Hey guys! I'd like to thank everyone who's been following this story so far, and for all the kind reviews. I'd also like to apologize in advance because I'll be needing to space out my updates a bit more. I'll try to do what I can until then though.

Enjoy!

I lingered outside of the Shrine of Talos for a few seconds, shivering. If I thought Riften was cold, Markarth was positively glacial. You'd think having lived in Skyrim for most of my life I would have become accustomed to the frigid temperatures, but even after all this time, I must still have the tropics of Valenwood running through my veins.

The sky was an appropriate shade of red after the bloody murders that had occurred earlier that day – or perhaps signifying something bloodier yet to come, a voice couldn't help but whisper darkly in the back of my mind. I wasn't a believer of omens, nor curses, nor dragons, but there was something unquestionably ominous about the color the clouds had been painted.

It was definitely not as late or as dark as either Eltrys or I had clearly expected it to be (I never had the best grasp of time, and my hangover didn't help that matter to be sure), but that turned out to be a sort of blessing as I recognized the jeweler from earlier that day just beginning to pack up her wares.

The Redguard jeweler jumped as I tapped her shoulder, whirling around with a startled expression in her grey eyes and wrinkled face.

"By the Nine," she gasped, placing a hand over her heart as if to check if it was still beating. "You scared me half to death, girl. Didn't even hear you come up behind me."

"Sorry," I apologized, though I wasn't sorry at all.

"No, forgive me. I'm just... still a bit on edge from, well, I'm sure you've heard about what happened here already."

"I heard," I said trying to sound sorrowful. "An awful tragedy."

"I know," said the older woman sadly. "One moment Margret was chatting with me, looking to buy a necklace for her sister, sweet girl that she is – er, was – and the next, that vile lunatic killed her. I can hardly believe it."

From the state of the marketplace, I could hardly believe it had happened either. The guards had done an impeccably thorough clean up, both bodies moved and the ground scrubbed spotless of any traces of blood as soon as the crowd had cleared. Standing here talking to this vendor in the exact spot where Margret had been killed did, admittedly, make the murder seem a little surreal at this point.

"Do you know of any reason that anyone would want to hurt Margret?" I asked her gently, trying my luck.

Immediately her eyes narrowed, and she looked at me suspiciously. I kept my face as innocently blank as possible, though all I wanted to do at that moment was shrink back into the shadows under her scrutiny.

"What's your name, girl?"

"Nami." The lie flowed easily off my tongue as it had so many other times.

"Well, Nami," said the Redguard. "It's clear you're an outsider, but it's bad luck to talk of the dead here in Markarth. I'm locking up for the day, so unless you're here to buy anything, I should be on my way."

"I was just on my way to the Silver-Blood Inn when I saw you. Thought I would offer my condolences since I, uh, heard that you were pretty close to the action."

Her look didn't soften in the slightest. Damn Redguard. She just gathered her belongings in a bundle, and with a stiff, "Talos guide you," scurried off so quickly that I didn't even feel guilty about plucking the silver jeweled necklace from her pockets as she passed me by.

I heard foot steps, and the familiar chinking sound of the city guards' chain mail and I instinctively shrank back into the shadows. I kept my breath quiet as they patrolled wordlessly on their rounds, observing them patiently.

Though all the guards wore the same helmet, I could tell immediately that neither of the guards in front of me was the guard who had attempted to detain me earlier (who I had taken to calling Guard in my mind, capital letter and all). They lacked his rolling, confident gait, and weren't quite as broad in their shoulders as he was. I knew they couldn't see me, but the knowledge made me feel that much safer as they turned a corner, and I tiptoed to the entrance of the Silver-Blood Inn.

I was greeted with a wall of heat, courtesy of a roaring fireplace in that back, as I pushed open the metal doors of the tavern. A man and woman were arguing loudly as I entered, and I came to the conclusion that they were the unsightly owners of this place. I took a seat at the bar and watched them, faintly amused. According to what I'd heard from other members of the Guild, this was a regular occurrence.

Finally the woman seemed to notice me and she lowered her voice, all but shoving her husband towards me after a few more seconds of bickering.

