At this point, I don't know where my feet will take me- currently I'm at Lakeview Manor, my home in Falkreath Hold. Surprising, isn't it, that the head of the Thieves Guild could be considered honorable enough to given the title of Thane. Normally the quiet of the place would help me get my mind in order, but for some reason peace is elusive. Don't worry, I won't go searching for trouble, such as looking up our cousins on the other side of Falkreath. If trouble should find me, on the other hand…

Eyes open, Del, and walk with the shadows.

Aisling

The bald Breton blinks as he comes to the end of the letter, and can't help the small chuckle that escapes him at the thought of the miscommunication between the two as he puts the parchment in a pocket. Damn it, Aisling, what did I tell you about relying on others instead of shouldering your burdens alone. I swear to Nocturnal, when you get back, I am going to do everything in my power to break you of your bad habits...after I take you on every single flat surface of your house. More than once. At least until you can't walk. Speaking of walking... Delvin huffs in exasperation as he finally gets his body cooperating with his mind and manages to get off the ground. Let's see if I can make it back to the Flagon without falling on my face...

Three weeks. Three weeks since Aisling used the skill of her birth sign on Delvin. Three weeks since he woke up to find himself under a tree and her gone. Three weeks from when he had went down to the Guild to see if any knew her whereabouts. Three weeks and still none of the people keeping an eye for her out had any news. It was like she just disappeared from Skyrim altogether, but the older thief, like the rest of the Guild, held onto some hope that she was fine. But it was also three weeks since the Breton last stepped foot out of Honeyside, refusing to leave the home until their wayward Guild Master returned.

A rather insistent knock dragged the trainer out of his dazed state, having lost himself to his thoughts as he stared at the fire going in the fireplace. Through the door he could hear someone call out to him "Delvin, open the damned door. Do not make me have to pick this lock. There's someone here with news of the Guild Master!"

That certainly had him moving. Rising from the seat, the man hurriedly goes to the door, pulls back the lock, and opens it, revealing the auburn haired Second and a hooded old man in gray robes. "Tell me," he whispers tiredly as his hand covers his eyes from the bright sunlight. "She's not...is she?"

"You are the one called Delvin Mallory?" the robed man asks him. At the Breton's nod, he continues "I am Master Arngeir, of High Hrothgar."

"A Greybeard? The Guild Master spoke some of her time under your...tutelage. How is it that she ended up at your monastery?"

"A resident of Ivarstead who brings us supplies every so often, found her unconscious during his trek up the 7,000 Steps. Knowing that she studied with us, he brought her to High Hrothgar for care. It was the first time we allowed an outsider into our halls, and the second is before us now. The Dragonborn has been ill, but in her brief moments of lucidity, she has been asking for you, Delvin Mallory."

Delvin's gaze moves from the strange old man to his brother in shadows, the unasked question in worried topaz eyes.

"Do you even have to ask? We'll manage somehow. Just bring her home, Del. That's all I ask of you."

"Even if I have to carry her down the steps myself, Bryn, I will. I'll leave right..." He looks down and looks at his rather disheveled appearance. "Right after I clean up. I must smell as appalling as I look."

The ginger just chuckles and goes "Like you just took a bath in the sewers, my friend. I'm sure the Guild Master wouldn't mind you utilizing her bathing chamber to make yourself ready for the visit... Or better yet, going through her drawers to bring her clothes?"

Had Delvin been in a more jesting mood, he probably would have responded in kind. Instead, the emotionally drained thief just says "Bring the Greybeard to the Bee and Barb to wait for me. Kindly do not leave our guest alone, Brynjolf, and keep your bloody hands to yourself."

A/N: Well now, Master Arngeir came down from the mountain. I can only imagine what's going through his head at the realization that the Last Dragonborn keeps company with sneak thieves- certainly a big difference between Aisling and Talos of Atmora, yes?

Regarding using birth signs instead of standing stones: While in the game I can appreciate being able to change the power you receive from the stones (or have two if you have the aetherial crown), everyone else is relegated (in theory) by one stagnant sign based on when they're born... It also doesn't hurt that every Skyrim playthrough I tend to pick the same standing stone (after being forced to pick one in game after Helgen...unless we can completely skip it?). Maybe this limits me, I don't honestly know. Personal preference I suppose.

Upcoming in this story: Arngeir and Delvin talk as they climb the 7000 Steps; Del and Aisling reunite and our usually reserved Breton gives our Nord Guild Master a piece of his mind.