Chapter Five: Honesty
"–She starts undressing me and chanting this bizarre incantation. Granted, I had consumed far more than my fair share of Rotmeth that night, so when she tells me 'Oh, it's just a little spell to heighten the mood,' I naturally go along with it. She begins to take off her clothes, still whispering that chant, and pushes me down on the bed. I don't completely recall what happened next – and what I do remember doesn't make for polite conversation, but the next morning, I woke up in a stable in Greenheart dressed in nothing but my small clothes, my stolen goods vanished, and not a septim to my name. When I finally managed to get home, Meldor, the leader of the Crescents, nearly had a fit."
Four thieves sat around the table in the cistern, eating lunch and swapping stories of sexual escapades gone horribly wrong. More accurately, Rune, Niruin, and Vipir the Fleet were eating and talking. Tom absentmindedly rolled an apple back and forth between her hands as she listened to their tales with eager ears. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Vex walking in through the door on the other side of the room. Considering Vex rarely ever left the bar of The Ragged Flagon, the sight of her in the cistern piqued Tom's interest, and she watched the slender Imperial woman saunter over to Mercer's desk. The two spoke for awhile before they both headed back toward The Ragged Flagon together. Something important must have happened in order for Mercer to leave his desk willingly.
"And what about you, Tom?"
Rune's words had caught her off guard, and she whipped her head back around to face the others who were all looking at her intently. Leaning forward in a manner that made it evident he was pretending to be more interested than he actually was, Niruin held his chin up with his fingers.
"Oh, this should be fascinating."
"Come on, she's fifteen," Vipir replied, rolling his eyes. "She's probably a virgin."
Honestly, Tom didn't know what amused her more, his belief that she was that young or his belief that she had never went to bed with anyone. Both were as far from the truth as possible, and she debated whether or not to let him continue believing this false assumption.
"Actually," she spoke up. "I'm two-hundred and nine, and I've bedded at least two hundred men and twice as many women."
The three men stared at her for a moment as if they knew it couldn't possibly be true but her serious nature made them second guess themselves. That uncertain look people gave her when she lied had to be one of her favorite expressions in the world. Over the years, she had found that good lies were wasted on the people she would have to communicate with on a regular basis. Eventually, she would trip up, accidentally contradict herself, and they would demand the truth. On the other hand, if she kept feeding a person obvious lies, eventually that person would take the hint and stop asking about her background. Often, this led to people believing her to be even odder than she already was, but it was a necessary drawback.
"Virgin," Niruin and Vipir said in near perfect unison.
Leaning back, Rune shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I know you must have one, Vipir."
"Please," the elf interrupted, "Vipir lies worse than Tom."
"I do not."
"You do so."
Indignantly pouting, Vipir took a sip from the cup in front of him and tilted his head as he swallowed.
"Any way, I can't say I have any embarrassing stories. I generally do well in that area."
"You are such a liar."
As Vipir began to open his mouth in rebuttal, he caught sight of something in front of him and quickly shut his mouth, an uncharacteristically passive look crossing his face. All equally confused by his sudden meekness, the other three thieves looked over to see Mercer Frey heading towards them. Though he approached the table with unwavering resolution, he appeared to be less irritated than usual. Behind him, Delvin timidly followed on his heels like an obedient dog following its master. Even after the incident with the ring, she had never seen Delvin so flustered.
"Can we help you?" Niruin asked the guild master once he reached the table.
"Delvin and I need to speak with you, Tom."
His cold eyes fell on Tom. Though rough and irritable, Mercer had never given her any problems. He didn't possess Vex's apathy mixed with a hint of hostility, nor did he have Brynjolf's sly sociability that made him so impossible to trust. On the rare occasions that he spoke with her, he was always curt and to the point – no undertones of craftiness or loathing, just straightforward instructions. By this point, Tom knew what to expect from him, and still, she found herself anxious by his sudden interest in her. Suppressing her apprehension, she stood up from the table and timidly followed with the two Breton men away from the others.
"A new potential client has personally requested you help him out with a problem," Mercer explained, gruffly. "You will do exactly as he says, or you'll be out on your ass. Am I making myself clear?"
Tom nodded, and Mercer smiled. The smile on the old man's lips wasn't particularly happy or even friendly, but a small smirk of satisfaction as he eyed her over almost like he believed she could pull this off.
"Good, Good. Delvin, you can take it from here."
As the guild master began to walk back to his desk, Delvin crossed his arms and put his best business face on. Unlike Brynjolf, Vex, or Mercer who all acted the same when engaged in casual conversation as they did when they were talking business, the old Breton had two very distinct sides. There was the gruff and grizzled Delvin Mallory who gave jobs, and then there was daft, drunk Uncle Delvin who had a horrible gambling addiction and often made lewd comments at women. The latter made it near impossible to take the former seriously, but Tom still played along with her superior, pretending to be his subordinate, all the while knowing they would be later getting drinks in the Flagon together. Delvin briefly explained the job. There was a man in Solitude by the name of Erikur – Tom recognized the name as one of the thanes – who needed her assistance with a business transaction gone wrong.
"One more thing," Delvin said, "tell the elf he's going with you."
"Why?"
"No offense, Tom, but you're not the best when it comes to speaking with people. We want to leave a good impression on this stuffy noble, and Niruin's a lot better at – well, you know – not comin' off like a loon. You're to do whatever Erikur tells you alone, and I'm assigning the elf a numbers job to keep him occupied," – Delvin rifled through his pocket and handed her a wrinkled contract to give to Niruin. – "but I want him doin' all the talking. Also, we don't want to get anyone's hopes up, so this is on a need to know basis. Understand?"
"Got it."
"Just stick to the plan, and I'm sure everything will go perfectly."
As he said this, his business face faded, and a slight grin took hold of his lips. The old Breton man sauntered back to the tavern leaving Tom with nothing more than a crumpled note and an odd feeling in her gut. Her lips tight, she turned toward the table to see the others had been watching the entire conversation with curious eyes.
"What was that about?" Vipir asked as Tom approached the table.
"I'm going to Solitude and so is he."
Without another word, she handed the parchment over to Niruin. The Bosmer read over the contract and nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders.
"Child's play," he said. "Certainly Mercer personally pulled you aside to give you and me more than a simple contract."
"I'll tell you on the way."
