Author's Note: I've fussed and fussed with this chapter. Still not sure it flows the way I'd like. Drop me a review and let me know what you think!

16: Tangles With the Law

Grelka tried to keep her misery hidden but it oozed out in grouchiness and sharp comments. She wasn't sure how she'd ever repay Balimund and Mjoll, much less earn enough coin to try to buy Frost back. She hated Riften more every day. The market square was dirty and loud. There were Argonians and dark elves everywhere. And beggars. It was probably unfair to blame them for the stench. Everyone, rich or poor, Nord or beast race, not to mention the fishery and the meadery, dumped their waste into the canal. It was horrible. Locals didn't seem to even notice the smell but Grelka didn't think she would ever get used to it.

Mara help her if she ever did.

She worked hard most afternoons and evenings crafting armor from leather and bits of metal she scrounged from Balimund and other vendors around town. Mornings, she sat in her stand and hawked it. Sneak thieves were a constant danger. Once she might have felt pity for the starving kids who roamed the market begging and stealing but now she just felt a burning anger. How dare they steal from her? She didn't have anything either! She was a beggar too, and she hated, hated, hated it. I was someone in Whiterun. Here in Riften she was just another pathetic mark.

Mjoll had been her first customer. It wasn't right, charging her patroness when she had already done so much, but Mjoll had insisted. There wasn't time to do much fancy work but the armor turned out well enough and Mjoll was pleased to be, as she called it, a walking advertisement. Balimund said he'd talk to the city guard, maybe get her a contract to repair and refurbish their armor. She was not pleased at the idea of working for those corrupt ruffians but taking their coin—yes, she thought she could manage that.

There had been no news about Frost. Hofgrir at the stables had no idea where he'd been taken but he had put out feelers. The thieves stole his papers, she reminded herself. They knew how valuable Frost was. Someone was taking good care of him. Sooner or later they would race him or breed him and the small, gossipy racing community would pass the word. If it wasn't for the war putting a halt to racing, she would have no doubt heard something already. She hadn't been able to bring herself to write either her father or her aunt and tell them what happened. Not yet. They had troubles of their own, after all.

She was too ashamed to tell them. Any of her friends in Whiterun would help her but she'd have to tell them what happened. How she'd been tricked. And she was too ashamed. When she realized that, she was angrier than ever.

She trudged toward her stand, carrying a few pieces of basic armor to display. Custom work was where she excelled, but it would take a while to establish herself. By reflex she glanced at each of the other vendor's stands. She had no experience in arranging her displays to be attractive. I was spoiled in Whiterun. Everyone lined up to see Eorlund's new work. It was usually bespoke off the forge. She glanced at the jeweler's stand. And froze.

Right there in the case, for all to see, were her two dragon bone wedding rings! In incredulous shock and growing anger she stared at the vendor's face. His Argonian face. She recognized him by his horns. He was the lizard that had found her in the Ratway! The one Mjoll called Madesi.

She couldn't believe it. The armor dropped from her hands, forgotten.

"Those are my rings! You stole my rings!"

The Argonian blinked two sets of eyelids, inner and outer, one after the other. Grelka swallowed down nausea. "No, landstrider, I assure you—"

"You stole my rings and you have the nerve to sell them here! Right in front of me!"

Madesi stared at her, with no expression on his alien face. Surely only guilt could be so expressionless. She strode around the counter and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

"You pretended to help me and instead you robbed me? Is that why you were down there in the Ratway? Did you steal my coin purse as well?"

"There must be some mistake."

"Mistake?" She shook him. "You made a big damned mistake stealing from me. I made those rings, I would know them anywhere. Give them back now!"

He held up his hands, helplessly. Grelka's fury erupted. She punched him. He fell down. She tried to open the display case but it was locked. And then a rough grip yanked Grelka back on her heels. Two city guards had come up behind her. One slammed her against the low wall of the marketplace. Another twisted her arms behind her back and held her while the first guard stood over Madesi. He didn't bother to help the Argonian to his feet, she noticed through her red haze of fury.

"This lizard stole from me!"

"Shut up, you," the guard holding her said. "We're hauling you off to jail for assault."

"No, no," the Argonian said. "This is a mere misunderstanding. I am not pressing charges."

The guard facing him gave him an angry look then turned to Grelka. "You still must pay the fine for making a public disturbance." They hauled her off to Mistveil Keep and made her turn out her pockets. They took everything. Everything. Now she wouldn't even get a drink tonight unless she mooched it from one of her new friends. She returned to her stand seething with fury and humiliation. The Argonian had already left, she was glad to see. Assuming the armor she dropped had been taken by thieves, she was surprised when a dark elf brought it to her.

