Important Notice (not really, but you probably won't notice this bit anyway): So, yes, I'm taking a break from Eden, because let's face it, I'm just stalling with her at this point. Onto new characters, a new universe, and a fresh start. Here's a full and proper summary:

She is the Listener who's been running non-stop since leaving her nest, now out to rebuild the Brotherhood after Astrid's betrayal. Meanwhile, the End of the World is approaching, and the Dragonborn, a willing hero seeking adventure is trying to stop it. With the civil war and the sudden new threats, too many sides are getting involved… and what's underneath it all?

So, final note, this will be mainly Listener-centric and written in a slightly different manner than before. I'll be breaking the events into "episodes", and we'll see how that goes. So, here goes the warm-up. Enjoy :D.

The Listener and the Hero

The sanctuary was enveloped by silence, broken only by the occasional gust of wind that traveled the halls, playfully chiming on the broken glass. It peeked around the corners and carried strayed snowflakes from the cave to the quiet assassins.

Nazir was reading and the dinner table, Babette working on the other end of it. Before, this quiet time would have been used by the Redguard to sort through paperwork, but considering the recent change in management, there was no paper to speak of. Actually, there wasn't much in the sanctuary in general- just the furniture that they managed to scavenge from the ruins. That included the table he was sitting at, a handful of chairs and an old bookcase which everyone treated gingerly and with caution, getting ready for the rot to finally break the wood into pieces.

Babette was at her makeshift alchemy station, her small face looking over the scarce ingredients with some despair. They haven't had the chance to stock up on supplies, either, and the contrastingly small variety of material (compared to what she had access to in the last sanctuary) was beginning to frustrate the vampire. She eventually gave up, and climbed onto the chair opposite of Nazir.

"This won't do," she said. "I picked the nightshade from the front, but I barely have enough deathbells to come up with even the simplest poisons." She sighed. "I miss home."

Nazir looked up from his book and smiled sadly. "As do I. But we'll have better luck scraping scales off an angry dragon than trying to clear out that mess. Everything was burned and most of it collapsed."

"I know. I just still can't wrap my head around it. How could this have happened?" The ancient child never looked more like her frozen age- lost, and looking for an adult's hand for guidance. "We've been here for weeks, and I just can't seem to understand."

"It's no use to dwell on it now," the Redguard declared, though there was little confidence in his voice. "Our Brothers and Sisters are with Sithis now, and we're still here. We must focus on restoring this place and rebuilding the Brotherhood."

Easier said than done. All the psychotic playfulness has been taken out of their family, and grieving was hanging over their heads like a gray, damp cloud. Even the Emperor's assassination didn't serve to lift anyone's spirits permanently. The only laughter in the sanctuary came from the mad jester, though even his mirth was sometimes tinged with a bitter edge. He did not care for any of them in his brief stay at their sanctuary, but he felt the near loss of the entire Brotherhood just as sharply.

Cicero's existence in their sanctuary after his "incident" was somewhat of an avoided topic. Babette seemed happy enough to welcome just about anyone from their now small family, no matter how insane or irritating they were, but even she was not eager to be around him. Nazir's contempt for the fool was obvious, but quiet, and he preferred to pretend that Cicero simply wasn't there.

"She's been up there for a while now," Babette suddenly said, looking upwards.

They both looked up to where the stone coffin that contained the crooked remains of the Night Mother was standing, tucked away into the corner of the hall. And in front of it, waiting in complete silence, was the Listener herself.

There was a dose of fascination that came from watching Léta in those moments. She stood with her arms crossed and a hip leaning onto the wall, her steel gray eyes trained on the corpse. Nazir could guess that her expression was neutral, without the awe expected of her by Cicero, but without the skepticism that Arnbjorn used to glance at the coffin with. The silent communication with the Night Mother was a mystery to the rest of them, as the woman never spoke of it, only outlining the point of the message.

The one blessing of those moments, though, was that Cicero shut up, backed off into the shadow and didn't dare interrupt the conversation with his insane mumbling.

