A/N- Nothing terribly exciting, though the chapter did get away from me at one point. Hm.

Persuasion Checks

"You know, for someone who made a dramatic exit, I come back here surprisingly often," Léta commented to Karliah upon entering the Cistern from the secret door. Well, her exit wasn't that dramatic. Or anything, really. She didn't even tell anyone where she was off to; just left like she normally would and didn't come back until two months later. Caused a little bit of a stir, she heard later from Delvin, and no wonder- the last time she was gone for so long it was because Karliah was extracting an arrow from her chest.

The Dunmer smiled, "It's been a year, and it's still strange to be able to walk in here without people grabbing for their blades. But you're right; a thief's path always seems to loop through here."

"It's been a year?" Léta looked at her with slight confusion. "Huh. I really need to start keeping track."

"How long did you think it was?"

"I don't know. Longer. Hey, Sapphire," she was distracted by the woman leaning onto the wall beside the entrance.

"And look what the cat's dragged in! You don't write, you don't visit… thought you finally ended up dead in a ditch somewhere." The woman didn't even bother to take her arms out of the customary grim cross over her chest.

"I've been busy. What the hell is going on in here? Did all the jobs get canceled or something?"

"Nah, everyone is licking their wounds," Sapphire shrugged. "Then Brynjolf goes and orders a lock-down 'til we get some proper info. Which better be soon, I have a caravan that needs wrecking."

"He ordered a lock-down?" Léta found that very hard to believe. The man asked, or suggested very strongly (and everyone usually preferred to follow), but she has yet to hear an order out of him.

"Shouting "Everyone, shut up and stay where you are" while storming out the door constitutes as an order. Last time we did this, you were hunting for Mercer's blood."

"Did we lose anyone?" Karliah asked, concerned.

"No. Scrapes and bruises aside, everyone's ready to break some bones. Heard Léta got chased half-way through Skyrim, that true?"

"Barely," Léta replied grimly, throwing a look around the Cistern. Everyone was home, and whoever wasn't, was probably at the Flagon. "They were waiting for me near Whiterun. I managed to get away at Fort Amol, and lost them in the woods."

The thief snorted. "Looks like you got the amateurs. The rest at least set up half-decent ambushes. You're saying they were just politely waiting on the road?"

"Now that I think about it, yeah, it was a bit strange. At the time, I was a distracted by the arrows they tried to put through my skull," Léta shrugged. "But considering they attacked Maven, I think they're just arrogant."

"They got off easy, then. You want more than that, head on over to Brynjolf and Thrynn, they're interrogating one of them in the training room."

"We managed to catch one?"

Good news.

"Yeah, and hopefully they'll get something out of him soon because Maven is one stupid comment away from a warpath."

Léta bit her lip in worry on that one. Maven was crucial to the Guild's continuing survival, and if that meant blowing dust bits off her shoulder, the entire Ratway would be following her day and night. She knew the exact distance her influence extended, and never hesitated in taking advantage of it. But even that wouldn't last long if assassins continued to knock on her front door.

While she and Karliah moved towards the training room, she thought that it was a true shame that she only wandered into the Cistern on business these days. She spotted Rune sending her a cheerful smile from one of the tables, which she immediately returned. Niruin and Cynric gave her invitational waves, but she only shook her head, pointing in the direction they were heading.

The man that was tied to the chair in the middle of the training room met them with an asymmetrical glare. He already had blood on his chin and a bandage on his leg. Brynjolf and Thrynn were standing on behind him, quietly talking, both with grim expressions.

"Where did you catch this specimen?" Léta wondered, and they turned to her.

Brynjolf answered, "Maven's bodyguards aren't made of nothing. He ain't talking, but now that you're here I have a feeling he'll start."

She could see the prisoner's eyes widen slightly in alarm, and she gave him her best carnivorous smile.

"I could just break a few of his bones. That should get him talking," Thrynn was present for the bruising purposes, that much was obvious. Léta waved his suggestion off, though.

"There's no reason to cripple him. Yet. Now let's see here…"

The captured attacker was an Altmer, something she noted with little surprise. He was wearing battered leather armor that was darkened with black dye. There were no emblems, no signs of origins, and the pockets were emptied. He stared at her with grim golden eye (the other was bruised and swollen), and then spat blood onto the floor at her feet.

"Did you knock out a tooth?" She wondered at Brynjolf.

"I hope so."

"No notes or letters, I take it?"

"There was a decoy. Aside from that, nothing."

She didn't ask to see the note, trusting him on the assessment. Instead, she pulled out her knife. "You want to be here for this?"

Both men snorted as if to say "I've seen much worse than you've got to offer". Karliah moved over to their end of the room, out of sight of the prisoner, and Léta shrugged with acceptance. It hardly mattered either way.

"So, let's start with the basics, shall we? Who are you?"

Contemptuous silence.

"Now, this won't work if you don't open your mouth," she sat right onto the elf's injured leg, leaning onto the chair over his shoulder. He clenched his teeth, but a whine of pain still got through. Point. "You know what's going to happen if you don't talk, right?"

"Let me guess. You'll make me suffer," he offered, trying his best to sound bored. She laughed.

"Yes, that's the gist of it. It's been a while since I did this, so you'll forgive me if I seem a bit indecisive, though…"

She gently ran the blade across his jaw, leaving a hair-thin cut behind. He didn't flinch.

"I mean, I could start with your eyes, and work my way down to your stomach… or would you like me to cut to the chase and go for the lower parts?"

"Do you think I'm afraid of you?" he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and threatening.