"Here," he said. "My name is Brand-Shei."

"Thanks," she said gruffly. "You have the stand next to me."

"Yes. Madesi asked me to be sure you got your merchandise back."

"Did he," Grelka growled.

Brand-Shei gave her a tentative look. "There is something I would like to explain, if you will listen?" She nodded. "You are new to Riften and have already run afoul of the Thieves Guild." He looked around to check for eavesdroppers. And then he explained how business was run in the market. The shakedowns she knew about. Balimund had already warned her that the guild would expect a cut of what she made. Think of it as tax, lass. You pay the jarl and you pay the guild. That keeps everything running smoothly.

She hadn't understood about the fencing.

"They bring things to us and we have to buy them. They set the price. And if we refuse—well—we may find ourselves framed for crimes we didn't commit. I myself just recently got out of jail. Sometimes our supplies are intercepted and stolen. We may even be set upon by thugs. Madesi would not have stolen your rings. I know him. He wouldn't have done that. But he has already lost almost all he has. He can't risk standing up to the Thieves Guild. And he can't afford to simply give the rings to you."

"I guess I owe him an apology," she said. "But why do you stay in Riften? Other cities aren't like this, surely."

The dark elf shrugged. "Where would we go? This is our home. And other cities are not so accepting of Argonians or Dunmer. Jarl Ulfric incites war because Skyrim is not free. For us, it has never been free."

Madesi hadn't come back that afternoon so Grelka didn't get a chance to apologize. Brand-Shei told her the Argonian slept down in the Ratway at night.

"I know the beggars sleep down there but surely he can afford a place in town. There are other Argonians staying at Haelga's Bunkhouse."

"He and Haelga had—some trouble," the dark elf said. Then in a whisper, "Haelga was curious about how Argonians, ahem, differ from humans. In, ahem, an intimate sense. And Madesi didn't share her curiosity." He gave her a sideways look. "Haelga doesn't appreciate rejection."

Grelka shook her head. And she thought she had problems. At least she didn't have that lusty old hagraven making advances. Things could be worse. And she'd actually had a paying customer that day (a friend of Mjoll's, no doubt) so she spent the afternoon customizing the fit of his armor. She looked idly across the market square as she worked and there he was! That cursed thief Brynjolf! She threw down her borrowed tools and strode purposefully towards him. She'd come quite close when he looked up and caught her intense glare. "Oh, no you don't," she muttered as he turned rapidly and tried to disappear into the thin afternoon crowd. He picked up the pace. She ran. "Stop!" she yelled and then she was close enough to grab his sleeve. He whirled around.

"Something I can do for you, lass?" They were right in front of the Temple of Mara.

"You can give me back my horse!"

She released his sleeve and buried both hands in the front of his shirt.

"Excuse me?"

How dare he pretend to be innocent and bewildered! She might have doubted her own memory but she didn't doubt that wicked, mischievous look in his eyes. "Don't take that tone with me! I know what you did!"

"Do I know you, lass?"

"You don't remember buying me a drink? Don't you dare lie to me! What did you do to me? Did you drug me? It was in the drink, wasn't it?"

"I'm sorry, lass, I don't know what you're talking about." He didn't look nervous at all. He looked smug. Grelka felt fury steam out of her ears. He looked at something over her shoulder and he had the effrontery to smile. Grelka ground her teeth. She hauled back and let him have it, right in the face. His nose crunched and blood spurted out. He covered his nose with both hands and stepped back with no move to defend himself. What a coward! She raised her fist again.

"By Talos you will tell me where you took my horse or I'll turn your face into jelly!"

She never heard the guard behind her, didn't know he was there until he tackled her.

"You've had your warning, fool," he growled in her ear. From her awkward position on the ground, she saw other booted feet approach. "Now we're going to do this the hard way."

The first boot took her in the ribs. The next was in the back. They only kicked her half a dozen times and they spared her face. She supposed she was lucky. They told her she was.

"Next time we'll kick the crap out of you. Give us any trouble, we'll do it now."

Brynjolf stood and watched as the guards dragged her to her feet and hauled her to the jail. He said not a word, neither to her nor to the guards. His expression was neutral, neither gloating nor distressed.

Grelka steamed. Is this nothing but business to you? I'll see if I can't make it personal.