The man shot her a dirty look as he approached me, wringing his ugly hands and looking none too pleased though he plastered a fake smile on his face. He was extraordinarily hairy everywhere except the top of his head which was as bald as an egg.

"Hello, miss. My name is Kleppr," he said, a crabby undertone to his obligatorily polite words. "If I can't get you something, I'm sure my wife will bellow at me until I can." He half turned at this point to shoot said wife with an icy glare. She ignored him which only seemed to inflame the bartender further. He turned back to me, all fake smiles and gritted teeth again. "A drink for you, ma'am? Or perhaps a room to rest your head for the night?"

For once, I didn't actually want a drink. The thought of alcohol still made my stomach churn as my body struggled to rid itself of the poisons of the last round with Sam. I did, however, realize that I literally could not remember the last time I had eaten, so I ordered some spiced beef and a baked potato. Kleppr disappeared to go get some, making sure to give his wife a wide berth, and leaving me to my thoughts.

From what little I had gathered from the jeweler, Margret seemed like an ordinary woman. I knew little more about the Forsworn except that they were a primarily Breton tribal group of people who directly opposed several major political groups in Skyrim (the Thalmor included), but despite appearing primitive, I did know that they weren't the type to murder an innocent woman in broad daylight for no reason at all. There had to be more to Margret than met the eye, and if I was going to find anything, it would probably be where she spent most of her time alone. In other words, I needed to get into her room.

Kleppr returned with my food shortly. The potatoes were cold, and the beef was dry, but I was ravenous enough not to care.

"Anything else?" the Nord asked.

"Actually," I said, swallowing a bite of potato. "I was wondering if a woman named Margret was staying here?"

"Ah, yes. Rented the nicest room we had for a whole month."

"Really?"

"Yes, but..." he shot a quick glance at his wife and lowered his voice. "It's best we all forget about her. Bad luck to talk about the dead in Markarth."

I almost quirked an eyebrow at the phrase. I'd thought that the vendor had just used that as an excuse to get me out of her hair, but maybe the people of Markarth really did believe that it was bad luck to talk about the dead.

Such folly, I thought. They sound like Niruin.

"Dead?" I decided to improvise, feigning shock.

He looked surprised, as if everyone in the city should know the news by now. Which, on second thought, they probably did. "Yes. She was unfortunately... killed today. Did you know her?"

My hands flew up to my mouth. "Yes, we grew up in the same town together," I said, managing to tear up slightly. It was quite a spectacular performance, if I do say so myself. I guess Brynjolf had actually managed to teach me a thing or two about cons. "I'd heard she was staying here at Markarth, and I wanted to surprise her. I just arrived about half an hour ago."

The man shifted uneasily. "I'm sorry," he said awkwardly.

"I can't believe she's dead," I sniffed.

Kleppr looked sufficiently uncomfortable at this point, no doubt thinking of how his wife would berate him for making a customer cry, so I decided to go in for the kill.

"W-Would I be able to look at her room by any chance? She was like a sister to me, and I don't even have anything to remember her by."

"Well, the guards came by earlier and removed most of her belongings."

"Just being in the room she was in here would bring me great relief," I managed to squeeze out a few tears.

The innkeeper hurriedly pressed a silver key into my hand and escorted me in the direction of Margret's room, offering a thousand consolations per sentence. Perhaps thievery is the wrong line of work for me. I should become a bard.

That almost made me laugh aloud, but at that point, I was safely out of earshot, Kleppr having kindly left me to 'mourn' by myself upon my request.

I shut the door once he left, and surveyed the room, hands planted on my hips. It was the eastern suite, and most definitely not as nice as Kleppr had made it out to be. Except for a wooden end table, everything in the room was made of stone, including the bed. It was lined with fur, but it still looked less comfortable than sleeping on the floor. Which was also stone.

I searched the eye level metal shelves lining the walls, but came up with nothing.

I wasn't really expecting to find anything since the guards had been here first; I was just being thorough. As an outsider, I could imagine how Margret felt about such a rocky enclosure. If she was anything like me, whether it was a conscious decision or not, she would have drifted towards the one thing in the room that wasn't rock.