The elf gave her a suspicious glance before his face went back to the usual apathetic demeanor of the thieves in the guild. Standing up with great poise, he held his hand against the table and leaned against it casually as he addressed the two Nords with a dramatic flair.
"Well, boys, I hate to leave, but it seems I'm needed elsewhere. I'm certain I will return with more thrilling tales."
Vipir snorted. "Don't get eaten by a bear."
"Ha, ha, aren't you so clever? Let's go, Tom. Best not to keep such important matters waiting."
Shooting Vipir a smug smirk, Niruin spun on his heel and headed off to his chest to pack his things for their trip as Tom followed suit. Tossing a bunch of lockpicks and her bow from her chest into her tired, old pack, she stuck her dagger into her boot and deemed herself ready for whatever this job could throw her way. Tom exited the sewers through cemetery entrance to see Niruin waiting for her with an enthusiastic grin on his face. Despite being a bit fussy and arrogant at times, there was an endearing quality to the Bosmer's willingness to go along with anything. He was the kind of person who would follow someone into Oblivion, not out of undying loyalty but instead to tell the tale. It was a driven passion she lacked and therefore respected in others.
The pair headed through the back alleys in order to avoid getting stuck in the swarms of shoppers that packed the marketplace. Tom had never seen the merchants so busy. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Brynjolf taking full advantage of this influx of potential customers, waving his counterfeit goods as he put on his act with as much bravado as he had the day she had joined the Guild, and she caught herself smiling at the conman's tricks. The cloudless spring sky above them, the two thieves slipped through the gates of the city out onto the open road. As Tom began to head down the road, she heard Niruin stop behind her. Turning to what was the matter, she saw the elf standing with his arms crossed and a skeptical smile on his lips.
"You aren't seriously considering walking the entire way to Solitude."
"I don't see why not," Tom replied. "We could always take a carriage if you're worried about time."
"And be cooped up in the back of a cart the entire journey? Where's your sense of adventure? No, we're taking a horse." – He nodded his head toward the stables. – "Come on, I have the coin."
Frowning, Tom looked at the ground. She did not want to ride a horse all the way to Solitude. There was a reason she travelled by foot most of the time. Curiously, Niruin tilted his head.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I don't like horses, okay?"
"You don't like horses? Who doesn't like horses?"
"I don't. They're giant and scary, and their eyes give me the creeps."
"You are by far the oddest little human I have ever come across, and that includes Delvin. Come on, Tom. I swear on my life, I will not let the horse trample you."
She mulled it over for a minute before sighing in resignation and following Niruin to the Riften stables. Outside the stables, the owner, Hofgrir, was nowhere in sight, but the stable hand, a young Redguard man named Shadr, was carrying a bale of hay out to the stables. He dropped it on the ground and wiped the sweat from his brow as he noticed the thieves' approach. A quick look of fear was quickly replaced by a light in his eyes as he recognized Tom and stood up straight.
"Aveline, it's nice to see you."
Tom felt Niruin giving her a sideways glance, and she caught him smirking, but he didn't say anything about the name.
"I'll handle this," she whispered to the elf.
Casually tilting his head, Niruin sauntered off to lean against the wood of the stables. Tom stepped toward Shadr and forced a friendly smile, knowing her grin probably looked as awkward as she felt. Conversation never came easily for her. It was always just uncomfortable pauses and stammered out words.
"How have you been?"
"Can't complain," he said cheerily, before eying over her armor as a frown quickly formed on his lips. "I didn't expect you of all people to fall in with the Guild. I don't know whether to be worried for you or trust that you'll keep them in check."
It had been months since Tom last felt shame for working for the Guild. The underhanded nature of their work was easily ignored when the thrill of the theft was coursing through her veins, and any time she did feel guilty for what she was doing, she told herself it was for the good of the Guild. Still, the disappointed look in the young man's eyes was far too much to shake off. Bashfully, she shrugged her shoulders as she tried to seem as casual as possible and made an empty promise.
"I'm keeping them in check. Don't you worry."
A small, trusting smile crossed his lips. "I'll hold you to that. Now, what can I do for you?"
"We need a horse."
Rubbing the back of his neck, Shadr looked around cautiously.
"Well, Hofgrir's out doing Arkay knows what, so I don't think he would mind much if I let someone on important business for the Jarl" – he winked at Tom – "borrow one of the horses, so long as that person promised to bring it back in one piece. Especially when that person has done me a great favor."
It took Tom a second to process what the stable hand was getting at before it hit her like a charging mammoth.
"Oh! Oh, thank you."
The boy smiled and fetched a horse from the stables. After handing Tom the reins, he bid her good day and continued on with his work. A beautiful shade of white and built for power, the horse was a massive thing, nothing like the sleek, slender horses of Cyrodiil. Its sheer size intimidated her, and she was struck by a strange fancy that the horse knew that. She walked it over to Niruin as she tried to repress the urge to tremble. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that the creature wasn't going to be the death of her.
"Here's your damned horse."
"Thank you, Aveline," the Bosmer said as he took the reins and caressed the horse on the nose. "How could you not like horses? They're such magnificent creatures."
"I just don't. It doesn't matter. You've got it. Now, can we go?"
Gracefully hopping up on top of the beast, Niruin readjusted himself and held his hand out to help Tom climb up as well. Once she was on, he gently kicked his foot against the side of the horse, and they rode off down the path from Riften. The rest of the day, Tom spent listening to Niruin chatter on cheerfully about nothing in particular, not that she minded. His endless prattle certainly took her mind off of the fear that the horse would buck her off and trample her to death at any given moment. It also helped that the ride through the countryside was absolutely beautiful. The gentle warmth of spring had finally completely taken hold of the air, and the flowers on the trees were in full bloom. After she made mention of this, Niruin decided to stop for awhile and tied the reigns of the horse to a tree branch. He had an early dinner in the forest as Tom airily wandered through the woods picking flowers and chasing butterflies. An amused grin on his face, the elf watched her as she did this.
"You really are twelve, aren't you?" he asked in a way that sounded more like a statement.
Still distracted by the blue butterfly fluttering just out of her reach, she tilted her head and jumped up to catch it to no avail. Sighing, she laid herself down on the grass in front of him and snatched an apple from the satchel full of food sitting next to him. Taking a bite of it, she stared up at the brilliant blue sky. It was only in moments like these where she felt at peace with the world, these tiny breaks from reality where she could just marvel at all the splendid wonders of the Nirn and the nature around her. She could die happy if she could just stay there lying on the ground forever until ants ravaged her body and left nothing more than a skeleton.