As though she heard Babette, Léta eased off the wall and gave a short bow to the coffin, signaling the end of that session. Rolled her shoulders, let out an audible sigh, and then came downstairs to join Babette and Nazir at the dining table.

The woman was an Imperial with dark brown hair that was tied off into a tight ponytail and normally warm gray eyes, though at the moment they looked more like dark, cold metal. Her skin has long since turned pale as the snows of Skyrim, and her narrow jaw line and tilted eyes were one of the only remains of her heritage. She had bitten and chapped lips, and not a trace of make up anywhere on her face. Not lately, anyway- she simply forgot those small rituals with everything that's been going on for weeks now.

"So?" the Redguard was the first to speak. Léta blinked, and wiped a hand over her face as though clearing cobwebs. Her eyes warmed up, and her face regained a bit of blush and she even managed a smile. It wasn't the Night Mother that drained her, everyone knew; the woman was exhausted, but always pretending otherwise.

"So, what? Contracts. Black Sacrament. All that."

"Is something wrong?" Babette tilted her head to the side, peering at the woman's face. "Did the Mother name you friends?"

"No- the contracts seem fairly standard."

"Then what's the problem?"

Léta hesitated slightly before answering. "She reminded me of our traditions."

That hung in the air for a few seconds before Babette spoke up, her voice thoughtful. "The traditional tenets and the Black Hand, you mean."

"Yes- but the way Astrid went on about them-"

"Astrid tried her hardest to survive when the Dark Brotherhood nearly failed," Nazir shook his head. Her betrayal was still a harsh memory, and forgiveness was a difficult thing to achieve, even amidst their questionable standards. "As she said in her last prayer, the Night Mother is right. These traditions have sustained the Brotherhood for a long time, and it can again."

"Well then…" Léta rubbed her head, leaning onto the table. "I- to be perfectly honest, I'm not even sure where to even begin."

"Well, then, get sure," Nazir put some strength in his voice. "Right now, it's important to stay focused. And perhaps this is the best time to start anew, anyway, while it is only three of us here."

"Don't forget Cicero! Oh, yes, I am still here!" the clown wandered to the room. Léta looked him sourly, but didn't shun him. "I still serve! There are five of us, not three!"

"Who- oooh, the Night Mother, of course," Babette did the math in her head. "Well, before we even think of reestablishing the Black Hand, we need recruits. And before we can get any recruits, we need furniture. And food. And books… And an alchemy table would be nice…"

"I'm heading to Riften tonight," Léta nodded. "The contract is there, and I'll be able to speak with Delvin on getting some repairs done on this place, like you suggested. You could clean out the garbage in the meantime, you know. Or at least get some throw pillows."

That got a collective laugh out of everyone: the first one they shared since their home fell around them.

"We should start recording the contracts again. Now that the Black Sacrament can be heard, there shouldn't be any shortage of them..." Nazir noted. "It's a simple matter," he quickly assured her when her face started to fall. "Usually, the clients have the contracts ready and waiting for us, and all you need to do is collect. They rarely want lengthy discussions."

"So it's settled them," Léta nodded, getting up. "I will ride south. Babette, work on getting some supplies here. Nazir, I want you to handle the second name I heard. It's in Solitude, so not exactly on my way. Besides, I think its best I avoid that place for a few weeks, let them forget my face."

"Of course." It would be a nice change of pace, the Redguard decided. He spent a few years handing the contracts out to the other members, rarely ever venturing out on his own. Couldn't afford to get rusty, not now.

"You sure you want to be riding right now?" Babette asked with concern. "At least wait until morning. We wouldn't want to lose the Listener when she falls off her horse."

"The last thing I need is to stop moving right now," Léta shrugged it off, already walking away. "I'll rest on the way."

"And Cicero will stay here!" The Jester announced. "I'll take care of our dearest Mother while you're all away!"