"If you were smart you would be," she shrugged, watching the point of her blade with interest as it stopped an inch away from his healthy eyeball. "That's my family you tried to harm, elf. If it were any other case, you'd be already be screaming by now. But you have information, and that means you can still get out alive. Now, once more. Who are you? Did someone hire you, or is this a personal interest? Mercenaries are not usually so loyal."

"You know nothing, human wench," he spat at her. Very carefully, however, because one small flinch and the tip of the knife would have driven itself into his eye socket.

"Talk business, not insults. And trust me when I say that if don't you spill your guts figuratively, it will be literal."

"Kill me, and you'll have nothing!"

"Who said anything about killing you?" she feigned surprise. "Oh no, you would be alive long enough to smell them burning. Now. Talk, or do I have to start carving?"

There was a silence in which she could almost hear gears turning in his head as he tried to process the situation. She patiently waited.

Finally, he asked, "How do I know you won't kill me if I tell you?"

"You don't. But tell me, what's better, the good chance of getting out of here alive, or being tortured and then killed anyway just on principle?"

Tense moments passed. The muscles on his jaws were playing, and his golden eyes were burning holes in hers, but her face remained stoically passive.

"Alright," she shrugged finally, moving the knife closer with determination.

His nerves gave out before it could reach its goal, though. He jerked his head away, all his resolve faltering.

"Fine! Get that thing away from me! I'll tell you what I know."

She frowned. "Oh, come on, we haven't even started yet! You couldn't hold off until after I got the eye out?"

"Just- it's not worth it, I'll tell you what you want to know!"

"Alright then. So, who the hell are you?"

"Summerset Shadows. I'm one- was one of them." He hurried to say, his one eye still focusing on the tip of the blade. "Guess there's no way back for me now."

"Uh-huh. Who else was it?"

Her question seemed to surprise him. "No one."

"Why don't I believe you? Right, maybe because there is no way you could have known where to find any of us unless you had an informant."

"Whatever informants Nimwe keeps, I don't know them."

She believed him. Despite the obvious arrogance and underestimation of the enemy, someone still managed to track them down. That meant the leader had at least half a grain more brains than the average thief, and that meant he wouldn't be throwing valuable names around. She continued with the question.

"Well, now, the million septim question- what kind of madness possessed you to attack us, and then fail?"

Now he just looked insulted. "The plan was to distract your Guild, kill a few of you, and assassinate your benefactor. That would wipe you off the map, and place us on it."

Brynjolf let out a humorless laugh. "Killing off the competition simply because it's there? How barbarically petty of you."

"Hm. So why did I get the part of the fox in the Royal Hunt?"

"Léta Lusilion is an infamous name these days," Brynjolf supplied before the Altmer could speak. "You weren't exactly discrete with your identity during the attempts on the Emperor. They probably decided you were a bigger threat than us."

Léta clenched her jaw and looked over at Thrynn, who showed no surprise at the information. He just stared at her with grim confusion and irritation.

That made her feel strangely ashamed. Luckily, the emotion didn't last for longer than a second because the prisoner started talking again.

"I don't know what you're talking about. There were two men on each person, three on Maven. You shouldn't flatter yourself, human."

He seemed to be telling the truth, surprisingly enough. She wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Where is your hideout?"

He suddenly started laughing. Hysterically and with bitter humor.

"Did I say something funny?"

"You caught the wrong Altmer for questioning!" he giggled, and she was suddenly worried that his mind snapped under stress. "This was my initiation! I've never been to the hideout myself! They would have let me in as soon as we came back!"

Léta believed that, too. There weren't many people that could lie to her, and this one was radiating desperate honesty like an innocent man on the block. She got off of him, but didn't put her blade away just yet. "Bryn, it's your call. Want me kill him now, or will you deal with him?"

"There is always time to execute him later, lass." He shrugged. "We'll keep him for now, make sure he isn't lying. Then we'll see."

"Suit yourself."

"Thrynn, secure him. You two, let's go," he waved to Léta and Karliah, leading towards the Flagon. The sounds of talk and drinking reached them before they could even push the doors of the cabinet. The underground tavern was popular tonight, and no wonder. Delvin and Vex held the only table with any seats, and that's where they headed.

"And there is our hero," Vex greeted in a bored voice, her eyes on Léta. "Where's my money?"

"Hey Vex. I missed you too." Léta replied sarcastically as she sat down. Her relationship with Vex was a stringy mutual respect and co-operation, but they were by no means friends. "What money, sunshine?"

"Are you daft? The money off that heist in Whiterun we did a month ago? Ring any bells?"

"Right. The one with the big, heavy amulet. What about it?" The Imperial raised her eyebrows, pouring herself some wine from the pitcher.

"You forgot." Vex wasn't amused, "What the hell's gotten into you lately? Did you hit your head falling down stairs? You didn't used to have memory problems."

Léta waved the comment off. "Vex, relax. Here's your share so you can sleep at night," Léta took out her money purse and counted of the agreed amount that she only vaguely recalled. The job was a small sidetrack in her then busy career in the Dark Brotherhood, and the heist was a simple warm-up for her. Then things got… complicated.

"And don't forget to mark it in your busy, busy schedule to get that trinket to the client." Satisfied with the money, but still in a bad mood, Vex snapped again.

"I gave it to him already, I just forgot that there was more to it than that."

"Well, try not to forget next time, or you can look for a different partner."

"Hey, you came to me, not the other way around!"

"Girls, settle down," Delvin finally stepped in. "Vex, you got your money, client's been dealt with, so can we get back to our problems? What did you get outta the elf?"

"He's with the Summerset Shadows." Brynjolf filled them in. "Decided to coup the Guild, become the local favorite instead."

"What? That's it? We got attacked by some elf-only club?" Vex snorted. "No wonder those guys didn't even manage to hold me long enough for ropes."