"I'm thinking of taking up alchemy," she told him. "We need someone who knows more about potions than Delvin."
"Whatever you say, Tom."
"It's true."
A couple minutes later, they packed up and continued on their journey. The sun began to set just as the great walls of Whiterun came into sight. As the horse approached the city with a steady trot, a patrolling guard stopped and looked up at Tom. He took off his helmet and examined her curiously, as if he were trying to recall where he knew her from. Anxiously, Tom held onto Niruin tightly and buried her face into the crook of his neck to hide her identity from the guard. Immediately, she felt the muscles of the Bosmer's body tighten in discomfort.
"Not that I mind beautiful women nuzzling my neck, but I'm afraid I'm simply not into humans, dear."
"Shut up. I'm tired."
"You don't sound very tired."
"Fine," she whispered snappishly. "I have a bounty on my head in this hold, and I'd rather not spend a night in jail."
"Understood."
The elf dug his feet into the sides of the horse, and it quickened its pace. They rode on for a couple more hours before they stopped to make camp just outside the limits of Haafingar hold. Niruin dismounted the horse first and helped the young Breton down. After she tied up the horse, the Bosmer started up a small fire as Tom sat down next to him. Smirking mischievously, he opened up his pack and began to search through it.
"Look what I managed to swipe from the Flagon."
As he pulled out a bottle of wine, Tom shook her head. "Tell me that isn't Rotmeth."
"Oh, Y'ffre's grace, no. I gave up my Green Pact ways over a decade ago. This is just your run-of-the-mill, fermented from berries wine."
As soon as he finished speaking, Tom snatched it from his hand and took a swig. There was no drink in the world she preferred to a good wine. Unlike mead or ale which she drank only for the effect and never for the flavor, wine was something she enjoyed drinking, and it always left a warm feeling in her cheeks. The two of them sat around their campfire, laughing and passing the bottle as Niruin told her the story of a drunken fiasco that had occurred during his time with the Silver Crescents.
"–so we're hiding from the Igma, and after a couple minutes of silence, we peeked out and see he had left. Just when we deem ourselves safe, there's a high-pitched screech and Eragoth is suddenly tackled to the ground. I look down and see there's little Lenwen beating the life out of him, screaming 'I'm going to kill you! You bastard, you left me to die! I'll feast on your entrails!' So I reach out and pull her off of him, and in the struggle she kicks me in the – well, you know – manhood. Naturally, I collapse to the floor, but it gave Eragoth enough time to regain his poise. He shoots some calming spell at her, and she just goes all tranquil long enough for us to slip away back to the headquarters."
"And she didn't just try to kill him again when she got back?"
Niruin shrugged. "I don't know what Eragoth did. The next time I saw the two, they were all over each other like he never left her to die in a cave. He always did have a way with women. He was a lot like Vipir if Vipir's stories weren't, well, complete horseshit. I'll tell you something, though. I wasn't nearly as afraid of the Igma as I was Lenwen. That girl's wrath would put Vex to shame."
Laughing, Tom leaned back and finished off the last sip of the bottle. As she turned her attention back to Niruin, she caught the elf watching her with curious eyes. She tilted her chin and felt a bemused smile creeping on her lips.
"What?"
"Tell me something, Tom. I've been wondering about this for awhile, and you by no means have to answer this, but why all the deception when anyone asks you about yourself?"
"I thought it was obvious. My business is my business."
"No, no, I understand that, but with the others – Vex, Sapphire, Thrynn, even Cynric, at times – they just snap at people and refuse to speak a word. You, on the other hand, outright lie to everyone. I'm curious as to why you prefer this method of hiding your past."
Biting her lip, Tom looked over at the fire. "People like a challenge. If you don't say anything about yourself, they just get more curious and go snooping around for answers behind your back, but if you lie to them, they don't do that. If you're good enough, they accept it as truth."
"That sounds reasonable enough, but everyone knows you're lying."
"I usually only obviously lie to people I have to see regularly, but it works the same way. They brand you as 'strange' and figure they don't want to know your history. Oblivion's flames, sometimes they're afraid they might find out you're some bloodthirsty killer or something equally ridiculous."
"Are you a bloodthirsty killer?"
"No. I mean, I've killed people before, but I don't – I don't enjoy it. I'm no assassin."
There was a long silence, and Tom quickly began to regret her drunken lapse of judgment. Anxiously, she began to pick at her lip as she thought it over. It sounded innocent enough. She never said murder. As far as Niruin knew, she could have killed a couple of bandits in self-defense. Though panic was beginning to take hold of her body, she knew she had to keep her composure or else she might show her hand. Then he would know her words weren't as innocent as they seemed.
"Why do you even care if I'm a liar?" she asked, changing the subject. "We're thieves. It's our job to be deceitful."
"Delvin once told me something surprisingly wise, considering it was Delvin saying it. He said, 'Elf, you don't have to be an honest person to do honest work. Being a merchant's honest work, right? Tell me how many merchants you've met who wouldn't swindle you out of your last septim if they could. It works the other way too. You don't always have to be dishonest to do our line of work. It's our job to lie and cheat and steal, but that don't mean we have to do it all the time.' I think there's some truth to that. Sure, we don't always keep our deceptive ways strictly to when we're on jobs. Vipir lies like a dog. Vex cheats at cards. Brynjolf would rather kiss Delvin on the mouth than admit we're in a rut. Just last week, Cynric stole my bow and hid it just so he could get more time to practice. We're all a little dishonest, but we aren't always like that. Sometimes, we assist each other even if there's nothing to gain from it. We get drunk and tell stories – sometimes they're even true stories. It's tiring to always keep up this façade of deception and backstabbing."
Rocking forward, he chuckled slightly and looked down at the ground. "I'm sorry for rambling. I'm a terrible lightweight. The others like to make fun of me for my low tolerance. I don't think any of that made sense, did it?"
The corners of Tom's mouth formed genuine smile, and she shook her head.
"No, it made perfect sense."
. . .
Furiously, Erikur began trudging through the halls of the palace in pursuit of the steward who had the audacity to slight him. He found the red-haired Nord outside his bedroom looking over some letters. As Erikur approached him, the steward looked up, and at the sight of the thane, he began rubbing his temples as if he suddenly had come down with a terrible headache. It was a common occurrence for the man. Every time the thane spoke with him, he was always holding his head, trying to alleviate the pain from the terrible migraines he seemed to be plagued with, but today Erikur had no pity for the steward's constant headaches. There was a matter of great injustice to be settled.