"I suppose there's no harm to it…" Léta sighed, pausing in her step, though she did not look convinced. "Though I have to ask you to refrain from trying to kill any of us." There was bitter sarcasm on her tongue.

"Oh, I would never! You are the Listener, and we are- yes we are- children of the Night Mother again! No pretenders here, we all serve!"

"I would feel safer if he was the one locked up in a stone coffin, though," Nazir muttered lowly, watching the clown's retreating back. "Léta, I trust you, but can you explain to me why you left the fool alive?"

The woman got out a coin from her pocket and started twirling it in her fingers- a nervous tick. "Lucien."

"The spirit Astrid gave you?" Nazir looked skeptical.

"Yes- while I was here, Lucien told me that something was off. Cicero was chosen as the Keeper for the Mother I am a Listener to, and I should have faith in that."

"So you disobeyed an order from Astrid because your ghost told you so?" Nazir didn't like the sound of that.

Léta winced. "I never said it was an easy decision. My loyalty was to Astrid before it was to the matron, and I wanted to kill him for harming our Brother. But if Sithis wanted him alive… I thought if the clown persisted, there would always be time to kill him later."

"I see." Nazir nodded, still in a bit of unease. "And if the night Mother asks that you kill him now?"

The "or us" went unsaid, but heard.

Léta bit her lip. "I like to think that she wouldn't unless she had good reason to. I- I only spoke to her a handful of times, but she seems to know what she's doing. And I don't think she would ask the slaughter of her children. She really does seem like the maternal kind."

"What about the Purification rituals?" Babette raised her face, her eyebrows furrowing. "Those demand the cleansing of everyone in a sanctuary to eliminate a single traitor."

"There are no traitors here. Cicero was loyal- just not to Astrid."

"It doesn't matter now," he decided. "We will just have to learn to trust the Night Mother again."

"Right. Lucien said that the last performed Purification was not the Night Mother's will. She asked for an investigation to find the traitor, and the rest was work of treachery and persuasion."

"You spend a lot of time listening to your ghost," Nazir raised an eyebrow.

Leta smiled. "He has a lot to say. He was, after all, a Speaker." She suddenly frowned. "Whatever that means."

"He spoke," Babette shrugged. "To contracts, to recruits, to the other Speakers… He was the link between his sanctuary and the Listener."

"Don't think we need a link yet," Leta was herself again, her confidence returning. That was much better- now, more than ever, they needed her usually solid attitude. "I suppose let's just focus on returning this sanctuary to life."

"Don't forget the alchemy station!"

Delvin stared grimly into his cup. "What the hell is this swill."

Vekel glanced at the drink, and shrugged. "Valenwood Rotmeth."

"Uh-huh. And why in Oblivion is it in my hands?"

"I'll get you some mead," the man rolled his eyes, taking the mug out of the thief's hands and heading off to the bar.

Before he could get far, though, the cup was sneaked out of his hands. The woman sat down at Delvin's table in the same smooth notion and took a sip.

"It's really not so bad, you know."

"Now there was the first damned thing that went right today! You're a sight for sore eyes, you know that?"

"Bad day?" she wiggled her fingers in the air, her face hidden by the cup.

"Worst one I've have in months," he confessed. "And I get the feeling you're about to make it worse. I heard about the raid."

"Did you, now?" her voice was carefully neutral. "Astrid is dead. So is Arnbjorn, Veezara, Gabriella, and Festus. Oh, and Liz, Babette's spider."

Delvin was fully expecting the words, but it still made him wince. "Looks like that blighter did a number on you."

"Don't worry, I did a number on him, too," her voice was still void of any emotion, but a slightly twisted smirk appeared on her lips.

"I should have known you'd make it, though. You always did have a tendency to survive all odds."

"Whatever life throws," she agreed, swirling the drink in the cup and then took another thoughtful sip. "We have a new sanctuary. The one under Dawnstar. Ancient piece of work, but it still holds. Something I can't say for the furniture in it…"

He got the hint quickly. "You got the gold, I can get the place fixed up for you in no time. Just say the word."