"Well, I'll take three guesses as to why they would want to attack the Guild right after I heroically rescued Etienne out of the clutches of the Thalmor." Léta leaned forward on the table. "So here's a theory: the Thalmor hired them."

"I thought you swept your trail," brows were furrowed all around.

"I did." She screwed up her mouth, "After the confusion I forced into their heads, they wouldn't have recognized their own mothers. All other witnesses were killed, and the only suspect remaining was the Dragonborn and Etienne himself."

"Nazir was with you, wasn't he?" Delvin reminded her.

"Nazir is a professional, and he was working something unrelated. Though there was a little Bosmer elf with us when we got out of there, informant that got the Dragonborn his invitation. He could have been caught…"

"Why do you even think the Thalmor are involved?"

"I wasn't chased by these Summerset Shadows. Those amateurs never found me. There were definitely five of them, and they had expert mages, in the least. No one can make horses run like that without magical aid."

"It could've been separate attempts."

"The timing is too perfect," Brynjolf shook his head, agreeing with Léta. "But I've known you for three years, and you never slipped up in all that time. How did they know you were at the Embassy?"

"Someone tipped them off," Vex shrugged. "Or perhaps our dear Léta isn't as perfect as you make her sound."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, little Vex," Delvin smirked.

"Don't mind her, she's still bitter over Goldenglow estate," Léta snorted, earning a glare from Vex, and a laugh from Brynjolf and Delvin.

"What I meant is, you used those tricks of yours in the Thalmor Embassy. You really think they thought for even for a second that the oaf could pull off a confusion spell?"

"Met him, did you?" Léta said automatically before making a grimace or realization.

"Sure, sure, he makes an impression. Big man, big sword, very memorable," Vex shrugged. "But you know I'm right about the spells."

"You're right about the spells," the Imperial nodded, slightly put out. "That would explain them digging deeper…Damn, I screwed up. Well, in any case, it doesn't matter now. They probably have informants in every city, so they were bound to find me eventually."

"We've been on the lookout ever since Etienne returned, actually," Brynjolf told her. "We haven't had much luck, but the Dragonborn killed one of their agents right in the middle of the market last morning. Shavari attacked him as soon as he got near."

"Shavari?" Léta remembered that one. She was a Khajiit that always hung around the markets and slept at the Bee and the Barb. They never had any kind of trouble from her, though. "What happened?"

"Dunno. He picked up anything she might have carried, guards got rid of the body. She was shouting something about "You shouldn't have meddled with Thalmor business" before she died, though."

"Can we stop talking about the Thalmor now?" Vex cut the conversation off. "They're out of reach, the Summerset Shadows are not. Let's get rid of them before they try something again. And remind me again why we still haven't?"

"They've been keeping their heads down to this point, sweeping trails and the like." Delvin shrugged. "Why the Thalmor would deal with a bunch of cutthroats, though, now that's…"

"Both want allies in Skyrim." Karliah offered. She was left standing, leaning against one of the crates besides the table, and playing the silent sentient up until this point. Everyone has already caught on that she wasn't nearly as vocal and chatty as the rest of the Guild (likely a habit developed in her exile), so no one actively tried to invite her into the discussion. "The Thalmor need shadows, and the Shadows need contacts in the higher circles."

"And after their stunt with Etienne, they knew they could expect any dealings with us." Brynjolf finished. "Makes sense."

"No, it makes no sense." Léta shook her head. "Arrogant or not, why did they move against Maven? Removing her is an extremely stupid idea, failing to do so is even worse. They couldn't have miscalculated, those stuck up bastards are smarter than that."

"And they probably wanted exactly this," Bryn concluded. "Us in a panic, Maven furious, everyone on a lock-down. I wouldn't be surprised if us removing the Shadows is part of their plan as well. The more conflict in Skyrim, the better for them."

"So what do we do?"

"One way or the other, the Shadows are competition and a threat, and they need to be removed. Delvin, if you have any-"

"Don't look now," Karliah suddenly interrupted. "But I think we have another problem on our hands."

Despite her warning, all looked around to the entrance of the Flagon, and Léta nearly groaned. "You have to be joking."

"I thought he left." Delvin grimly commented. "He went by with the mad man from the Vaults just last night."

"Well, looks like he's back." Brynjolf didn't look pleased at all. "Lass, it was your idea to get him involved at the Embassy. This is on your head. Get him out of here."

"Yeah, yeah," she snapped, getting up. "I know the drill."

Dirge predictably didn't offer any resistance to the man's arrival, only shooting him a glare that promised violence when he passed. Voar disregarded the man with a sideways glance, just like he ignored all the suspicious stares he got from the patrons of the Flagon. Between leather and daggers, his steel and greatsword stood out like a lion in a rat den. He didn't seem to notice, though.

Léta weaved between the tables, and before Voar could say even a word or make it too deep into the tavern, hooked her arm around his.

"You must be one of the most suicidal man I've ever met," she growled to Voar, leading him back out of the Flagon before he could even see her. The effect would have been the same as trying to drag a mammoth by the trunk if he wasn't too surprised to resist. "I've got this one, Dirge."

The bouncer nodded, continuing to impersonate an immovable boulder.

Voar was not happy to see her. It almost hurt.

"Funny how you were non-existent when I was asking around here. Didn't expect you to come out hiding so soon."

"The fact that you even thought of asking around here speaks volumes of your intelligence Congratulations, you found me. Now what?"

"Now, we do this…" he twisted her arm around, pulled her into one of the storage nooks and slamming her into the wall out of sight of the rest. She bit her lip when the stone bruised her ribcage and shoulder, but didn't try resisting.

