AN: Honestly, this was meant to be longer, but I'm not really going for long chapters with this, more like short snippets that each add onto a larger whole.

I've got no really timeline for this, but this is one there if you squint at it, tilt your head at the right angle, and look through a kaleidoscope.

Fun fact before we begin; during the Cidhna Mine quest, the first time I did it, I didn't know you had to surrender to the guards into to progress the story, so I didn't, and ended up slaughtering pretty much everyone in Markarth.

Thieves Guild – Convincing Delvin

"Are you serious?"

Delvin Mallory had seen a lot of shit during his time as a fence, his work for the Thieves Guild and the small stuff he did for the Dark Brotherhood. It was getting to point where he doubted there were few people in Tamriel, let alone Skyrim, who could say that they had seen half of what he had but this was a first even for him.

"Aye, I'm serious."

"Are you looking at the same bloody person that I am, Bryn?"

Delvin liked to think that when he looked at something, he'd be able to see what others couldn't, some kind of worth hidden value. He found no value when he looked at the guy standing behind Brynjolf in Daedric fucking armour.

Despite its legendary status, Delvin had found himself staring at armour and weapons made of the metal more than a few times over his life. He'd never seen someone kitted out in a full set though, and he wished he hadn't. That armour wasn't normal.

"He's proven himself, Del. Managed to put the plant on Brand-Shei," Brynjolf pointed out, from his position seated opposite Delvin, to which the breton scoffed.

"How? By murdering everyone in the room and planting it on his corpse." Moving a hand to point in the direction of Brynjolf's prospective initiate to the Thieves Guild, the master thief found himself raising his voice in frustration. "He looks about as sneaky as fucking giant." Delvin didn't care if the proposed initiate heard him or if he took offence, hopefully he'd just take the hint and leave.

"I can guarantee that our poor little dark-elf is stewing in the Jarl's jail, very much alive," Brynjolf replied, arms coming to cross over his chest. "Lad did the switch so quick I don't think I was speaking for more than a second before he was back beside me."

"Are you sure you aren't drinking your own 'Falmer Elixir' there, Bryn? At little switcheroo doesn't mean someone's inclined for ourkind of work."

"Alright look," Brynjolf said with a sigh, leaning over to plant his hands on the table that he and Delvin were sitting at. "I realise that he might not me suited to the kind of work that requires at subtler touch but I've got a good feeling about this. In the small time he was out there, he picked a pocket with at least five sets of eyes on him and barely brushed by his mark. Not only that, I saw the kid take a little for himself too. Opened the sliding door underneath Brand-Shei's stand, picked the strong-box and emptied it, all in one movement." A small smile wormed its way onto Brynjolf's face. "Kid's got skills."

For a second, Delvin's eyes darted from Bynjolf's face to the Daedric-armour-wearing man leaning against a post near the entrance to the Flagon, next to Dirge. He only managed to hold that eyeless gaze for a second before he was forced to look away.

'Fuck that armour is creepy.'

There was no way someone like that managed to pull of what Brynjolf was saying, they'd need to be a Nightingale of Nocturnal herself to do so.

Twitching slightly, Delvin made to return his gaze to the Dremora-impersonator, as if to make sure that he wasn't a Nightingale – because wouldn't that be fucking swell – when he realized he wasn't able to find him. He wasn't by Dirge anymore.

A grunt from directly behind him had Delvin leaping off of his seat, a shout of surprise on his lips at the sudden noise. Unsurprisingly, it was that Daedric-armoured fucker, standing with his arms crossed with a slight slant in his posture, the universal signal for boredom.

Despite the rather amusing sound of Delvin's surprised scream, no one laughed. Eyes that had previously been focused on their own meals or conversations quickly swivelled to face the commotion, expressions of wariness directed towards the outsider in their midst.

"I'm suitable for any, and all, type of work. Just give me something to do," The words rumbled out from underneath the man's helmet, muffled slightly by the metal.