"Fire-Beard!"
"What is it, now?"
Storming over to him, Erikur held up a now crumpled letter in his shaking fist. He shoved it in the steward's face.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Weary-eyed and exasperated, Falk Fire-Beard took the letter from the thane's hand and read over it. Rolling his eyes, he handed it back to Erikur. Still, he kept his posture as calm as ever.
"I'm sorry your proposal didn't go through. I would tell you to take it up with Jarl Elisif, but she has enough to worry about without you pestering her."
"I know you were the one who vetoed my plan."
"Erikur, I have a lot to do today. I don't have time for this."
"You–"
The thane was cut off by a quiet cough. The two bickering men turned to see Erdi, one of the palace maids, cautiously approaching them. Erdi was a frail, little thing who had dreams of adventures she would never see and would tell anyone who would listen of these unattainable aspirations. Still, she was a pretty, young woman and was so infatuated with Erikur that she had to look away from him. Her fluttering eyes fell on Falk as she finally found the nerve to speak up.
"My thane, there's two visitors here to see you. They say you have business with them."
An irritated frown crossing his lips, Erikur crossed his arms and attempted to remember what this could possibly be about. Erdi would recognize all of his usual partners. Sighing, he waved his hand at the girl.
"Very well. I'll see what this about." He turned his attention to Falk. "This isn't over, Fire-Beard."
"It never is."
Grunting, Erikur followed the maid down to the entrance hall where the two strangers waited by the door to the palace. They wore matching leather armor with a familiar symbol embroidered on one of the straps, and Erikur immediately recognized them as members of the Thieves Guild. One was an elf, a Bosmer, who removed his cowl as the thane came down the stairs. The other, a fidgety, black-haired Breton of ambiguous gender, stood behind him running its fingers over a pot and eying a nearby palace guard suspiciously. Erikur reached out and stopped Erdi.
"You may go. I'll handle it from here."
The Nord girl nodded and headed back up the stairs. Erikur continued down the steps toward the two thieves. As he drew closer, he notice a slight curve in the Breton's tight armor identifying her as a woman, which meant the elf must have been the Tom he had sent for. Judging by the name, Erikur hadn't been expecting a Bosmer – perhaps Tom was short for Tomhelfin or something equally elf-like – and he had certainly not been expecting Delvin to send two of them. The thane's thoughts flickered to that old adage about cooks in kitchens, and he narrowed his eyes as he approached them.
"I only asked for one."
"Then it's good for you only one of us is going on the job," the elf said.
His voice held a charming drawl to it, and he held out his hand for the thane to shake. Ignoring the Bosmer's offer of courtesy, Erikur crossed his arms and skeptically inspected the elf. Maven's letter had said that the thief was surprisingly competent though a bit mouthy and skittish. The Bosmer didn't seem to fit the picture.
"You, Tom?"
"No, that's Tom." – The elf nodded his head towards the girl, who turned her wild eyed attention to Erikur. – "She doesn't speak much. Consider me a diplomat."
This had to be a joke, and Delvin Mallory had a poor sense of humor. The Breton girl could barely hold her own head up. Her arched-shoulder posture and twitching hands made her resemble more of a feral dog than a human. Even the elf seemed better suited for the job, and he looked only slightly more competent than she did. Still, Maven and Erikur were on good terms. There was no discernable reason for her to lie to him, and she had sworn that Tom was the most reliable thief the Guild had sent her in years.
"I heard Tom was Delvin's best," the thane said.
"Oh, she is. You would be amazed by what she has accomplished in the short time she's been with our organization."
"Hmph, that remains to be seen." He lowered his voice but held a stern tone. "Nothing raises my ire more than an agreement being broken. It's bad for business, and it wastes time. Captain Volf of the Dainty Sload has decided to test my patience by neglecting to honor a trade agreement we established."
"And you want Tom to take him out of business?"
"Precisely. Show him the error of his ways by sneaking on board his ship and planting some contraband."
"What kind of contraband?"
"I've heard Sabine Nytte of the Red Wave is in possession of some Balmora Blue. Once you get it from her, plant it in Volf's footlocker, and I'll take care of the rest."
"Balmora Blue, that's quite the offense," the Breton spoke up. Hinted with a Cyrodiilic accent, her voice was unexpectedly effeminate considering her boyish body. "Either you don't understand what you're dealing with or you never intend on doing business with this man again."
There was that mouth Maven had warned him of. As much as he didn't want to believe it, this was certainly the right person.
"Trust me, girl. I know exactly what I'm dealing with. I want the good captain to rot in jail for a very long time. Volf's ashore right now, and I want the authorities waiting for him when he gets back. Now go, I don't want to see either of you until the job's done."
. . .
Sabine Nytte, a rather stubborn Breton woman, had refused to give the two thieves the key to the stash without asking for a ridiculous sum of coin. Just as headstrong as the sailor, Tom had refused to pay the price and headed off the ship leaving Niruin to follow on her heels as he wondered if all Breton women were this irrationally pigheaded. As they reached the docks, Tom squinted her eyes down at the clear, blue sea below them. A bored expression on his face, the Bosmer leaned against the wooden rails next to her as Tom examined the docks with wild, cautious eyes.
"Now what do we do? She said she was the only person in Tamriel who could still get this."
"We do what we do best," Tom replied. "We take it."
Before the elf could even open his mouth, the Breton woman hopped over the side of the rails and diving into the waters below. Flabbergasted, Niruin sputtered for a couple seconds as his mind tried to process what had just occurred. Just as he began to consider jumping in after her, Tom resurfaced, gasping for air.
"Found it!" she called out to him quietly. "Meet me at the shore."
"Oh – Okay!"
Tom submerged herself back under the waters, and Niruin quickly made his way down the docks and sat down on the sands of the shore, biting his lip to contain his concern. Sometimes the girl reminded him a little too much of Cynric. They both played themselves off as cool and collected, and then when it was least expected, they would go and pull off some outrageous stunt like this. A couple minutes later, he spotted a head full of black hair, drenched and matted against a smiling face, emerge from the sea. Tom's tiny figure swam toward him, and he held his hand out to help her climb ashore. Breathing heavily, she collapsed down on the sand and rolled over onto her back. In her hand, she held a peculiar, blue bottle.