"I have the gold…" she put her chin onto her fist, looking at the table. "Big client, you know. There was swimming involved."

"Don't tell me! The Emperor- that was you?" Delvin really wasn't so surprised; the work had her marks all over it. The fact that no one knew anything was amiss until five hours into the journey, for one. And for two, it was noted in the paper that the room was looted of everything valuable, and a bloody handprint was left in the middle of the table as a message. A very loud message, one that scared everyone to the point of wet trousers.

"The Dark Brotherhood, alive, kicking, and able to kill the Emperor right under your nose, so don't try another stupid stunt with eradication ever again."

"I'm admitting to nothing," she smiled, regaining her usual cheek as soon as the subject wandered off of the destruction of the Brotherhood.

"How much money was that one worth?" Considering the trinket she brought him last time…

"Oh, no-no-no, I tell you that and you'll rip off every last coin I earned, and I have three hungry mouths to feed!"

"You didn't manage to get rid of the rest of them, then?"

"Don't even joke about it," she jerked her shoulder, immediately retreating into her shell. "And you don't even want to know what condition Astrid was in when I slit her throat… Don't look at me like that, it was a mercy killing. And in any case… in any case…" She trailed off, before shrugging. "I suppose I can't stay mad at her. As they say, the road to the Void is paved with good intentions…"

"To Oblivion, Léta. The road to the Void is paved with anything but."

"Good point." She chuckled bitterly, and then downed the remaining wine in one swallow. "This is horrible. But back to business…"

"I'll have to see it for myself before I can make any sort of call," he shrugged. "It will cost you pretty penny, though, so let's hope you got your money's worth for the Emperor."

"How much?"

He thought about it, and then named the price.

She didn't look surprised and she didn't argue, instead reaching into her bag. Two by two, there were soon ten fat, jingling purses sitting on the table in front of him. Every eye in the underground tavern was turned towards them like starving hounds.

"The rest is in the sanctuary. Will this be enough to get started?"

"More than enough." He nodded. They sat in comfortable silence for a minute, and then he asked, "Ever think of coming back to us full-time? Especially now that- well…"

"Technically, I never left." She narrowed her eyes. "But I can't settle for being a peaceful thief now."

"Why not? I did," he didn't mean to try and talk her into it, but it slipped out.

"That's cause even in the Brotherhood, you were a thief," she laughed that heavy, bitter laugh that had settled in her for the last three weeks. Or maybe even longer than that. "I was an killer in waiting the whole time."

"So, what, you think you'll kill someone instead of robbing them?"

"I might be tempted to, and when I do, it would not be accidental," she rolled her shoulders, and leaned back onto the chair, staring at the questionable substance on the ceiling. "Besides, I'm trying to keep afloat as it is. Half the time, I don't even know what I'm doing, and those three look at me as though just because I hear a dead woman's voice in my head, I have all the answers."

"And to think, if you hear those words coming out of anyone else's mouth, they'd be locked away in some monastery." Delvin grinned, and Léta broke out in bitter laughter. "Then again, the Brotherhood is the best collection of madmen Tamriel has to offer."

"Oi! Well, true, I guess. It's not much of a collection anymore, though, with just the four of us left. Ah well, I gotta be off. I still have an errand in the city. Send Brynjolf my best."

"Tell him yourself," he snorted, jerking his head over her shoulder.

Léta visibly paled, and fell back into the chair she was just getting out of.

"Looks like you didn't manage to avoid me this time, bird."

She slowly turned around, and gave the man an unenthusiastic smile.

"Why would you think I'm avoiding you?"

"Well, perhaps the look on your face right now…" The man looked cross, like a stern parent that finally caught their brat in the deed of stealing pie filling. "What, am I not important enough for you anymore?"

Léta bit her lip, and then suddenly shook the cornered look off, plastering on a professional smile. Delvin grinned into his mug. It took a bit more than that to shake her out of her cool for too long.

"Don't worry, I'll be out of your hair soon enough. Wouldn't want anyone to get upset with my presence."