"Now is that any way to treat a woman?"

"Oh, no, darlin', I am not taking any chances with you this time." His voice was a mixture between mockery and anger. He was really not happy with her.

Léta was thinking fast, trying not to panic. "I suppose civilized conversation is not an option?"

"We did this dance before, remember? I'm not falling for your chatter again."

Her arm hurt where it was twisted high up on her back, and his grip was a steel cuff. The position was getting more and more uncomfortable. "It was nothing personal. I couldn't risk the Thalmor turning their eyes on us."

"You set me up. You didn't really think I'd just let that go, did you?"

"Of course not. That would have been the smart thing to do."

"So why shouldn't I just lop off your head right here and now? If not for myself, then how about the fact that you murdered the bleeding emperor?"

Okay, definitely angry now…

"Yell louder, please. I don't think the guards in Solitude quite heard you," she rolled her eyes to the wall. Her disregard for the subject took Voar aback. "But you are smarter than you look, I'll give you that. Been doing your research, which is admirable. But listen, if you came here to read me a lecture in morals, you're wasting your time. If you came here to do Tamriel a service, then get it over with. If not, I have places to be." She twisted her head around, her eyes coldly on his. "Well?"

His fingers flexed as though he was sorely tempted to do just that, "Usually criminals deny their crimes, and cowards plead for their lives."

"Shows what you know about criminals and cowards. Look around the corner, Dragonborn. Why do you think none of them are even looking this way? Until I'm dead, this business is between you and me. But Dirge is always looking for a skull to bash, and I don't think the rest of them would appreciate my head rolling on the floor as much as the Imperial guard."

Seconds trickled by. Then the grip on her tightened for a moment, and let go. She rolled her shoulders with relief, and turned around, leaning onto the wall properly this time. He was towering over her, but she refused to feel intimidated.

"So how much of what told me back there was a lie?"

"Anything in particular you're wondering about?"

"That you were there to rescue your brother, for starters."

"Etienne is as much my family as anyone in this guild." Her cheek twitched, as though she was admitting something no outsider was allowed to hear. Yet this was her ticket out of this.

"And the assassination of one of the guests?"

"Nazir had a job to do, and I told him to frame someone to avoid attention."

"Wasn't his name Alamand?"

"And listing every single lie I've ever told would take a decade, and I just don't have that kind of time." Léta finally snapped. "Would you also like to know the ingredients of the paralytic poison I'd used and the smallclothes I was wearing at the time?"

"You used me."

"And you got your damned journals, didn't you? I held up my end. Now can I please get back to business?"

"I'm still trying to decide whether or not to just kill you right not."

"Take your shot. I'm not a fighter, I won't stand much of a chance against you. But don't expect to leave this place without a knife in the back if I'm anything less than breathing."

The tense silence that followed included much cold glaring and the air between then was practically cracking. Léta crossed her arms. "It didn't work. The Thalmor found out about my involvement, and now they're targeting the guild. And if I find out that you had something to do with that, there will be hell to pay."

"Me? Dealing with those puffed up peacocks? Not even for you." Voar shook his mane of blond hair. He had calmed down significantly- at the very least he didn't look like he was itching for a blade. "Though if they want to clean out this nest of bandits, I won't stand in their way."

Léta was getting so very tired. "We're not bandits, we're thieves."

"From where I'm standing, there's no difference."

Now she was beginning to get angry. He was unknowingly pushing all the right buttons. "Look, you got what you wanted- the old man from the Vaults, who, by the way, we were paid to forget until someone started losing blood over it. You are still alive, and no worse off. So just leave, please. This isn't the place for someone like you and we have bigger problems to deal with."

Voar snorted, but this time, it was almost sympathetic. "As do I. But if I were you, I'd watch my back."

The next few moments was a mute scene- neither wanted to show their backs to the other. Finally, Léta took her luck, and walked away.

"It's not my back I'm worried about, Dragonborn," she muttered quietly under her breath when she was already up the walkway. She nodded to Dirge in confirmation, and his stance relaxed a bit.

"Want me to keep him out from now on?"

The woman shook her head, and regretted it as she was suddenly dizzy. She grimaced, leaning onto the rails. "Risk broken tables and blood on the floor? Let him come if he's so brave."

"If you fall here, I'm kicking you into the cistern to clear the way," Dirge warned, and she hurried to get inside.

"-Niruin and Thrynn should be able to handle it just fine." Brynjolf was now standing behind his chair, his hands on the back of it. "Might get a little hairy, but-"

"I'm coming," Léta rubbed her face before sitting down in her former spot. "Talos knows I need to kill something right about now."

The declaration took everyone by surprise. "Lass, they can manage fine without you if you have better things to do."

"I don't," she cut off. "We have to do this right, or Maven will go ballistic, and we can't have that. Us three should manage just fine with the Shadows. Delvin, did you send the message to Nazir?"

"Aye."

"Then no one will miss me. I'm coming."

"Not in this shape you're not." One glance at her pale face told the story.

"How much force did you use on the poor boy?" Delvin raised his eyebrows.

"That specimen is very thick-skulled and strong-willed," she ground out, "I still had to do most of the work with words, not spells. If I haven't, I think this charming little face would have been staring at you from the bottom of the cistern right about now. Anyone have a magicka potion on hand?"

Vex silently pushed her own mug towards her, which Léta took without complaining. Wine was not a good substitute for alchemical mixtures, but it helped.

Spells by themselves, as a rule, required the minimal amount of magicka. But using it as she did, stealthily searching for back doors and holding back the lighting effects; that took the most effort. Each time she cursed her tiny mana pool, and each time the feeling of fatigue was unavoidable. But each time, it was necessary. The Dragonborn was pissed.