"Never thought I'd see this again," Tom said. Niruin raised a quizzical eyebrow at her, and her face went deadpan. "I used to be a terrible addict. Not a second went by when I wasn't swilling the old Blue. In fact, they used to call me Balmora Blanche."
"Didn't we just have a talk about this last night?"
"It's more fun this way."
Shaking his head, he sighed and looked at the ground. "Well, I suppose this is where we part ways?"
Sticking the bottle into her pocket, Tom looked up at the sky. It was late in the afternoon, and in a couple hours the sun would be setting over the horizon. She shook her head.
"I'd prefer to wait until nightfall to board the Dainty Sload. If I know sailors – and I do, they'll be too drunk by then to notice little me sneaking around." – She paused. – "You want to get dinner?"
"Sounds perfect."
The two headed back up the road to Solitude. Trailing slightly behind her, Niruin caught himself noticing the soft curves of her body. He hadn't been lying the previous day when he told her he wasn't attracted to human women. Having spent most of his life surrounded by other elves, something about their rounded ears threw him off. It looked almost unnatural. It baffled him how humans, especially Nords, placed such value on bulkiness. By most human standards of beauty, the men were supposed to be staggering brutes with more muscle than wit, and the women, large-breasted and thick-hipped. Personally, he had always preferred the slender bodies of elf women with their nice, angular features and small, gentle curves.
Tom had an elfish look about her, which was expected considering that the Breton people had a long history of breeding with elves. Her lithe body built for dexterity rather than power, and the way she held her strong shoulders had that same untamed ferocity of any elven huntress he had ever seen. Still, any attraction he had to her stopped at the aesthetic. There was simply no denying that the woman had a few bolts loose in that little head of hers, and he had learned the hard way that insane was a poor type to have. As they reached The Winking Skeever, she threw a devious glance at him over her shoulder and opened the door to the inn.
"Enjoying the view?"
Immediately the Bosmer snapped out of his trance and tilted his head slightly. "What?"
"Nothing."
They ordered some drinks and sat down at table in the corner far from anyone else. Tom pulled an apple from her pack, and Niruin raised his eyebrows at her in disbelief.
"Surely, that's not all you intend on eating."
"I like apples."
"I'm aware of this. It's essentially all you eat other than bread crumbs."
"My eating habits are none of your concern."
"It will be when you fall asleep on the job."
"I haven't passed out in weeks. Besides, I'm going to be on a ship. I could do this job drunk and blindfolded."
"Somebody's feeling gutsy."
Staring off into space, Tom simply shrugged in reply and took a bite from her apple. It was true. Ever since they had woken up that morning, Tom had been acting a little more confident than usual. Other than her initial shakiness while mounting the horse and her clear distrust of the palace guards, she hadn't been as anxious as she normally was and had been much more talkative. It was a refreshing change of pace, but the sudden change in her character still piqued his curiosity. Niruin took a sip of his drink and propped his chin up on his hand.
"So what's got you so chipper today?" he asked.
Caught off guard by his question, her head sank a bit sheepishly. Pursing her lips, she stared down at the table and mused over her reply.
"I don't know. I think I'm more comfortable with you than the others." – She locked eyes with him. – "You remind me of someone."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," she replied quietly, before quickly changing the subject. "So the maid at the palace totally wanted your cock."
Nearly choking on his drink, he had to hold in his laughter at the outlandish nature of her statement. As he regained his poise, he chuckled and leaned in, smirking. "Did she, now?"
"You didn't notice? She kept talking about gallant knights and asking if you were a knight. She wanted you."
"Ah, she wouldn't be the first poor soul to fall for my roguish charms."
"Right, roguish. Too bad for her you're not into humans."
Through her tone, the elf sensed some sort of sarcasm on her part. Inquisitive to what she was getting at, he tilted his head as Tom took a sip from her bottle, feigning innocence. Something had definitely gotten into her today. She was never this lighthearted.
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, nothing. I mean, you were kind of obviously checking me out on the way back from the docks."
"I was not!"
"Then what were you doing that had your eyes so fixated on my backside?"
Caught, he held his hands up in mock surrender and chuckled. "Fine, you caught me. I didn't intend to – oh, how did you put it so eloquently? – check you out, but I'm curious."
"About what?"
"Are you full Breton?"
Taking a swig from her bottle, her face went to that serious expression she got every time she was about to lie.
"Funny you should ask. I'm not. My father was actually an Argonian pirate king. He used to send me little trinkets from the towns he plundered. Sometimes the gifts would still even have the blood of the townsfolk on them." – The Bosmer shot her a look, and she rolled her eyes. – "Right, honesty. The truth is – I don't know. All I know is my mother was a Breton, and she died before I was old enough to ask about him. For all I know, my father could very well be an Argonian pirate king."
The corners of mouth twitched, and her hand tightly gripped the bottle she was holding. Every muscle in her body went tense, but she didn't appear to be anxious. Instead, she seemed to be holding in this pent-up aggression. Tilting her chin, she looked off and took another sip of her bottle as she attempted to remain calm. Though she had been just as serious as she was when she lied, there was this air of vulnerability about her that made clear that she was telling the truth for once. He couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since she had told anyone about her history. His story was an open book. In Valenwood, everyone had known who he was so he never had any need to hide his identity, even after moving to Skyrim. Still, after spending so much of his time around thieves – a profession most people turned to out of desperation rather than adventure, he knew not everyone was as candid as he was about their past, and Tom was no exception.
"I'm sorry for your loss," the Bosmer said after a couple minutes of uncomfortable silence.
"Why? I'm not." Immediately realizing the harshness of her words, Tom shook her head and exhaled slowly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so heartless. My mother was a good woman from what I understand. She went to temple, worked hard, and died too young. It's sad that she died but not because she was my mother. I don't feel any attachment to her. I barely even knew her."
"Still, it must have been difficult growing up without any parents."
"Really, it's fine. I don't even think about it. Some people have parents. Some don't. I'm not going to sit around crying because I didn't have the perfect childhood. I made my own family. So there, that's my tragic past. I'm a sad, little orphan girl. Happy?"