Brynjolf waved it off. "I'm not talking about that, lass."

"Don't tell me you actually missed me. That's so sweet," she laughed, getting up. "Well, I have bigger fish to fry, and I'd rather not spend another hour here getting lectured by you. Ta!"

She picked up her bag, and walked past him. Brynjolf clenched his jaw, and looked as though he was about to stop her, but Delvin stopped him.

"Let her go unless you want that hand cut off. The girl's grown into herself."

"So I've noticed." The unofficial leader of the Thieves Guild sighed. "She has been avoiding me, hasn't she?"

"Duh. She doesn't get that defensive for just anyone, you know."

"The girl can be infuriating to just about anyone," Brynjolf dropped into the vacated chair. "And the strangest part is that I did miss her."

"Pfft," Delvin shrugged. "Everyone misses her. More importantly, they miss the coin she brought in. But in case you haven't noticed, we're not exactly helpless without her here, especially since you got rid of Mercer."

"Léta got rid of Mercer."

"And then Léta decided she liked killing better than just thieving. So what? She's not the last girl in the world. Hell, Karliah pro'bly can give her a run for her money. And tell you what, the only thing I'm curious about is how Sithis and Nocturnal are going to play tug-of-war with her soul when she finally slips up."

"Do you have to know everything?" Brynjolf grimaced. Delvin smirked. Did the man honestly think that erecting a statue of Nocturnal in the corner of their den would go unnoticed?"

"I have eyes and ears. For one thing, you hear that there's a Dragonborn running around doing good deeds now? Slaying dragons, helping rats out of sewers, running errands for old ladies…" the words were said with distaste. Criminals usually had a certain sense of contempt for the hero, honorable types. "Joined the Companions the second he stepped foot in Whiterun. Hasn't taken a side in the war yet, but my guess is that he's a "true son of the North" like the rest of the Stormcloaks."

"Is he going to be a problem?"

"He has enough of them bandits to keep him away from honest thieves. The boy's been around for three weeks, and he already cleared out more bands than the city watch of Solitude could manage in a year."

"Then why should we care?" Brynjolf waved his hand. "As long as he isn't knocking down our door, let him run around playing hero until some dragon bites his head off."

"Aye. Another thing, those damned dragons. The guards are all twitchy; Sapphire says she almost got caught out on the last job."

That summoned a concerned wrinkle between the thief's eyebrows. Only a slight one, though."Everyone gets caught sometimes. She should be thankful she's not in the dungeons right now rather than blaming dragons for her slip up."

"Whatever you say, boss," Delvin agreed easily.

"I'm not the boss here. We agreed."

Delving looked at him with impatience. "It's been a year since Mercer kicked it and Léta found other priorities. She only helps the Guild out when she has a client somewhere in the city. How long are you going to delude yourself that she'll come back to pick up the reigns?"

"Oblivion take that girl," Brynjolf cursed quietly, though there was a slight undertone of affection of a former mentor. "Left me to the wolves…"

"That she did," Delvin cheerfully toasted with his mug.

Vex suddenly joined into the conversation. "Rune says I missed her again! Well, the next time she decided to show up, remind her that she still owes me half the take from the last job!"

"Huh?"

"What?" She raised her eyebrow at Brynjolf's confusion. "We cleaned out the place in Whiterun four weeks ago, and she was supposed to deliver the trinket to the client and get our pay."

"She prob'ly forgot. Léta's not the type to scam the guild's money," Delvin rolled his eyes, not mentioning the fact that at the time Léta was likely galloping across Skyrim towards the sanctuary.

"She better have just forgot," Vex grumbled. "Don't know what's going on in that head of hers anymore."

"It's not as if you were the best of friends before..." Brynjolf noted. Vex was detached from everyone at best, doing business and partnering up for heists, but she rarely ever made friends. Everyone was long since used to the attitude.

