Hullo, everybody! Damn it's been a while! I'm sorry! I'm back! I'm sorry and I'm back. I wonder if anyone still follows this story?

In any case... please R&R and, as always, I hope you enjoy - LR

My footfalls echo through the dark, drafty tunnel, like drums, sounding my approach. Sounding my arrival. If they didn't know I was in here before, they certainly know now. The sound of rushing water and the breath of the hollow man-made caverns are all around me, and I try to follow them, negotiating between my instinct and my memory how to reach the Ragged Flagon.

We're a day and a half out of Solitude. The current Council believes my travels through the hinterlands to be a victory tour, meant to show my face to the people of Skyrim, and that's true. But, beneath that, I am still after Miraak, which means I am still after Alduin, and so ultimately, I am still weaving together a new Council on the sly.

Our party is five in total, travelling light, carrying only what we need. I wanted only three of us- Wendell, Erik and I- efficient, quiet men, with enough experience to get the job done, and enough history between us for me to trust them with all the levels of depth to our mission.

Between the scheduled stops at the capitals that I have to make as King, I have to hunt for hidden Shouts as Dragonborn. In order for me to act out both roles, I also need the proper advisors; the proper High Council, and that leads us to our first stop, in Riften, a whole twenty-two hour ride away from Solitude. Now that we're here, I intend to kill two birds with one old, stubborn, crotchety stone.

I come upon a fork, and pull up short. Look left. Look right. I wipe my brow, which is breaking out into a sweat, in spite of the cold. I haven't stepped foot in these lines in almost six years, now. Hard to believe I used to know them so well.

Shaking my head, I groan and wipe my brow again, before pointing at the left end.

"Eenie, meanie, minie, moe." I wet my lips. "Mm. Looks like right is right."

The fork leads down a long, dark corridor, almost too dark for me to notice the bear traps scattered along the floor of the next room. I weave my way through the room, careful as I can, and suddenly, a figure strides forth out of the shadows. I jerk back, every instinct in me surging to plant my feet and draw my knife.

"Whoa, now," Devin chuckles, his hands raised. "I yield, your Grace. I yield."

"Devin," I sigh, and laugh out shakily, as we grasp forearms. "Talos, man. I thought you were one of my demons."

"Well, I en't some poor bastard's wayward wife," he laughs. "Not that you're the type to do wrong by a woman," he smirked drily.

"You'd be surprised," I half-laughed, half-gasped, one hand clutching my chest and the other on Devin's shoulder as we walked forward. "There was this one when I was a boy. Old Maid Macon, gods above."

"She constitute as one of your demons?'

"At least two of them."

"Two? Out of a little bitty old woman?"

"One. cos she was just hateful."

"And, the other?"

"The other, for the time we sneaked into her cottage. Then, she was hateful and naked."

We entered the cistern of the Ratway, walking around the edge of the cavernous sewer hall until we reached the crown jewel of the Thieves Guild. There were never too many people around in the Ragged Flagon, but already I saw at least two new faces I could not remember, either from my time with the Guild before, my time here, at Rontu's side, and the few times after that, when I ran with the Blades. Even then, there had been many new recruits, especially with Jarsha and Rontu's help rebuilding the Guild, and now, after Bryn and Karliah's leadership, it certainly wasn't suffering.

The two heads now emerge from the door behind the bar, one after the other as we made our approach. Karliah, just as slight and keen-eyed as ever, and Brynjolf, standing tall and strong, twirling a journeyman pick in his hands, as he studies me.

"Marrick," Karliah says with a kind smile. At my name, a head rises from where it's been stooped over a pint at the far table, and lowers itself quickly. Too quickly. "What brings you by?"

"I said I'd be back," I point out, with half a smile. "Can't I just be after a drink?"

"Could've had one at the Bee and Barb," she grins, juniper berry eyes rolling and warm. "Could've had one up in Solitude, for that matter."

"Mmn, fair point."