Niruin sensed there was much more to it, but he wasn't going to push her. He had upset her enough for one day. They ate in silence for awhile before he finally found the nerve to change the subject toward something happier. She enjoyed stories so he told her a little tale of a job gone wrong in Whiterun. Sure enough, a couple minutes later, Tom was smiling and giggling again, but as he told his tale, he noticed she suddenly wasn't paying attention to his story at all. With wild eyes, she was staring over his shoulder at something as she vaguely nodded and hummed at his words. He decided to test her.
"And then the sky opened up and Talos himself stepped down to the Nirn to proclaim me the new High King of Skyrim."
"Cool," Tom mumbled absentmindedly.
He snapped his fingers at her. "Tom!"
Flinching, the Breton girl broke out her trance as she locked eyes with the elf. Her body was abnormally tense even for her, and her brown eyes appeared to be more wide than usual. Still, she kept her lips shut tight like nothing was wrong.
"What?" she asked.
"What's going on?"
"I was listening to your story."
"No you weren't. Is something wrong?"
Her mouth twitched, and she lowered her voice. "There's an Argonian man over there – looking at us."
His brow furrowed in confusion, and he began to look over his shoulder before Tom reached over and gripped his wrist to stop him. He jerked his head back around to face her. There was a wild desperation in her eyes.
"No. Wait – Now you can look."
Quickly, he glanced over his shoulder at an Argonian drinking in the corner. The man seemed to be harmless, but there was something unshakably familiar about him. The Argonian turned his head back toward the two thieves and made brief eye-contact with the Bosmer, who immediately turned back to Tom.
"I believe seen him before." – He noticed her hand, still clasped tightly around his wrist, had begun to tremble in fear. – "Calm down, Tom. You're making a scene."
"I don't like it. We should go."
"Fine."
Whatever it was about the man had put her into a fit, and staying there would only make things worse. Taking a deep breath, Tom's released her hold on the elf's wrist as she looked up at him with gratitude in her wide eyes. They got up and headed out the door into the streets of Solitude. The sky above painted pink and gold with the dying light of sunset, Niruin leaned against the walls of the Winking Skeever as Tom paced back and forth trying to regain her bearings.
"You should go before it gets too dark," he told her. "Don't want you getting lost in the dark. I'll find something to occupy myself with until Angeline's Aromatics closes."
Sighing, Tom looked down at her boots. "Okay. I'll meet you back here when I'm done."
"Take care."
A small genuine smile crossed her lips, and she put on her cowl. "I will."
. . .
The ship creaked as the corsair drunkenly sang a song of Stros M'Kai to himself. In the shadows, the thief snuck down to the end of the hall, perfectly timing her muffled steps in sync with the natural flow and creaks of the boat, gently rocking like a baby's cradle. The ship smelt of an intoxicating mix of liquor and the salt of the sea as she peered around the corner of wooden wall. The footlocker sat there ready for her to slip the contraband into it, and she could be back home in Riften in a day and a half, but something stood in her way. The first mate sat in a chair, mug in hand, directly facing the chest. Even with her skills in stealth, she knew there was no possible way she would be able to get to the footlocker without being spotted by the Orc. Then, like a gift from the gods themselves, a bunch of laughter boomed from elsewhere and a gravelly voice called out.
"Murag! Get your ugly ass over here! You gots'ta see this!"
Grumbling, the First Mate stood up and began to head toward where the commotion was coming from. Tom held her breath as the sailor passed her by without so much as a glance. The ship rocked, and he stumbled a bit, giving Tom the perfect opportunity to slip over to the other side of the wall. Watching the first mate regain his bearings and head off, she darted to the footlocker and picked the lock. Inside were a couple jewels and a fair amount of coin, which she hastily pocketed before leaving only the bottle of Balmora Blue in the chest. The job was almost without a single setback. All she had to do was get off of the ship, find Niruin, and report back to Erikur. Quietly sighing in relief, she carefully shut the lid to the footlocker and imagined how nice her uncomfortably firm bed back in the cistern would feel once she returned to Riften.
Tom turned and snuck back down the hall, past the inebriated sailors cheering on one of their comrades as he performed poorly thought-out stunts, and out the door to the deck of the ship. As she stood up, she took a second to inhale the salty, night air. Nothing in the world felt quite like being near the ocean. She had spent a few nights admiring Lake Honrich from the docks, but it didn't have that same soothing embrace that came from listening to dull roar of the waves crashing endlessly into one another, nor did it have the same cool, gentle breeze of air – so thin that its thrall felt like it could asphyxiate a person if they stayed too long – that seemed to generate from the waters themselves. As it turned out, suffocation was the least of her worries as she heard the creak of the hinges behind her.
She spun around to see a man stumbling out from below the deck. A behemoth of a Nord, he reeked of ale and sweat, a stench Tom could smell from nearly a yard away. Stuck like a deer that had caught sight of a bow, she felt the blood pulsing through her body as he locked eyes with her. Her mind was ready to run, but her feet would not move. As bewildered as he was drunk, the man jerked back his shoulder to straighten himself up and pointed a sausage of a finger at her.
"Wait, you ain't s'posed ta be here."
Behind him, Tom noticed an empty wine bottle sitting on top a crate. He was far too drunk to be able to remember her by morning. If she could only get away from him without him sounding the alarm, she would be in the clear. Quick on her feet, she fell into the role of the delicate maiden and held her faint head with one hand. The other hand she held behind her back, summoning a faint green light at her fingertips. She swayed her body ever so slightly in mimicry of intoxication.
"I'm s-sorry," she said, slurring her words. "I – I must be lost. Had a pint too many – far too many, I fear."
"Shame. Ship's a bad place fer such a small woman t'get lost, but I figger we can make tha best uv'it."
Grinning, the man swaggered towards her. Even by the faint light of the moons, she could tell his teeth were yellow and rotting. Nevertheless, she kept up her charade. Forcing a grin, she stumbled over to him. She placed her hand on his shoulder as a green light emitted from her finger tips. His muscles relaxed, and he ran his hand through his greasy hair. Hastily, Tom slipped behind him. Snatching the bottle from the crate, she hid it behind her back before he swiveled around to face her.
"Did'ja feel that?"
"Feel what?" she asked, feigning innocence.
"I dunno, a'tually."
Then his hand grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer to him. The stench of him was almost overwhelming. As he continued to advance on her, Tom instinctively gripped the bottle tightly and swung it through the air, shattering the glass against the side of his head. The sailor staggered to the ground, but to her horror, he didn't stay down. His eyes full of fury, he wiped the blood from his head and growled before lunging at the Breton. As he slammed her frail body against the side of the ship, his hands found her throat and gripped it tightly as he bent her back over the edge of the wall. The sea below readied itself for her corpse.