"That's not the point. Your protégé is off wandering Talos knows where, and no one seems to mind. She used to actually stay the nights here, jumping at jobs as they come, and now we're lucky if she graces us with her presence once a fortnight! Not to mention she rejects more heists than she accepts, which is just plain inconvenient!"

Not everyone was happy about Léta's… detachment from the guild, and most of them didn't even know why it happened. She was still a member, so what was her problem?

But Delvin didn't care enough to wonder about what the others thought on the issue. Besides, the guild was already back on its feet, and coins were rolling in and staying in, so he didn't worry too much about the lost business. But it was enough that Brynjolf got that disappointed look any time he mentioned Léta's visits, and now Vex was complaining about the extra jobs she gave to Rune or Cynric instead of her, and for some reason both of them were doing it into his ears. Delvin's patience was beginning to bend.

"Would you both shut up, already?" he groaned. "If you want her back so badly, what the hell are you doing talking to me? She's probably still in Riften. Find her, tie 'er up, drag her back here, chain her to the damned statue. Better yet, give the girl time to get her head the right way on before you shove all your laundry runs on her."

When Vex looked as though she were about to argue, he decided that would be the perfect moment of bugger off.

Brynjolf did find her before she left Riften, a few hours later. She was stalled by her "errands", the term she used outside the sanctuary for anything related to her job. She had put on her little charm necklace and sat beside the man on the bench. When he finally noticed her, he dropped the scroll behind the bench, waited a minute, and walked off. She remained to pick up the contract, and tucked it away into her bag. The process was starting to seem easier than previously expected.

It was already dusk when she came up to the stables, already cringing in expectancy of screaming. Shadowmere could stand almost unnaturally still when it suited her or her master, but whenever there were strangers around, she spitefully climbed or knocked down doors, tipped over the water basin or left very un-demonic waste, to the annoyance of stable boys. To her surprise, though, there was no angry horse master to yell at her about the number of fingers Shadowmere ate today. Instead, there was the Nightingale, leaning onto the wall beside her horse.

"Didn't we go over this?" Léta mumbled, clipping her bags to the saddle.

"I didn't look for you to get yelled at earlier, lass. I had a request."

"So talk." She rolled her shoulders, not even turning her face to him.

"You look like you've been running on stamina potions for a month without sleep, you know that?"

"You're not wrong. Get back to the point."

He shook his head with disapproval, but a glare from her convinced him to lay off.

"There were people asking questions at the Flagon-"

"People are always asking questions at the Flagon. What of it?"

"Let me finish, lass. They were looking for someone- it hardly matters now. What matters is that they never got a solid answer, and decided to kidnap Etienne."

Her hands froze. "Who were "they"?"

"Thalmor- very recognizable. I don't know why they were there, nor do I care, but they took one of our own."

"Where would they have taken him?" Léta finally looked at him.

"That's the rub- we don't know. They have bases in Solitude and Markarth, but I doubt they can interrogate properly where people can hear the screams. There is an Embassy outside of Solitude, though, which is a better bet. You might have to ask around, just do it quickly, before they decide they've exhausted Etienne. Usually I'd try to get something set up, but-"

"I'll get it done." She nodded, looking thoughtful. "You know, I was going to keep away from that corner of Skyrim for a while, but looks like I'll have to show my face again anyway…"

"Yes, your stunt with the Emperor… I've heard about that. Well, the whole Nirn would have heard of it by now…"

She tilted her nose up in defiance at his comment. "You have no idea the price we paid for that "stunt". I wasn't about to drop it. And for your information, that was one of the most artful jobs I have ever pulled."

"Killing the decoy was hardly 'artful'."

She waved her hand. "If Astrid- if the Commander didn't find out, it would have ran without a hitch. It was a good plan. And besides, you try killing the Emperor! It's hard work!"

"Uh-huh." He smiled, and she suddenly froze.

"You sly bastard," she turned to him, grinning what must have been the first genuine smile in weeks. "I can finally see how you manage to convince everyone that troll fat cures hair loss. You just couldn't let me storm off, could you?"