She shakes her head, and open her arms for me to step into, holding me close.

"Congratulations, your Grace. I'm very proud of you."

"Bet you say that to all the orphan boys you take in." She slaps my shoulder fondly, laughing loud as she draws back. "How are you, Karliah?"

"I'm alive," she tells me, with a knowing look. "And you?" In place of an answer, I open my arms out, presenting myself. "Still here, then. Good. We like 'still here'. We need it."

"How's Rontu?"

It's like being under blankets and deep sleep, before getting a sudden face full of ice water.

Karliah's smile fades, and we both slowly turn to face Brynjolf.

He's leaning back against the bar, staring at me with a friendly enough expression, as if the last thing I'd ever said to him wasn't Never ask me about her. Never if you want to live. I can feel my face and my eyes go scary, because Karliah lays a small hand on my arm, and softly calls my name. For that alone, I force myself out of it. I'll ignore him now. It's the best I can do.

Flames flicker across his face, introducing it as ageless, his red hair worn long and tied back out of his eyes. His beard is greying a bit, and it's still trimmed down. His eyes, for all the years it's been, are still merry for the most part.

I still say nothing, and turn back to the woman who raised me.

"I need to pick up where I left off. Last time, I mean."

Her eyes take me in, for seriousness. For resolve. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that same man with his head raised again. Our eyes meet across the room before he ducks it down again. Karliah nods, and pats my shoulder.

"Very, very proud," she smiles. I smile back.

"Pick things up? With Rontu, you mean?" I shut my eyes. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Bryn, it isn't worth it," Vex says softly under her breath.

"Stop pressing him, now," Karliah warns. "You'll find the Cornered Rat, where he's always been. Waiting."

Brynjolf is shocked. At the far table, the stranger finishes his pint and rises to leave.

"How can you all let him in so easily?" Bryn starts. "Need I remind you of how much trouble he caused when he and the old man were running together last time? He nearly cost us the Ratway, going crazy because of that damned Briarheart."

"Brynjolf!"

"He's trouble, I tell you. Rontu, she knew, too. Else, she wouldn't have kept such secrets from him all these years."

I snap.

We both lunge across the room at the same time, Bryn snagging a chair at the same time that I snatch the stranger by the shoulders, and throw him thrashing into the seat, holding him there as Bryn launches his fist across the bridge of the stranger's nose.

"Who sent you?" I order, as he struggles in my grip. "The Thalmor? Huh? Who sent you!"

His breaths blast wild and uneven through his mouth, eyes bouncing as he seeks a way out. Brynjolf throws another cross.

"Who sent you!" he bellows.

"You already… know," he grunts.

With a look at Bryn, I go for that steel dagger that she called Aventus' Contract. I show it to him, make sure it's in his line of sight.

"This was meant for you, the night we raided the Thalmor Embassy," I snarl. "You're Gissur. You're the Nord who was selling Thalmor secrets; I remember. I went after you, and you fucking slipped away," I seethe, as he struggles more ferociously. "You slipped away. And now, I've caught you."

"Should I?" Brynjolf asks. I shake my head.

"The High King is a servant to his people. There is no task beneath him,"

I dig the blade deep into the side of his neck, blood gushing forth as he hollers under my hands. After that, he's quiet. We let him slump forward onto the the ground, and then, we take each other in.

"How long has he been here?" I ask.

Brynjolf shakes his head.

"A while. But, killing a worm like him would certainly bring more Thalmor agents. You told us to keep Esbern safe," he said, stooping down over the traitor's body. "I didn't think alerting them to this man's disappearance would fit that moniker."

"You did well by me," I tell him, and stretch out my arm. Brynjolf eyes it, then me, then clasps it, as Devin had earlier, and I pull him to his feet. "I won't forget it."

"Yeah? See that you don't," he smirks. "After all, it en't everyday that the High King of Skyrim embraces members of the Thieves Guild. Calls them kin."

I shake my head.