"Fine, lass, you can go. But not before you deal with Maven." Brynjolf suddenly declared, and she threw him a surprised glance.

"What do you need me to do that for?"

"She needs reassurance that you had nothing to do with the attack, of course," he looked directly at her, and she suddenly understood what he meant.

"Maven it is, then," she nodded.

The girl was playing him. Voar knew it as soon as his anger began subsiding, and the persistent image of the snowy nights in Bruma kept shoving its way into his focus. Her face became more and more pale the longer she talked, and having already seen what spells do to her, it was telling. He knew what she was doing, but couldn't help it when he calmed down and began to listen to her. After all, she did sound… reasonable…

But that wasn't the end of that. He may have let her live, but that did not mean he trusted her. And whatever business she had, it couldn't have been good.

So what did he do? Why, what any self-respecting hero would do- he followed her.

It would take a while for Esbern and Delphine to find the entrance to the Blades Temple, anyway...

She left through the back with two of her friends (partners, siblings, evil masterminds?)- the red-haired Nord and a dark elf that hid her face under a hood. Voar had no path through there, so he hurried to do what Léta had suggested to him- leave through the front door.

The upstanding citizens that lived in the Ratway sewers didn't give him any trouble, just scurried off like real rats whenever he neared. There were many here- beggars, mercenaries, bandits. Once he even spotted a young Breton mother with her son, whose face was smeared with dirt, both dressed in rags.

When he passed, he handed her a handful of coins. She stared at him as though she thought she was dreaming, and her eyes began to fill with tears. He hurried off before she could begin crying, though.

When he made it to the surface, he took a deep breath. The charming smells of sewage, sweat and blood were replaced by fish and stale water, though it was still a step up.

As he had already learned in his visit to Riften, the number one rule of the markets was to watch your purse. After catching a little child red-handed (after which a crazy Khajiit ran at him with a knife), he put his money away to his bag (which he also didn't dare leaving out of his sight).

He was really starting to dislike the city. Just as he really disliked its citizens.

Léta was alone now, and changed. She was no longer wearing the black armor, but simple, male clothing. She was still like a piece of the void moving through the crowds, but the clothing made her appear a lot more… fragile, more vulnerable, underlining her now obvious lack of curves and making her look like a teenage boy more than anything.

"Just another mask you wear, isn't it?"

Voar knew he was right on that. While he had no doubts she could play the role of a mouse as well as a coldblooded murder, he could still see the coiled tension in her confident stride, ready to fight or bolt within a moment. She walked through the market circle as though she owned it.

Well, while she cut through the market, giving a few friendly waves, grinning charmingly at a few of the men, and habitually glaring at a pickpocket who was aiming at her, Voar was having a little more trouble. People parted for him, but the looks they cast him were suspicious and paranoid. Those likely mistaken him for another bruiser looking for a stall to wreck. A few looked at him with astonished recognition, to which he smiled.

"Hey, wait!"

Léta turned around in surprise, and the next moment, a boy of twelve suddenly burst through the crowd and nearly crashed into her.

Voar got closer, coming from behind her so she would spot him.

"Aventus Aretino, what in Oblivion are you doing?" Léta was laughing while trying to sound scolding.

"It's you! It's really you! You came back to Riften!" The boy was excitedly chanting while she steered him clear of the markets and into the freer side alleys.

"And so did you! I thought you'd be staying in that house in Windhelm forever."

"With Grelod gone, it's been much better here," the boy assured her. "Constance takes good care of us- some kids were even adopted! Can you believe it?"

Voar couldn't see her face, but her voice was quiet and amused. "I'm glad I could help."

Voar furrowed his eyebrows. She killed someone in that orphanage, and now everyone's happy? That did not add up in his head.

"One day, though, I'll be of age, and then I can live in my house again. And you can come visit me there!"

"If I live long enough, sure." She was humoring the kid. "Look, I have-"

"Aventus! Aventus Aretino!" a shrill, panicking voice rose, and both Léta and the boy turned around to the woman who was running to them. "Oh, don't run away like that, you had me so worried. Thank you-uh."

The woman got a good look at Léta, and her face drained of color. That seemed to amuse the criminal, because she gave her a nod, and her voice took a mockingly concerned tone to it.

"Is something the matter? You seem a little pale."

"N- no. Everything is fine- Come along Aventus…"

"But Constance…"

"It's alright, go with her. I have a few things I need to do."

"Ooooh, you mean for the-"

"Yes, now shoo." There were paranoid glances in the direction of the guards from both women and likely different reasons. Constance hurried to lead the boy away, still casting Léta frightened looks over her shoulder.

When the woman turned around, her smile immediately disappeared off her face, as though she had been plastering it all along. The sudden exhaustion on her face took him by surprise. Meanwhile, she continued on her way through Riften.

Voar continued to follow her, suddenly realizing that while he was watching the scene, an urchin that got a hang of his belt where his purse was usually hanging. He swatted the hand away, noticing a man in the crowds carefully watching his reaction. By the looks of him, he was a thief himself, and probably ready to raise noise if Voar tried to do anything with his apprentice.

The Dragonborn scoffed, feeling strangely irritated, but continued to follow Léta without a word.

The woman, Mjoll, whom he'd met at the gates the day before, had the same frustrated look on her face. And he now understood why. This city was some kind of new hell for people like him.

Léta found Maven Black-Briar in her usual spot, upstairs of the Bee and Barb tavern, sitting in a secluded booth. As soon as she got near, a grim-faced mercenary moved into her path.

"Get lost," he barked at her.

"Can't do that, sorry. I have business with Maven."

"What part of "get lost" don't you get?"