"What, and give you the last word? Not bloody likely," he laughed and then picked her up by the waist and lifted her into the saddle. Shadowmere shifted her red eyes at him in a menacing fashion that said "Proceed with extreme caution", but didn't move towards him. Yet. "Look… do try to get Etienne out of there without too much noise? I don't care if you kill those glorified thugs, but the last thing we need is more attention from the Thalmor."

"Please, Brynjolf, I'm a professional," she snorted, and led her midnight of a horse to the road.

Babette liked to think of herself as experienced. Three hundred years is a long time, after all. She has seen the end of the Third Era, and the Giant Dragon statue that towered in the Imperial city, heard the chants of different Emperors as they rose and fell, and travelled throughout Skyrim, Cyrodiil, and many other places in her line of work. There was little that could really surprise her, despite her casually feigned naiveté and childish quirks.

And yet somehow, those centuries of experience did not restrain her shock as she watched a dragon swoop over the Dawnstar.

She could see it from the little island she stood on, where she followed the distinctive glow of the Nirnroot, but it dropped from her hands when she caught sight of the flying figure over-head. The monster circled in the sky, barely visible in the night's sky, and roared into the air overhead, not minding the arrows of the guardsmen one bit.

Suddenly, it stopped mid-scream, and then fell down to the village, landing somewhere out of sight.

Babette waited.

There smoke coming from the village, but it wouldn't last too long- the homes of Dawnstar were stone and built to outlast things like weather and fire. Once the straw on the roofs would burn out, the fires would end. Those smart enough to hide in their basements would outlast the attack, as well.

The dragon never rose again.

Perhaps it's feasting, Babette thought. Did dragons eat humans? In all the stories they did…

She picked up the fallen plants from the ground, shaking her head. What did it matter, anyway? The dragon couldn't get into the sanctuary… hopefully…

Yet the roars have stopped, as well.

Did someone kill it?

Now that would be interesting!

She entered the village cautiously, peering out from behind the stones. She was right in her earlier assessment- the houses were smoking, and one had a chunk missing out of it, but everything seemed to be just fine.

She pulled her hood down over her face, and walked between the houses, heading to the center, where everyone seemed to be gathered. The people stood in a crowd around a heap of white bones, which, from closer inspection, she realized was the dragon itself and not his meal leftovers.

Strange scene that created. There was not a hint of flesh or organs anywhere, yet the bones were set in perfect position, curled around itself almost like a napping cat.

"If I had not seen it myself, I would have never believed-"

"Where did it even come from?"

"By the Gods, my house…"

Eventually, though, the crowd began to thin out, most heading up the hill to the inn. Babette looked up, and realized that it was already lit and filled with people. The guards must have been celebrating.

"Child, you should go home to your mother," a stranger addressed her in a kind voice, and she carefully smiled, keeping her teeth to herself. "There's nothing to see here."

"But- dragon! It just swooped in! Wooosh! I never saw a dragon before! I just want to see if I can take a bone home, mother would be so excited!"

"Oh, all right, go ahead. But run home afterwards, before more fly in."

She nodded excitedly, and then ran to the skeleton. She really did want some bones from it, or maybe a scale or two. After all, it wasn't everyday that someone managed to kill a dragon- hells, it wasn't every era that a dragon was seen at all!

The bones did not break easily, or the figure would have already collapsed like a card house under its own weight. Babette had to use a surprising amount of force just to break off the joints from its leg. Then she picked up a few bloodied scales off of the ground- they must have been sliced off by someone's sword.

But whose?

She perked up her ears.

"…did you see those idiots shooting at it? As though the arrows could get even half way up there."

"I hoped it would be enough to chase it off."

"Pfha! If wood could scare off dragons, their return wouldn't be such a problem."

"Good thing that man was around. Did anyone catch his name?"

"No, but the guards took him to the tavern for a drink. You could go ask."

"Did you see the way he stabbed that dragon? Right through the skull, and the damned lizard stopped twitching!"