I rifled through the drawers, and to my surprise, found a red, worn journal in the top drawer of the end table. I opened the book and flipped to the latest entry in her journal, thinking morbidly about how she would never write in it again.

Middas, 12th of Heartfire

Meeting at the Treasury House later today. Took them long enough. These people act like they own everything.

Thonar Silver-Blood is the younger brother, but he's obviously the one in charge. Makes all the deals, bullies the local landowners into selling to him. Even employs that wispy girl at the door to deter "trouble-makers" like me.

General Tullius is growing impatient, but I'll bring back the deed to Cidhna Mine. On my life, I won't allow a group of Stormcloak sympathizers to own the prison to the most notorious criminals of the Reach. They say no one escapes. Why? Is it really that secure?

...Maybe I've played my hand too soon by rushing the confrontation with Thonar. There are shadows around every corner in this city, and I know I'm being watched.

I closed the book and tucked the small journal into my cuirass. Of course this thrice damned civil war would be part of this. At least it sort of explained why Margret had been the target, and if she had been investigating Thonar Silver-Blood, I would stake all of the Guild's remaining gold that his hands were as bloody as the sunset sky. Eltrys would definitely want to take a look at this.

Without drawing attention to myself, I left Margret's room, placed the key on the bar for Kleppr (more to spare the rest of the guests more marital bickering than anything else) and discreetly left the Silver-Blood Inn. I had barely gone a few paces when a figure stepped into my path.

"Good timing, elf. I was just looking for you."

For some reason I wasn't the least bit surprised to see a city guard in front of me. I tensed, but was still relieved to note that it wasn't Guard.

"For me?" I asked sweetly. "Whatever for?"

He threw something and it clattered at my feet. Warily, not wanting to take my eyes off the man, I glanced down to see an elven arrow, broken in half and still stained with traces blood. They were fletched with hawk feathers, done in a particular way that only Niruin could manage. I often borrowed some from him during training.

"I believe that's yours," said the guard.

I said nothing. It was hard to deny that the arrow belonged to me when I had a quiver full of very similar arrows. The guard took my silence as confirmation.

"It was brave of you to intervene today, but it was not necessary."

My eyes narrowed, glinting under my hood. "Did you really just seek me out to tell me that?" I asked.

The guard hesitated, but continued in a strong voice. "I've come to issue you a warning. You've been snooping around. Asking questions."

"And if I have?"

"Back. Off," he growled, irritated by my insolence. "You don't want to know what happens to trouble-makers here."

I imagine I might end up quite a bit like my arrow, I thought anxiously, though I kept that bit to myself.

"I'm not trying to cause trouble," I said instead.

"You're finding it, and that's bad enough," he said. "This is your last warning, outsider. We keep the peace here, so stay out of our business. We'll be keeping an eye on you."

There are shadows around every corner in this city, and I know I'm being watched.

I nodded as that sentence from Margret's journal flashed through my mind, swallowing drily. Satisfied with my acknowledgment, the guard dipped his head and stalked off, reaching for his torch in the dimming light of the evening.

I took a few calming breaths, but as soon as he was out of sight, I spun on my heel, and headed towards the Warrens where Eltrys told me Weylin had lived.

Stay out of our business? Those were the magic words. Like an impertinent child, the forbidden always became that much more appealing. Yeah right.

It wasn't too late to turn back, but now my curiosity was piqued. I had little doubt that the Silver-Bloods, the Forsworn, and the Markarth city guard all knew that Margret had been an Imperial spy, but something bigger was still at hand than a petty Stormcloak/Imperial feud. I knew this was a dangerous, double edged game of hind-and-seek I was playing with trouble, in which we were both at once the hiders and the seekers.

To Oblivion with the guards and their warnings. Markarth was ignoring the blatant stirrings of a perilous beast, fueled by the endless supply of corruption and skullduggery the citizens had to offer. Sooner or later this beast was going to awaken, and when it did, it would swallow this city whole, and the floodgates would open to a river of blood.

Rules be damned, I knew that if I didn't find trouble, trouble would find me, and this was one game of hide-and-seek I was going to end up winning whether I wanted to or not.