"You little harlot!"
Thrashing and kicking, Tom frantically tried to escape his clutches. She threw wild punches against his body. She kicked him in the shins. She squirmed and wriggled and tried to pull his hands off of her throat, but she was simply too weak to faze him. If anything the more she struggled, the harder he pressed against her throat, and her efforts to free herself rapidly weakened as the air was deprived from her lungs. Her dagger was in her boot, but she couldn't reach it. Desperate and dying, she felt hot tears well in her eyes. She was too weak, and she was going to die. It couldn't end here. Then, perhaps through the Divines' intervention, she remembered the night she met Brynjolf – how terrified she had been, how she struggled, how he had gotten the better of her.
In that instant, she found some strange semblance of strength. A fire roared inside of her that she didn't know was there. She had been certain that night with Brynjolf would be the end of her too, but it hadn't been. Neither had it been the end during the years on the run nor during fight in the snow nor the year spent in prison nor the executioner's ax at Helgen nor the battle against a dragon. No one in the Nirn knew how to survive better than she did. She had faced so much worse than this putrid sailor. She was not weak, and he would not be the death of her.
"Fus!"
A force burst from her lips and knocked the man back to the ground. It stunned him for only a second, but it was long enough for Tom to drop to her feet and pull out her dagger. As he made a second lunge for her, she jabbed the blade into the man's throat. The second she did, her eyes widened as she realized what she had done. Caught up in her fury, she had broken one of the only rules the Guild had. There had been no need to kill him. All she had to do was get away. Sputtering, the sailor stumbled forward a couple steps, and his large body fell forward. The lifeless corpse slammed against her causing them both to tumble over the edge of the ship and plummet into the waves below.
As she hit the water, a searing pain pulsed through her body. The cold waters filled her mouth, and once again she found herself without air. Holding her breath, she tried to fight the tide that was pulling her down, or maybe she was going back up. Disoriented and exhausted, she let her muscles relax and trusted that she would float back to the surface. Then there was air. She gasped and opened her eyes to catch a brief glimpse of the starry sky before a wave beat against her, sending back under. It continued like that for an eternity – surface, breathe, submerge – before she finally felt the comfort of sand against her face. As if in a dream, she crawled from the ocean and laid herself down on the shore, washed up like a seashell waiting for someone to find and take home.
. . .
In a sea-side city, miles away from Skyrim, an Imperial girl dressed in a fancy, blue dress with silver trimmings stood in front of an elegant mirror as she lined her eyes with charcoal. She was a pretty young woman with her tanned, olive skin unblemished and her curly, dark brown hair tied up with silver ribbons. Behind her, an equally young Breton woman dressed in tattered men's clothing sat on the bed, her impoverishment clashing the overall regality of the room. A bored expression on her face, the Breton laid her head down against a pillow and stared up at the ceiling as her friend cheerily told her of her betrothed.
"Oh, you simply must see him! He is so handsome! We're to be married by the end of the month at the temple in the Imperial City, and Father has bought me the most gorgeous dress for the wedding. Just think of it. A Midyear wedding in the Imperial City when the flowers will be in bloom. Divines, it's all so romantic!"
The Breton attempted to stifle a yawn, but her friend still heard it. Spinning around, she crossed her arms and pouted a painted lip.
"You know you could at least pretend to be happy for me."
"I'm sorry, Lyra. I just don't see the romance in an arranged marriage."
The Imperial woman's lips tightened back into a smile as she turned back around to continue examining herself in the mirror. Sitting back up, the Breton girl ran her fingers through her unkempt, black hair, cut just below her jaw line. Pursing her lips in thought, she examined the frayed ends and thought about cutting it all off again. Long hair was such a chore.
"To be honest, I didn't care much for it either," Lyra said, "but then I met him, and he's just such a gentleman. I couldn't help but fall for him the instant I spoke to him. This really is going to be my happily ever after, Lucie."
The Breton's brow furrowed, and a stubborn frown crossed her lips. "Don't call me that."
"Then what would you rather me call you?"
"What you always call me."
"Oh, for the love of the Eight, I'm not calling you Lucky. It makes you sound like you're seven, and we're not children anymore. I'm getting married this month for Mara's sake!"
Still frowning, Lucie grumbled something derogatory about marriage under her breath and lay back down on the bed. Rolling her eyes, Lyra turned back around to face her old friend, now sulking like a scorned child. With a shake of her head, she sat down next to the tiny Breton. A maternal smile on her face, the Imperial woman reached out and stroked the girl's hair comfortingly.
"This is about Faerin, isn't it?" she asked.
"I just don't see why he had to move to Chorrol. You can raise a family here too, you know? You and I grew up here, and we turned out fine."
"I hate to break it to you, dear, but you're not the best example, and with my parents' wealth, I would be the same if I was raised anywhere. This city really isn't the best place to start a family. He's doing what's best for his future children."
"Yeah, well, I liked him being here. Besides, he's only thirty-five. That's like twelve in elf years, right? I don't see why everyone wants to get married all of a sudden. We have our whole lives ahead of us."
"Lucie–"
Sighing, the Breton sat up and picked at her lip in contemplation as Lyra leaned her head against her friend's shoulder. They sat in silence for a couple minutes.
"You're right," Lucie said. "You're always right. There, I admitted it. Happy?"
"Yes, I am. Now I won't have to make you eat your words whenever you and Caro decide to stop philandering about, admit that you're in love, and settle down."
The Breton scoffed at the thought and smirked deviously at her friend. "That's never going to happen. We're the best at philandering. Giving it up would be a waste of talent. Besides, we're not in love."
Standing up, Lyra rolled her eyes again and began moving her lips as if she was scolding her, but no words came out as if the Breton had suddenly gone deaf. Perplexed, Lucie tilted her head and strained herself to listen better as the room grew darker. Her heart pounding, she stood up and shook her friend by the shoulders, but the woman shattered at her touch like a vase knocked to the ground. The Breton let out a gasp and stared horrified at the fragmented shards lying in a pile on the ground. She could put her back together. Kneeling down, she took the pieces and stuck them together as a voice called out behind her.
"There you are, lass. I've been looking everywhere for you."