"The part where it's some penny-paid, low-life mongrel barking at me," she replied in kind.

"Let her through," Mistress Black-Briar herself called in a bored tone from her table. The mercenary glared at Léta, but moved. Very slowly and without taking his eyes off of her. The Imperial just smiled, and moved towards the booth.

"Feeling a might jumpy tonight, are they?" Léta raised her eyebrows, sitting herself opposite of Maven. The woman spared her a quick glance before returning to her meal. "Where's your son?"

"Taking care of business." The older woman shrugged. "I remember you. You're the one that Brynjolf sent to me for the Meadery job. I haven't seen you in a long time."

The good part of that was the fact that Léta has already gone through the subtle trials and probing questions, and came out unscathed (a few bruises on her ego not withstanding), so now they could talk straight business.

"Yes, but I'm not here on behalf of Brynjolf this time."

"No? What is this, then?"

"As it so happens…" Léta cast another glance in the direction of Maven's bodyguard. "I'm here for the Dark Brotherhood."

Now that got a reaction. Maven threw her eyes at her as though she was joking. Then there was irritation.

"I usually deal with Astrid in these matters."

Léta scraped her teeth over her lip. "Astrid's dead. She died in the sanctuary. I'm- well, I'm the current leader."

"Really? Well, you've certainly moved up in the world," Maven still looked suspicious of the claim, but not particularly distraught over Astrid's death. "Tell me, then, why has Astrid ignored the sacrament for the last year?"

Because the Night Mother and the Listener were just an unpleasant complications.

"There have been technical difficulties. But I assure you, if there is a sacrament, I will hear it." Léta kept her voice carefully polite. "As I understand, you and Astrid had a business agreement."

"Yes, I suppose you can say that." She agreed. "Unfortunately, all contracts I had for you are long since taken care of."

"What a shame." The words had no weight or emotion. If there was one thing Léta was absolutely sure of in this world, it was that Maven Black-Briar was not a fool. She knew her cards, and exactly when to put them on the table. And the Dark Brotherhood was something every politician and aristocrat secretly wanted in their pockets.

Maven seemed to know her exact string of though at that moment, because a small smirk graced her lips, disappearing immediately after.

"The Emperor was your doing, wasn't it?"

"Why would you say that?" Léta was getting slightly annoyed. Did all of Tamriel know she was the one to kill Titus?

Stupid question. Of course it did. The Thalmor didn't hold a candle to the efforts of the Penitus Oculatus in smoking her out before she could reach the sanctuary, after she escaped from Maro. The elven bastards probably snagged her description right out of their files, too. She would have to see about getting her hands on those...

"It is none of my concern," Maven waved it off. "Emperors rise and fall. But you have earned your reputation. Yes, I believe we can do business."

Léta smiled, hiding her feeling of triumph. "I hope you know that we had nothing to do with the attempt on you."

"I figured that out already. It was too sloppy to be one of yours. Does Brynjolf know who did it?"

"We're taking care of it."

"Good. Go and take care of it, then."

Léta stood up with a respectful nod.

"From a mage student with sticky fingers to the best assassin in Skyrim," Maven suddenly called her back, and she turned around, her eyebrows raised. "How does it feel?"

"Couldn't be happier."

"You're miserable," Maven scoffed. "You never wanted to lead anything. You were perfectly content with following orders for the rest of your life. But fate just keeps dropping it on your lap, doesn't it..."

Léta bit her lip, unwilling to show just how close to home that hit. "I don't believe in fate."

Maven's expression was one of pity now. "And when Mara was handing out ambition, you were standing in line for a second helping of luck. And it seems like it's your curse now."

That sounded like an insult. Léta clenched her jaw. "Perceptive and wise as always, ma'am. Except you're wrong. If anything, this means I won."

Maven looked at her with skeptical surprise. "What did you win? A position you never wanted and two guilds looking at you as though you're the messiah sent to bring them into the light? Don't fool yourself."

"With your permission?" Léta forced the polite excuse out of her throat, and Maven waved her of, having lost interest in the conversation.

The damned woman always knew more than Delvin's contacts combined.

To her surprise, it was not Niruin or Rune waiting for her at the stables when she finally made it outside the city gates.

"Going somewhere?" She raised her eyebrows when she came up to him.

Brynjolf just continued to strap his bag to the saddle of his chestnut mare without looking to her. "You're a good thief, Léta."

"Er, thank you?"

"But you are a terrible fighter. Doesn't matter if you run with the Dark Brotherhood now, don't forget who was yelling at you for incompetence after sparring."

"Mercer and Vex, while you just looked like someone pissed in your soup," she glared at him. She didn't like it when people told her what she could and couldn't do, especially when she was well aware of her own flaws. "I still don't get why you're coming instead of say, Niruin."

"Because of your incompetence with direct combat, you will be killing targets slowly and quietly, and Niruin isn't much of a sneak. Hell of an archer, but that won't help you if you're on the front when he sets off the alarm."

"So Sapphire or Rune. Vex is even better than you with a blade."

"Careful with your words, or I might think you don't want me to come," When he turned to her, his eyes looked her up and down and then he nodded with approval. She wasn't wearing her reliable Nightingale armor for travelling- it was all packed into the bags. Instead, she wore her civilian clothes that consisted of a fitted, warm black shirt and pants, soft leather boots and a furred cloak. More dangerous, but less recognizable.

"Oh, by all means. I know what's going on; you got bored of playing merchant, and decided to shake your routine up a bit."

"Cheap shot. Léta, you were right earlier. We have to do this right, without giving them a chance to regroup or try again. We've been lucky so far, and I'd rather that trend continue."