A grimace made its way to Delvin's face as he calmed his racing heart, there was a reason that he had never held on to anything of daedric origin. Even though it was worth enough to set a man up for years, that stuff always attracted the crazies like flies on a pile of horseshit.

A whisper to the right people and any daedric stock he had was snapped up in a week, at most. He didn't want to know the kind of attention the man before him received while walking around in a suit of the stuff for long enough to look comfortable in it.

"Lad, I asked ya to wait with Dirge. Can you go do that for me?" There was a tone of steel in Brynjolf's voice. "I'll be with you in a second, I'm just figuring out what I'm going to have you doing."

The covered head twisted from Delvin to Brynjolf, holding the latter's gaze for several moments. It went on long enough for one of Delvin's hands to start drifting to the ebony dagger he kept at his side. He'd seen enough men like the one before him to realise that the armoured fucker was weighing up whether or not to listen to Brynjolf.

The massive shoulders heaved and then dropped in a shrugging motion before the armoured feet moved their master back to the entrance of the Flagon, where Dirge appeared to have only just noticed that he was alone.

Even though he appeared to listen to Brynjolf, Delvin didn't let his hand stray from his dagger until the man was a few metres from his fellow Guild member. Thankfully, Brynjolf too seemed to realise that his new recruit was dangerous and kept his gaze on him as he passed.

At the same unseen signal, both Thieves Guild member, and the others around them, relaxed at the Daedric-armoured man resumed his position by Dirge, who took to the man coming back to his side with a wordless grunt. Brynjolf turned back to look at Delvin, who was giving his friend an 'are-you-serious' look.

"Alright," Brynjolf began with a small wave of his hands, keeping his voice low to keep the object of their discussion from overhearing, "I know what you're thinking, but we can still use him."

"He can also go on a murderous rampage, what's your point?" Delvin replied, an unimpressed look on his face.

"Because regardless of whether our luck regarding work turns around, it won't mean anything unless people know that it was us responsible," explained the brown-haired thief with a roll of his eyes. "Say I went to the Pale, completed a few jobs and gained the attention of some potential clients, how would any of them know who to contact?"

"By leaving a mark," Delvin groused, "not employing people like him. What would our current clients say if our employees began to leave behind a bit of blood at their job-sites?" Unwillingly, the bald thief flicked his eyes to the wannabe-Dremora before going back to Brynjolf.

"So we make sure that our employees know what they can and can't do. We tell them clearly what can make them forfeit their cut," Brynjolf told him.

"And if our employees happen to disagree with our rules?" Delvin pressed.

"Then they get told to get out," was Brynjolf's simple reply. Both of them knew it wouldn't be as easy as Brynjolf made it out to be, they'd both dealt with plenty of people who hadn't taken rejection well.

And judging by what their potential initiate was wearing, saying the situation 'wouldn't go over well' would be an understatement.

Delvin sighed.

"Look, Bryn," he said, finally deciding to give the man some slack, "I understand what you're trying to do, I really do, but I don't think that, whoever this guy is, he's going to bring us anything more than trouble."

Brynjolf let out a loud breath through his nose that flared his nostrils, a sign that, Delvin realised, signalled his friend was getting irritated.

"Delvin, you're missing the most important factor here." Said man made to open his mouth, but he was cut off by Brynjolf. "Have you heard of him?" Delvin frowned.

"Your point?" He asked his friend, becoming slightly annoyed at his friend's stubbornness. Brynjolf leaned forward, a small grin on his face.

"You mean you haven't heard about that man over there, wearing a full-suit of Daedric amour?" Delvin paused as the realisation hit him.

How fuck hadn't he heard of a guy wandering around while completely fitted with Daedric amour? A few of his contacts should have, at least, passed on the information simply to keep him in the loop of things that were happening in Skyrim.

A few explanations for why he hadn't been told quickly popped into Delvin's head.

