Cool mist gathered on the windows of Breezehome as night settled over Whiterun. Inside the house, Dar'raan hunched over a copper cooking pot simmering over an open fire-pit, stirring its contents with a ladle, fur tucked beneath long-sleeved garb.

The inside of the house would appear small at first glance; barely five strides wide and not quite twelve strides long. The back half of the room was occupied by a dining table pushed into the right corner, a few wall-shelves with dishes and pots squeezed between the table and the wall. There was a tail's length between the table and the stairs against the left wall.

Behind Dar'raan was a small table with a chair, a loaf of Carlotta's bread resting on a pretty blue plate. A greatsword and a battleaxe hung in a wioden weapon rack next to a cupboard with plates and a slab of salted venison. A war axe with glowing blue runes hung on a red plaque above the front door-the symbol of a Thane of Whiterun.

Needless to say, this was not Dar'raan's house.

"Is that moon sugar?" said a voice from the top of the stairs. Blinking, the Khajiit glanced up from the pot as Lydia descended the steps, carrying her steel shield as always. Her eyes were calm, her arms toned and sturdy.

Dar'raan gave the housecarl a look as she joined him by the fire-pit. "No, this is horker stew," said the Khajiit, lifting the ladle to his mouth to sample his work. Savoring the rich flavor of horker meat, he plucked out a boiled sprig of lavender and dropped it into a nearby basket. "Why?"

"You promised that you weren't a skooma dealer, after all," said Lydia, taking a seat in a nearby armchair and reaching for a red bottle of mead, watching the glowing coals beneath the cooking pot. "What would my thane say if guards found skooma in his house?"

"It would never happen," replied the Khajiit calmly. Resting the ladle next to the pot, he closed the lid and stepped away from the fire. "Ah, yes. I have a gift for your thane."

Reaching into his satchel, he took out a black book with a silver Imperial crest, handing it to Lydia. "I'll give it to him," said the housecarl, amused.

Taking another draught from her mead, she watched as Dar'raan fetched a wheel of goat cheese. "Most adventurers don't bother learning to cook. Your friend, the dark elf, seems to have commited himself to a liquid diet."

The Khajiit glanced back to Lydia, smiling slightly. "When one is always on the road, one must ldearn to eat when he can," said Dar'raan, slicing his cheese. "Potions do well to refresh the mind, but little to satisfy the stomach. I cannot fathom how Urendil can live without the satisfaction of true food."

Supper was simple, but fresh and hot. As they ate, Dar'raan watched Lydia's expression, wondering how his stew compared to the feasts up at Dragonsreach. Though hardly amazed, she was not repulsed either; his food was edible, at the very least. The Khajiit smiled slightly.

Plates, wooden bowls, knives, forks, goblets; one after another, dirty dishes plunged into a bucket filled with wash-water, scrubbed and rinsed until they were clean and dried, stacked away in the tall cupboard by the dining table.

"I should be heading off," said the Khajiit as he pulled his satchel over one shoulder, tucking the orcish dagger into his belt. "Give my regards to the Dragonborn."

Lydia frowned as Dar'raan entered the alchemy lab by the stairs. "It's gettling late," said the housecarl as the Khajiit brought down the chest on top of the bookshelf. "Are you leaving already? The others did warn you about the vampires..."

"I will be fine," said Dar'raan smoothly, taking red potion flasks from the chest and storing them in the pouches on his belt. "My errands are simple enough. But no one can know that I'm gone until I return."

"Surely you're not planning to take that boy's contract?"

There was silence. Carefully closing the potion chest, Dar'raan stared up at Lydia, his tail held rigid. "Faendal told you where I was," said the Khajiit coolly. "I should have gone alone."

The housecarl's hand tightened as she met Dar'raan's stare, but she did not move. "Yes, he did," said Lydia. "I realize my Thane would prefer that I not question you of your habits, but there is something dark and terrible about that boy. Ordinary children don't perform the Black Sacrament in the dead of night."

Rising to his feet, the Khajiit glared up at Lydia, though the Houscarl sensed the anger was not at her. And yet it stunned her, the unfiltered wave of emotion. "Ordinary children don't go to Honorhall," said Dar'raan angrily. "Did you see the note? Ulfric sent him to the Orphanage."

Lydia massaged her forehead. "Please, don't immerse yourself in this madness," pleaded the warrior as Dar'raan moved past her, closing the alchemy lab door. "Isn't it enough for you to live in the city, when most of your kind have been kept out?"

Dar'raan ignored her. "I will be noticed too easily like this," said the Khajiit, unbuckling his armor and removing his helmet, storing his armor and weapons in the dresser's top drawer. Taking a set of robes from the second drawer, the Khajiit glanced back at the housecarl. "Will you turn me in?"

Lydia sighed. "No," said the housecarl reluctantly, sitting down in a chair by the fire pit as the Khajiit drew the robes around his body. "I promised my thane that I would show you the same courtesy that is due him."

She scowled and reached for a bottle of mead, looking Dar'raan in the eye. "But I will not keep secrets from my thane."

The Khajiit nodded slowly. "You must tell no one else," said Dar'raan darkly. Tucking a dagger into his belt, he puilled his satchel over his shoulder, crossing over to the entrance. "No one can know what I intend to do... least of all, the true Dark Brotherhood."

He opened the front door, and strode outside.