She sighed, coming up to the painted horse she was borrowing for the trip. Shadowmere was also easily recognizable, and even though there were no Thalmor this close to Stormcloak central, she didn't like taking chances.

"So you did just get bored with playing a merchant and selling rat droppings?"

"I haven't done that in months, lass," he chuckled. "Since someone ran off and left me to get the Guild back in order, I haven't had the time."

That brought her conversation with Maven back, and she frowned. "Are we going to do this again?"

"No," he shook his head, mounting the horse. He was also wearing his civilian clothes. It was safer to look the part of a traveling merchant sometimes, though it did invite bandits. But bandits were easier to deal with than military or patrolling guardsmen.

Léta followed suit, climbing onto her horse. "So I've yet to hear a truthful reason out of you."

He was silent for a long moment while they rode off down the road, heading North. She was beginning to doubt he would even respond when he finally opened his mouth again.

"I have a bad feeling about this job, so I changed my mind at the last second."

"What kind of bad feeling?" she asked cautiously. A thief was nothing without his instincts, and she trusted Brynjolf's as much as she trusted her own.

"The type where if I send either Niruin or Vex or anyone else with you, something bad will definitely happen. This whole thing has an odor to it, lass."

"I think you're being paranoid." She scoffed quietly when she suddenly remembered that the last time she said that to someone, she ended up being locked in a coffin with a talking corpse. Though if she was being honest with herself, she was glad Brynjolf decided to come instead of sending someone else. They worked better together; their little mentor-protégé relationship gave them a certain edge.

Brynjolf glanced behind all of a sudden, and then smiled, shaking his head. "Wait a moment."

Léta looked around to find a little Khajiit with deep bronze fur and Guild armor on the road behind them. Bryn turned his horse around and came up to the girl, leaving Léta up the road.

"Go back to the Guild, lass," Brynjolf was telling her, "If you want a job talk to old Delvin or Vex."

"Master Brynjolf is leaving with a stranger. This one is worried. Who is the black lady?" Her voice sounded paranoid and cautious, though Léta guessed more than anything, having a hard time figuring out the purring voices of that race.

"Léta is in the Guild, she just hasn't been in for a long time, and when she is she avoids me, so you probably never saw her."

Amber cat eyes stared at the woman. Léta tilted her head, not quite managing a friendly smile. She didn't make it a habit to be friendly with those that so openly disliked her.

"This one can't come with you?"

"No. We are already risking attention by traveling together, and I want you in Riften."

"I will go. Be careful."

"New student?" Léta asked, trying her best to sound neutral. It didn't fool him.

"Down girl," Bryn smiled. "Your jealousy is unnecessary. I haven't been able to find anyone quite up to your talent yet."

"Good, I was worried I had to kill her to maintain my position," she snorted, but the joke was greeted with unease. "I was kidding. Relax. I'm not quite as psychotic as you might want to believe. She seems like a good kitten."

"She's quick and enthusiastic, I'll admit," Brynjolf shrugged. "Usually the younger ones are in the beginning."

"Where did you find her?"

"R'aija just came to Skyrim with one of the caravans, wanted to see the world. Skyrim seemed to agree with her, so she stayed. I caught her trying to pull my purse off."

"So not a very good pickpocket, then?"

"Can you blame her for that failure?" Brynjolf shook his head in defense of the cub.

"I am being bitter, aren't I?" she hummed. "Don't mind me, I'm just feeling nostalgic. Is she always this protective of you, though?"

"She's been following me around like a lost kitten, to be honest. Kind of the way you did when I recruited you."

"I did no such thing. Besides, that was a long time ago."

"Three years is not that long, lass."

"Enough that things have changed."

"You looked so scared when you came to Riften for the first time that Maul actually felt sorry for you." Brynjolf grinned. "When I first saw you, you were just a slip of a girl, not even daring to cross the market circle."

"Yes, and now I'm a big, bad wolf that will eat your children," Léta snapped. "It's a nice little trip down the memory lane, Bryn, but don't we have a job to do?"

"You were also much warmer back then." He sighed.

"And you were much less sentimental." She got out a coin, and began to twist it around her fingers. "We were all young once, Brynjolf. Like your new cub."

"Come, now, Léta, cheer up a bit. Did you miss me so little that you tear at my throat the first chance you get?"

She couldn't hold a smile at that. "It's not that I didn't miss you. I just had a horrible month. Scratch that, the entire year somehow went crooked."

A moment later, Brynjolf suddenly asked "You're not going to tell me what happened in the Brotherhood, are you?"

"Delvin didn't tell you?"

"He keeps his mouth uncharacteristically closed."

"Good for him."

He sighed. "Something must have happened. You were never so unbearable before. You used to trust me."

She evasively said, "I used to trust a lot of people." Then, after a moment she let out a breath. "It's a messy story, Bryn. You don't want to hear it as much as I don't want to tell it, believe me. Let's just focus on our current task, alright?"

"It will take us the entire day to get to Windhelm at this pace- we have time to chat, for once. It's unfortunate that you don't seem to be as inclined to talk as you were before."

"I'm not that quiet," she protested. "I just don't like small-talk."

"Uh-huh. A few years ago you could have chattered until your tongue went numb, and then some. Like the time you hung onto Mercer for the entire day, talking about the most- ah, see, now I've upset you." He looked at her meaningfully, as though he had fully expected that turn of events.

"I'm not upset," she snapped, suddenly feeling tempted to just send the horse forward and leave the man behind.

"Yes, you are- you get that little wrinkle between your eyebrows anytime someone mentions Mercer." He stretched and arm between their horses, and tapped a patronizing finger on her forehead.

She automatically swatted his hand away. "You're imagining things."