The first was that his network was slipping or hiding things from him, it was unlikely but possible.

The second was that the guy had only recently come into possession of that armour, or started wearing it out in public, just as unlikely as the first given his earlier observations but still possible.

The last option, the man possessed such skill in stealth that it would make the Grey Fox jealous. Like the others, this option was also unlikely.

"If he managed to remain unnoticed," Brynjolf spoke up, bringing Delvin from his thoughts, "while wearing Daedric armour, it means he has to have some capacity for stealth, along with that restraint you're looking for. Imagine what he could do in our outfit?"

"He could have just killed everyone he came across before us?" The breton said, semi-seriously. When Brynjolf gave him a dry look in response, Delvin sighed. "Fine, we'll put him through a trial." As his Nordic friend's grin began to stretch from ear to ear, he continued. "But I'm serious, Brynjolf, he can't give me any reason to not want him in. Deal?" Finishing his piece, Delvin offered a hand towards his friend.

"Deal," Brynjolf agreed with a grin. He then turned around and waved over their topic of conversation. "Lad," the thief called, "we've got something for you."

Heavy footsteps, a far cry from the kind that had managed to sneak behind him before, approached Delvin.

"Alright, lad," Brynjolf continued, once the man finally stopped at their table. "Your task is simple. All you've got to do is collect a few debts from some people here in Riften. Keerava, an argonian, runs the Bee and Barb. Bersi, a nord, owns The Pawned Prawn. Haelga, also a nord, manages a bunkhouse of the same name. Find them and get the money we're owed." Armoured man gave a short nod and a noise of acknowledgement before turning and heading for the exit of The Ragged Flagon.

A sudden sense of dread shot through Delvin as he watched the initiate walking away, and it made him speak up.

"Don't kill anyone," Delvin called out, getting the warrior to pause his walk. "The important bit is to show people that you don't mess with us, alright? I don't want to hear any noise about you taking the money off of corpses. Got it?"

There was some kind of sound coming from the man when Delvin finished and it took a moment for him to place it. It was laughter. The fucker was laughing at him. The breton thief frowned but before he could speak up, the object of his ire spoke.

"I understand," he said before continuing on his way to the exit. Grumbling slightly, Delvin held his tongue.

"Oi, lad, what's your name?" Brynjolf asked the Dremora-impersonator, making him stop and turn again. There was a pause as the unasked question of 'why are you asking now' hung in the air. "I've got a good feeling that you'll pass, and I need something to carve onto your bed. Don't want to let the others think that your stuff is theirs, do you?" While the last part was meant to impart some humour into the initiate, the potential recruit showed no sign of it doing so.

"People call me The Dragonborn," the man replied, before turning and exiting The Flagon without another word. A stunned silence settled over bar as the two men that had been addressed, along with those that overheard, wrapped their head around who had just left.

At their table, Delvin was aware enough to notice when Brynjolf turned away from the exit of The Flagon to face him with a shit-eating grin.

"Jackpot," he said.

"Hold on," Delvin replied, trying to firmly deny what he'd just heard. "He was probably just fucking with us. I'm pretty sure that The Dragonborn wears Ebony armour, not Daedric."

Around them, as their conversation restarted, so did others. All of them firmly revolving around the man who just left.

"Well apparently, he's decided he likes Daedric more." The smirk on Brynjolf's face told the breton exactly how much fun he was having with this.

"Even if he is the Dragonborn," Delvin said in exasperation, "and I'm not saying he is, it doesn't exactly help us, Bryn," Delvin pointed out. "Our work kind of relies on us being unknowns." That drew a snort from the nord.

"Tell me Delvin, are they still sending out that invitation for you at Falkreath?" The amusement in Brynjolf's voice was plain to hear and earned a scowl from Delvin.

"Okay, that's a low blow," he groused.

"I'm sure that Jarl Balgruuf would also really like the opportunity to host you for nice evening meal," the nord continued, mirth in his eyes.