"I'm not High King right now," I say. "Right now, I'm just the Dragonborn. And, I'm in need of a good, old stone."

"You headed into the Warrens?" Karliah asks. "Let someone come with you. Bryn-"

"I'll be fine on my own; I don't want to scare him."

"Take Bryn," she says firmly, "or you don't go at all."

I look to him, and he looks to me. Both of us sigh.

"Back there," he says, as he sifts through the High Elf's pockets. "Earlier, in the Flagon. You looked ready to kill me, even though I was using our code." He turns towards me. "Has it gotten that bad with her?"

I ignore him.

"You know, for the life of me, I've always liked the robes these Elves stride around in. Elegant. You know?"

"Don't change the subject."

"Who's changing anythin'?" I snag a weighty pouch of coin from off one of the agents' belts, and rise to my feet, looking around at their bodies. "How long've they been down here?"

He sighs, dusting off his hands.

"Not long, I'm sure. Guessin' they came in a back way."

"They'd have had to," I nod. "Unless maybe that worm, Gissur let them in." I glance at him, to see him looking at their bodies as well, and I wet my lips. "Aye. It's gotten that bad."

He shifts uncomfortably, seeming on the verge of saying something.

"I noticed that locket," he says gently. "Does that mean… y'know. That you know? Everythin'?"

I nod slowly.

"Aye. I know. Everything."

Brynjolf meets my gaze, but can't hold it for long. He runs his hands through his hair and lets out a breath.

"I wanted to tell you, lad. Honest. But, it wasn't my place."

I shake my head, "You've done me no wrong, Brynjolf. Some things just are the way they are."

I feel his eyes on me still, and I brush invisible lint from my arm. "Let's keep moving. Need to get to him before they do."

He knows better than to mention anything else.

It's strange, being back here.

When I ran with the Blades, I tried to ignore the echoes of the day I left this place. The day I went under the spindly fingers of the Hag Ravens. The day I left my heart behind. My fists clench at the memory, and the chainmail digs grooves in between my knuckles.

I didn't deserve her. I don't deserve her. Them. But, I have to believe I can redeem myself to the both of them. I have to believe I can come back.

"Marrick," Brynjolf calls, his whisper echoing off the walls of the cavern. "Let's go."

We make our way through the Ratway Vault, winding further and further down, until we reach the deep darkness of the Warrens. It worries me that so many agents have been keeping tabs on the old man. I never should have left him like I did.

When I was sure that Rontu and her brothers had left the city, convinced our paths would never cross again, it was because I thought it wasn't too late to both save her and be Dragonborn.

I cast her off to make it seem to the man in my mind, Miraak, that she was just another notch in a very long belt. That she meant nothing to me. I wanted him to think I had no one I cared about- I was even short with Esbern, much as I respected the old bastard. I didn't want them to become leverage over me. I'd be able to become Dragonborn, without hurting the people I loved, and so I joined the Blades, diving headfast into training, thinking it would cloud my mind from Miraak.

Without Rontu there, though, it was almost as if I felt his presence even clearer. Like I could feel him, standing just over my shoulder, waiting for me to turn around and be consumed.

"Look alive," Brynjolf calls, and I jolt out of my thoughts, eyes refocusing on him. He nods to a point just ahead of us, and my breath catches. There it is. That old iron door.

Suddenly, a thudding noise starts pounding from within. Our hands reach our hilts. Again, and again, it sounds. What the hell? I relax my guard as Bryn's blue eyes turn on me and he shrugs. "It's for you."

I sigh, and nod, before walking up to the door, swallowing five years of pride and shame, and rapping my knuckles against it.

"Ez," I call softly. "Esbern."

The thudding stops. There's no sound for a while. And then, a voice.

"You're not welcome here; go away!" he snaps.

I nearly break at the sound of his voice.

"Esbern, it's- it's me," I insist. "It's Marrick."

He doesn't answer. I look back at Brynjolf, but he only shakes his head and shrugs.