Relieved by the sound of a voice, Lucie spun around to see a red-haired Nord man standing a couple feet off from her. The room had disappeared, and all there seemed to be was them and darkness. At the sight of him, her relief quickly turned to sorrow, and she shook her head.
"No, you're not supposed to be here. Make it go back."
"Are you okay, lass? You look a little pale."
"No, no, no–"
Holding her head, she repeated the word over and over again until it lost any sort of meaning. She felt the man's hands on her shoulders, picking her up like a ragdoll. Tears running down her face, she looked into his blue eyes as he smiled and tilted her chin up with a gentle hand.
"You can't give up now. You have things to do."
"What?"
The world flickered by, and she found herself in the cistern's training room. There was a world-shattering roar from outside, and two men dressed in steel armor hacked their swords against hay dummies, practicing for battle. Brynjolf patted the girl on the back and pushed her towards a black haired Nord woman, who stood over a desk writing names onto a piece of parchment. An irritated scowl on her lips, she looked up from her desk.
"Next!"
"I have to go get my seat now," Brynjolf told the fearful Breton. "You can do this. I believe in you."
The world pulled her closer to the woman at the desk, who looked down at the girl with condescension in her cold eyes.
"And who are you supposed to be?" Maven asked.
A thousand names ran through the girl's head: Jeanne, Lucille, Aveline, Fish, Simone, Vivienne, Lucky, Aribeth, Reinette. None of those seemed to fit right. Stammering, she rubbed the back of her neck, attempting to remember her name.
"Tom. I'm Tom."
"And what kind of fighting name is that? No, you're the Dovahkiin now. Now go get your armor. We haven't got all day."
The room spun around and two Nord soldiers stood in front of her, one dressed in red and gold armor and the other in blue and brown. The one in gold and red hastily clothed her in an ill-fitting set of armor that matched his own.
"You're a daughter of the Empire. Don't forget that."
Scowling, the one in blue and brown grabbed her by the shoulders, and at his touch, her armor changed to match his.
"And what has the Empire ever done for you? Thrown you in jail and nearly cut off your head, that's what they've done."
They continued to jerk her back and forth between them like two dogs fighting over a bone until she felt herself split down the middle. This was turning out to be the oddest day. The two soldiers stared at each other in horror and started to bicker over whose fault it was when a Breton man, his face obscured by a cowl, stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"Now, look what you've done. Is this any way to treat your champion?"
Sheepishly the two soldiers looked down at their respective halves of the Dovahkiin and sighed.
"No," they replied in unison.
"I didn't think so."
Taking the pieces of the girl from the men, Cynric sat her down in a corner and knelt down beside her. He pulled out some thread and began to stitch her back together. Once he finished, he patted her on the shoulder and looked her in the eye. Despite a small smile on his lips, there was sadness in his eyes. The Dovahkiin wondered what she had done to make him so sad. Outside the room, another monstrous roar came bellowing out, shaking the ground.
"What have you gotten yourself into this time, kid?" he asked.
"I don't know. What's going on? Why is everyone yelling?"
Frowning, he crossed his arms. "I'm not gonna lie to you, girl. They want you to fight a monster that has devoured many men much stronger than you."
"But I don't want to."
"Why? You got anything better to do?"
The Dovahkiin paused. "No. I just want to go home."
"No one's forcing you to do anything. Either fight the monster or go home. It's all up to you, but someone's got to kill that beast sometime and you're the one they want for the job."
"I don't think I'm ready yet. I'm not strong enough. I can't even put Lyra back together."
"Then let's get you out of here, Tom."
Smiling again, Cynric stood up and offered his hand out to help her up. As she took it, she heard someone calling her name.
"Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
The world around her went dark again, and he began to fade away. Still the voice kept calling for her.
"Tom! There you are!"
"What?"
Her voice felt strangled from her scratchy throat. Her body ached with a terrible pain, and she found herself unable to move or see. Someone knelt down next to her and shook her, which just made her feel even worse. Whimpering, she opened her eyes and the hazy face of an elf man hovered above her. Smiling, she reached up and touched it, dreamily.
"Faerin."
"Who?"
The face came into focus. It wasn't Faerin, and she wasn't in the training room or in the noble's house or the darkness. The sky was still quite dark above her, but the pale yellow light of the rising sun had just began to break over the eastern horizon. Tom was lying on a beach outside Solitude as Niruin knelt next to her, fretfully searching over her body for any wounds. Still aching, she sat up with great effort and held her throbbing head as she recalled the events that lead her to her current situation. She had finished the job. There had been a man. She had killed him. The crime settled uneasily in her gut. It had been self-defense, but she doubted Brynjolf would be pleased with her mistake. Forcing a smile, she looked over at the still panicking Bosmer.
"You nearly put me in a fit," the elf told her. "I've been searching for you all night. What happened?"
"It doesn't matter. We have to get back to Erikur."
Groaning, she got on her feet and inspected her surroundings. On some cliffs not too far off from where she stood, she could see the walls of Solitude and stone top of the palace, and she headed back toward the city. Niruin followed after her, scowling. She glanced over at him. Dark circles under his eyes, the elf appeared to be exhausted.
"Oh, right," he said. His voice dripped with sarcasm. "It doesn't matter. I just discovered you washed up on a beach, nearly drowned, and it's all no big deal, Niruin! You're just overreacting! It's not as if you missed sleep to find my half-dead ass."
"I'm fine. I just nearly drowned. That's all."
"I don't believe you fully comprehend the meaning of the word fine."
"I'll survive."
He threw his hands up in the air in animated defeat, and Tom chuckled at his frazzled behavior. As much as he didn't want to believe it, it was the truth. She would survive, but she knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear.
"Thank you for coming to find me."
Taken slightly aback, Niruin stopped and smiled. "It was no problem."
Laughing, Tom shook her head as the two continued on their path through the still dark woods back to Solitude. Her body frigid and sore, Tom, once again, found herself yearning for her bed in Riften. Unless bandits decided to attack them on their short journey to the city – an unfortunately probable possibility, this accursed job would all be over soon, and she could go home.
Author's Notes: Bleh, this chapter – believe it or not, given that it's been over a week since I last updated – is very rushed. I've been out of town and I threw this together in the past two days. I promise better quality if you just stick with me. Thank you to all my readers for all the reviews and favorites. You guys are the best. (Even you guys who don't review.) Also: no Brynjolf in this chapter outside of a minor part in a dream sequence? This is rushed.