"I get it," Delvin grunted. Brynjolf chuckled.

"Sorry my friend, but you can't use notoriety as a reason for someone to not be a part of our organisation."

"Then what about the things I've heard about him," Delvin countered. That made Brynjolf lean forward onto the table.

While the Dragonborn was well known throughout Skyrim, the stories that followed him varied from person to person. Though all could agree that he was a nord, physical details were constantly changing, along with the tales about his feats.

"Well?" Brynjolf questioned after a moment, waiting to hear what his friend had to say.

"The closest to home is from Ivarstead," Delvin began, "with some beggar accusing him of causing a frost-troll to fall from the sky and land on his house." The man shrugged at his friend's incredulous glance. "Says he heard some shout 'Foo Row Dah' or something before it smashed into his house, he thinks it was a Shout."

"That's barely better than a rumour, Delvin," Brynjolf snorted. "You've got to have something better than that."

"Oh, I've got better," Delvin promised. "Karthwasten, only a few months back, he crashed into the village on the back of a bloody dragon. People only heard him mutter about 'flying dragons' being harder than he thought before he walked off."

"A dragon?" The brown-haired thief questioned in a dry, somewhat disbelieving, voice, receiving a nod in confirmation. "That barely sounds better than your first story."

"This one's got witnesses though," the bald thief responded, "the Dragonborn had a bounty on him in the Reach until he paid it off."

"How?" Brynjolf asked incredulously. "You said he flew a dragon into a village, what could he have done to repay that? It'd require Black-Briar-levels of money."

"Apparently, he left for a few days before returning and dumped a chest filled dragon bones and scales at old Igmund's feet," Delvin answered. "Not entirely sure it was worth much though a few people in the Jarl's court looked interested enough in it."

Suddenly, Brynjolf sighed.

"Alright, Delvin, what's this really about?" He questioned seriously, "you've given me a bunch of half-baked excuses so far and, for the most part, I've entertained them, but now I want a real reason. Why don't you want the Dragonborn to join us?"

The master thief was silent for a few moments.

"I've met a lot of different people in my time, Brynjolf." Delvin's voice was low, as if he was afraid of being overhead, which was a legitimate concern being in The Ragged Flagon. Most likely though, he just wanted his privacy, which meant what he was about to say was something that he didn't want anyone else to overhear.

"I've worked with the Dark Brotherhood, even went to their hideout once, spoken to a few of their members," Delvin spoke, leaning his face closer to Brynjolf, expression serious as the nord had ever seen it. "None of them, not one, has ever made me as nervous as the Dragonborn." There was a moment of silence between the two friends. One thinking hard over what the other had said, while the other tried to impart his seriousness onto his friend through his eyes.

"Alright Delvin," Brynjolf said when the moment was done, "I'll keep a closer eye on him, make sure he isn't crazy." A small smile appeared on the face of the nord before he continued. "Well, crazier than the rest of us anyway."

"Good," Delvin nodded. Despite his rather laid-back attitude, the master thief knew that Brynjolf would study the Dragonborn a bit closer than he would have. Handing moving to his side, he made to signal Vekel for another round but stopped when he failed to feel his coin purse.

Eyes dropping to where it should be, they widened a second later when he failed to find it. Twisting his upper body from side to side before looking under his chair and the table he was sitting at, Delvin searched for his money. A minute later, he sat up to face the expectant face of Brynjolf, the man clearly wanting an answer for his sudden behaviour.

"Someone pinched my coin," Delvin said, faintly, in lieu of an explanation. His eyes widened in realisation as the puzzle-piece suddenly slotted into place. "It was the fucking Dragonborn."

Brynjolf laughed uproariously.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Chapter End

AN: Not entirely sure about what I'll do next.

Maybe the College of Winterhold.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed or has favourited, for those that haven't, remember to do so. Its mostly so that I know whether I should keep doing this or put my time elsewhere.

The Right Stop.