"Prove it," Esbern's voice suddenly demands. "Prove it."

"Can you?" goes Bryn.

"Shut up," I hiss. I clear my throat. "Remember, Esbern," I say, and brace my hand against the frame, willing the man behind it to sense me. "Remember the 30th of Frostfall."

I'm whispering, but it still carries through the silence on the wings of an echo. There is no sound from the other side of the door. No reply. I swallow hard and look back at Brynjolf, who can only shake his head again.

Suddenly, the eye slot in the door slides open, and I'm staring into the old, weathered eyes of my mentor.

"Marrick?" he goes, softly. "Ye gods, boy. It's truly you!"

"It is," I half-laugh, shaking my head, a wide grin spreading across my face. "Are you going to let us in, Ez?"

"Of course, of course! Just let me- give me a moment to get the locks!" He throws back bolt after bolt after bolt and finally, we are face to face once more.

Esbern is a thin man, but tall and hardy: all spindly legs, weathered face, frost-white beard and clear blue eyes. His fist goes to his mouth as his mouth opens in wide grin, and his shoulder falls against the doorjamb. His laughter fills the hall, almost in defiance of the quiet care he has taken to live in shadow. I realize suddenly, that I'm laughing just as hard.

"My boy!" he shouts, thumping his door once more. "My King!"

"I take you've heard?"

"Have I heard? Divines bless you, boy. Delphine didn't believe, but I did."

"Where is Delphine?"

"She made her way back to the inn, ear to the ground, looking for a sign of you," he exclaimed. "Oh, I knew you would be back, Marrick, I knew! Come- come in, sit- sit down! You've so much to tell! It's been so long since you…"

He trails off. Goes cold. Remembers. I finish it for him.

"Since I abandoned the mission."

A long silence stretches between us.

"You did what?" Brynjolf exclaims. "Abandoned what mission? Why? When?"

"Six or so years ago," I whisper. "We were headed to the Karthspire. The ancient Blades headquarters."

"Sky Haven Temple," Ez says fondly. "How I dreamed to see it again."

"Well, what happened," Brynjolf blurts. He turns from Esbern to me. "What stopped you?"

My gaze flickers to my mentor's, and I look away.

"It was- I-" I shake my head. "I was-"

"It was overrun by Forsworn."

Bryn's mouth twists in confusion.

"Pardon me, Grey, but you're gonna have to give me a bit more." He slaps my shoulder. "En't a giant alive that could put this lad under. You're telling me a couple of naked men painted in blood-"

"They had a Briarheart soldier, Brynjolf," I say quietly.

I don't have to look at him to know his face has fallen.

"Ye gods, man," he mutters. "What did they do to you?"

My fingers rise of their own will, to grip the leather armor over my chest.

It's clear as crystal, in my mind. The three of us raided the Forsworn camp in the dead of night, confident that by morning, the Temple would be ours once again.

My teeth sink into my lower lip.

How incredibly, terribly wrong we had been.

The memory of that night, of their camp, of those braziers blazing in the darkness, and the stench of animal and blood and metal fills me with a cold dread. I remember the Shaman, and kneeling before him with no sense of myself as he waved his staff. I remember the swelling of the organ crammed into his ribcage, watching it, and the leather straps holding it in draw closer and closer as he drew closer and closer-

My eyes begin to sting. I don't have the heart to tell him the Shaman barely had to do anything. My fingers feel for a rhythm in my own chest, even though it's been silent for years. I don't have the heart, period.

"It doesn't matter, now," Esbern bristles.

I raise my head, eyes wide in disbelief.

But, he's serious. I know that look. His eyes are steady, unfaltering, determined. He shakes his head, "It doesn't matter now, Marrick. None of it."

And, instantly, I'm renewed.

None of the past matters. The only thing that does, is the world ahead, and all the wrath and fury from stolen years we can muster to destroy every being who's caused it.

"My honor guard awaits us outside the city," I tell him. "I'm going to set everything right."