Babette was now really starting to get curious.

"And here's another to the man-"

That "another" was now the tenth, as far as Voar could remember, but he still raised his own tankard with enthusiasm. After he poured it down his throat, he slammed it down onto the table under the drunken cheers around him.

And why shouldn't they cheer? In these vague, dangerous times, when the Emperor was killed on his own ship, the civil war threatened to tear the land into pieces and you had to start ducking for dragons, beating one down was as good excuse for celebration as any.

And celebration meant ale. Lots and lots of ale. Enough to stall him from getting to Solitude to meet Delphine…

"You're the hero, aren't you?"

He looked around with some confusion at the small voice, and then looked down. A little girl was looking up at him, with a curious expression. He felt an involuntary shiver- in the firelight, her eyes looked red.

"That I am! Do you want to see my sword?" Other children always asked to see it, so he assumed.

The girl smiled. "Oh, I can see it well enough from here."

Something about her unsettled him, though he couldn't put his finger on it through the drunken haze. He looked closer, examining the un-furred cloak and apothecary pouch that was slung over her shoulder. Nothing out of the ordinary except her apparent resistance to the cold outside… but the unease didn't go away. "Then run along, this isn't the place for a kid."

She wrinkled her nose for a moment. "What's your name, hero?"

That was a question he just loved answering. "Voar the Dragonborn!"

Around him, there was another wave of cheer.

The girl didn't look impressed or awed, though. Actually, she looked… calculating.

Creepy.

"Dragonborn. Huh."

And then she vanished, as though she was never there in the first place. He blinked, but then someone handed him another tankard, and he immediately pushed her out of him mind.

Nazir had a lovely day, all things considered. The contact was an interestingly specific one, and those were always the favorites around their guild. "Any means necessary" quickly becomes routine, and those stringy clients were welcomed with open arms.

Solitude was in mourning at the moment- the Emperor's death was felt here the hardest. The citizens were mostly dressed in subdued colors, women wore little jewelry and men drank in silence (at first, anyway). The Temple of the Divines was ringing with prayer, and the altars were overflowing with offerings. The guard patrols were redundantly tripled, though even the dumbest drunkard knew that if the assassin slipped past all of the Emperor's guards, there was no catching her.

Underneath the grief for the monarch, everyone was whispering about the Dark Brotherhood, though, and that put a smile on Nazir's face. Theories ranged from the simplest (and closest to the truth) that they were just doing their job, to the wildest conspiracies that included the Dominion, an underground organization of Khajiit drug dealers, and the return of the Mythic Dawn. How the three were interrelated, no one could remember after their fifth drink.

The Winking Skeever, where Nazir was staying, was the only place with any life and activity in the city, living up to its reputation as the single inn of Solitude. Men remained men, and mer remained mer, no matter who died: the music the bard was wringing out of her lute barely managed to outdo the raised voices.

Nazir turned towards the barkeep, and smiled.

"So, what was that all that about the Dragonborn?"

The man was more than happy to indulge in gossip.

"He's storming through Skyrim like a hurricane. I heard he was an escaped prisoner, caught with the Stormcloaks at the border. Guess you never know about people, eh?"

"Why is everyone so sure he's the Dragonborn?" Nazir asked.

"He absorbs the dragons' souls… or so they say, anyways. But you heard the Graybeard summoning him- I don't think there was anyone that didn't. That happens once every never, so it's safe to say they aren't making mistakes."

"Perfect. Just what Skyrim needs: a hero." The assassin thought to himself, though it was with little sarcasm. Dragons were not part of any healthy business, their trading in death included. The boy would run around for a bit, rally up some hope, maybe save the world like those types tended to do on occasion… meanwhile, everyone will forget about the assassinated Emperor and the Dark Brotherhood…

"Last I heard, he's heading to Solitude," Corpulus continued chatting, not even noticing that Nazir was barely paying any attention anymore. "Either to join the Legion or on… on… Dragonborn business or something."

Now that was interesting. And very worth investigation…