The rare birch forests passed on either side as they traveled parallel to the eastern mountain range. The sun was pale and brought little warmth, though it was still only autumn here. The north was already covered with a deep layer of snow, and even the Nords were beginning to feel the cold. But in the Rift, the fall lasted longer, and the climate was closer to Cyrodiil than any other part of this road itself was quiet- traveling was becoming increasingly dangerous with the war and the dragons flying about, so everyone preferred to stay put. Bandits and highway men usually preyed on more crowded roads that this one, so they encountered no problems along the road so far.

"This doesn't look good," Brynjolf broke the silence eventually, when they have already been riding for a few hours. Léta looked up ahead, at where the settlement of Shor's Stone was coming up. "What the hell…?"

There was a barricade erected along the road, blocking passage to the village itself. Five Stormcloak soldiers were keeping guard on this side of it, some walking back and forth on a meaningless patrol, some just sitting playing cards on a crate. One was sitting away from them, sharpening his sword.

"Their camp is leagues away. What are they doing here?" the woman wondered out loud.

"Look, lass. Up there."

She followed his gesture to the yellow rag that was hung on the pole up above the wall. "An outbreak? Here? How could we not have heard in Riften?"

"Maybe we shouldn't stay to find out. Those boys look like they're bored enough to give us trouble."

"Too late. They noticed us," Léta muttered with disappointment. One of the men saw them when he glanced up the road, and waved down the others. All of them were looking at them expectantly, and they had no choice but to move towards them.

"Names?" One of them asked in a bored tone. "Destination?"

"We're just traveling to Windhelm. What's going on?" Brynjolf asked.

The man shrugged. "Outbreak of some disease or other."

"You don't know?" Léta furrowed her eyebrows. "What's happening?"

"Spots, coughs and fevers, is what's happening," another one grumbled. They seemed talkative enough, the boredom showing. "Must be serious. They sent for a mage from the college, he only just arrived today."

That was surprising. Nords by themselves were wary of mages, and under Ulfric, it was rare that they would ask one for help. They considered it beneath them to ask anyone not of their own race or ability for assistance.

"Load of good that did. He can't even cure the ones already afflicted." The voice that came from the third helmet was female.

"How many dead?" Brynjolf's voice took a businesslike turn.

"Five, and half of the rest are infected. Here, I'll fetch the wizard, he wants to talk to any travelers that come near the settlement."

One of them detached from the group and headed around the barricades into the village. Léta opened her mouth to call him back, but received a sharp glare from Brynjolf.

"He'll just make sure you walk away without any of it on you, ma'am," the female noticed her discomfort. "You'll be escorted around the village then, and you can be off on your way."

The traces of panic didn't leave the woman's face. Pulling up her hood would have looked suspicious now, and she felt the desperate desire to send the borrowed horse into a gallop somewhere away from the College mage.

But to her luck, the man was unfamiliar. He was a young Nord with short blond hair and hazel eyes, with a Journeyman's robes of the faculty of Restoration magics. Not anyone she could have easily crossed paths with in the school, even if they did happen to attend at the same time. He was also wearing thick gloves and a mask that he peeled off as soon he came outside of the wooden walls.

"Travelers?" he asked in a bored tone.

"Uh-huh. Heading to Windhelm."

"Good on you." He shrugged. He was looking them over with disregard, though his eyes did stop on Léta's face for a moment before moving on. "Jerret Blue-Fingers, College representative and supervisor, at your service."

"Windal Cold-Wind," Brynjolf lied smoothly.

"And your… companion? Wife?"

"Idris," she smiled sweetly, her face transforming into the image of a young, naïve little bride. "Formerly Indentry." She gave Brynjolf a false, overly-sweet look of adoration that made him choke on laughter. He quickly recovered with a cough.

"Right," the mage yawned, and picked up a notebook from the crates the guards were using for card games. "Strange pair, you are, traveling alone by this road. Not afraid of dragons, are you?"

"Of course we are!" Léta made huge eyes at him. "I'm simply terrified, and Windal is too, but he doesn't show it! But we have to get to Windhelm- Riften is so dirty and full of bandits, and thieves, and thugs, and rats! Oh, if only my poor father was still alive, he would have never let me spend one day in that horrible place! But my husband, he promised me that we can-"

"Alright, that's all that I needed to hear," the man hurried to cut her off. "Now, one second…" He moved closer to them, his hands raised. A blue glow enveloped them, "This will just make sure you're not infected, and should prevent infection for the next two days."

She knew what the spell was, though she couldn't use it herself. She stayed still as Jerret cast it on them, and the horses. After which he yawned again, put the mask back on, and walked away without another word.

"Let's go, I'll bring you around village," the female soldier waved them after her, and they followed her down the small trail that went east of the road. "You're right in getting away from Riften, you know. If someone set to weed out the rabble in that city, there would be mass executions everyday for the next two years."

Léta exchanged conspiratorial glances with Brynjolf. "Oh, yes, dangerous place. There was blood instead of water and disease-ridden corpses instead of cobble." The sudden change of tone from innocent and naïve to sarcastic and dry made the soldier look back at her in surprise. "We'll find our own way around, if you don't mind…"

The Stormcloak hesitantly nodded, and took a step off the trail, letting them pass through, before heading back the way she came from.

A few minutes later, when they were clear of the village, Brynjolf finally stopped repressing laughter.

"Which one of us should be selling rat droppings remains to be seen," she dead-panned, and then joined in his laughter.

The disease-ridden settlement was quickly brushed to the side. What did it really matter to them? If Maven had any bids in the place (which she probably did) she already knew of the outbreak. It was out of their hands, so the rest of the trip was made in a much easier atmosphere.