"I know you are," he says, his eyes shining. "We are."

I stand to my feet and cross the room to where he is.

"We won't be heading to the Temple just yet, though."

"How do you mean?"

"To be Dragonborn and King means I have to balance the two. I have to catch up with both jobs, and secure the proper allies, and I have to do it now. You're the first stop on a long tour of people I've wronged, Ez. I need you for something, beyond the Blades." He gaze narrows, and I wet my lips. "I want you to sit my small council, Esbern. I want you to be my High Scholar."

It's silent again.

His arms are crossed as he stands there, watching me with the quiet intensity.

"I'll do it." I grin and Brynjolf claps my shoulder. Esbern shakes his head: "I'll do it. But I have conditions." We sober almost instantly, waiting and watching for his terms. "For starters. Sky Haven Temple must be priority one after this silly royal parade you're on. There are crucial elements and knowledge needed to defeat Alduin, and they are only to be found within. We've wasted enough time as it is," he snorts. "King, indeed."

I chuckle, shaking my head.

"There's the angry old man."

He ignores me.

"Second. You must help Delphine and I reform the Blades. We are both old, and the Temple is large. We will need help to prepare it. Three members will be just fine."

"Fine. Done."

"Third," he goes.

"Third?"

"You complaining?"

I sigh, and shake my head.

"Let's hear it."

His eye finds mine, and holds me there, a kind of anger stretched like fingers across his face.

"You must tell me everything you've experienced concerning the First Dragonborn."

"Esbern…"

"As your High Scholar, I would not be much of a help if I allowed you to continue stumbling through the dark." He uncrosses his arms. "Those are my terms. What do you have to say?"

I look to Brynjolf. I look to Es. I grin.

"What's left to say?" I open my hand, and he takes it. "Thank you, Esbern. This… this will not be forgotten, or taken lightly." I turn to Brynjolf. "Can you have my guard prepare a horse for him?"

"Don't be long," he tosses back, and leaves the room.

"Make it a small one," Esbern calls down the corridor. "I can't be jolting around on the back of some giant," he mutters, lifting a cowl and cloak from their hook, and wrapping them about his shoulders. He fills a rucksack with a few books and maps and grabs a swordbelt hanging off the bed post. "Well?" he goes, buckling it. "Which wronged soul is next on your list?"

I wet my lips, "I was thinking of going after a High Wizard next."

"So, to Winterhold?"

"No, no; the College staff and students have been dismissed for their own safety." I explain. "The Lord Administrator I have in mind was recruited before you. He mentioned a high-class Wizard called Falion, whom he and his family trusted. He's been accredited by the College. Taught there for many years. He now resides in Morthal; I mean to see about him next."

"Mm," Esbern hums. "And what of the Redguard woman? When does see about her?"

I falter and fumble with the words, but somehow they make it out.

"She lives there, too," I confess. "In Morthal. Ez," I whisper, "She has my son." He's quiet for a long time. So long, that I sit down and suck in a deep breath. "What do I do?"

"That isn't the right question. You know what to do, and you know when to do it. Marrick," he says, and sits across from me, forcing me to look into his eyes. "I never had a family. Dedicated my life to the cause. You and Delphine are it for this old man." He smiles. "You said it yourself: to be Dragonborn and King means you have to balance the two. Well. You can add another job to the list; you have to find. Your. Family." He grasps the back of my neck, "Do you hear me, boy?" I nod.

"I hear you," I whisper hoarsely. "I hear."

"No more running." he tells me. "Say it."

"No more running."

"Again."

"No more running."

"Good," he says. He's smiling again. We finish packing his things in a companionable silence. When all of them are ready, his room is even more bare. I won't miss it. I won't miss seeing him in it. "You know, I'm going to hold you to that, Marrick," he tells me, as we leave his hole.

"Are you, now?" I grin, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Yes, I am," he chuckles. "Consider it my fourth condition."

When we shut the door, neither of us looks back.