Grelka had never been to jail before. A female guard took her to a small room and made her strip. They took her armor, her belt knife, all the coin she'd made that day. They gave her filthy rags a beggar would have found shameful. They're trying to humiliate me, she realized. I won't show anything. She tried to make her face as impassive as an Argonian as the guard led her down the row of cells. The cells were mercifully unoccupied for the most part, except for a large one at the end. A cell with—curtains? From behind the curtain she heard a woman's heart-breaking sobs. And then, a man's laugh.

Grelka stiffened. The guard also stiffened. She rattled her keys, looking for the one to the cell opposite the curtains. Alerted by the sound, the curtain opened. A man came forward. Unlike Grelka, he was richly dressed.

"You there," the man said. Grelka was astonished to see that he was addressing the guard in the same tones she'd heard rich travelers order a horse from the stable. And Grelka was even more astonished to see the guard turn in deference.

"Lord Black-Briar?" the guard said.

"Take this wench away. She's useless and much too whiny." He turned. "You there. Out."

From the back of the cell, a battered woman crept out. She didn't wear the skimpy prisoner garb Grelka wore, but her suggestive outfit was torn and bloodstained. The guard turned her back on Grelka and opened the man's cell. The woman whimpered and limped out.

"No sport at all," the man complained. He looked around the guard and saw Grelka. "Well, well, well. What have we here?"

"She's a prisoner," the guard said shortly. "Not a whore."

"So?" the man said. "I don't insist on paying. She looks like a talented amateur to me. Tell me, sweetie, are you a whiner?" Grelka gave him a haughty look. "I thought not. I can always tell. Let me introduce myself," he continued. "I'm Sibbi Black-Briar." Obviously that was supposed to mean something to her. "So what brings you to this fine correctional facility?"

When she didn't answer, the helpful guard said, "Assault."

"Assault?" Sibbi grinned. "How lovely. And who did you assault? A former lover, perhaps? Some faithless churl?"

"She punched Brynjolf in the market," the guard said. "Broke his nose."

"Brynjolf? The thief?" Sibbi laughed. "And I'm sure he deserved to be assaulted. I've wanted to hit him anytime these past five years but, alas, fate has always intervened. Having trouble with the Thieves Guild, are you, sweetie? Come here and be nice to your new friend Sibbi. I can make all your problems go away."

"No thanks," Grelka said.

Sibbi turned to the guard. "Put her in here." Grelka's stomach dropped. To her relief, the guard shook her head.

"Lady Black-Briar said—"

"Good old 'mother' doesn't have to know a thing."

Grelka gave the guard a look. "Put me in with him and I won't just be in here for assault. It will be for murder."

Grelka was serious but Sibbi laughed. "That's the spirit!" He looked at the guard. "Tie her hands behind her back and put her in here. I'll make it worth your while." The guard continued to hesitate. "I get what I want. You know I do. But for today, I'll let it slide. I'm not really up for another little party just yet. Tomorrow's another story." He winked at Grelka. "See you later, sweetie."

The guard took her to another cell, one out of eyesight of Sibbi's luxurious den. "I'm doing you a favor," she hissed. "Behave and you'll be out tomorrow morning. But cause me any trouble, any trouble at all, and I'll see that you spend tomorrow night with Sibbi there. You won't like it, not one little bit."

Grelka didn't say a word. Her entire body was rigid with self control. But inside, she trembled. Madness had stared from Sibbi Black-Briar's skeever-like eyes. For perhaps the first time in her life, she was afraid. Deeply, truly afraid. And she realized she was not going to cause trouble. Not any trouble at all.

Grelka felt the stares and the smirks of the guards when she trudged back to her market stall the next day. Maybe she imagined them. This is beyond ridiculous, she thought. This is stupid. Why am I here? They steal every septim I make. I need to go back to Whiterun. In Whiterun I can get ahead, send Mjoll and Balimund what I owe them. I'm never going to win at this crooked game. I'm never going to get Frost back, never going to get anything back. I need to go home. What's keeping me here other than stubborn pride?

She slammed the armor she was carrying on her counter in a haphazard pile.

"Want to live to tell about it?" she shouted. The guard who lounged across from her stall jumped. "Buy armor from Grelka," she called to no one in particular.

The morning dragged on. Grelka's landlady crossed the square to join her.

"That scowl of yours is scaring off the customers," Haelga said.

Grelka grunted. Mara help me, I sound just like Eorlund.

"You should learn to relax," Haelga said. "Enjoy life. Something wonderful might happen at any moment."

"Yeah," Grelka said. "Riften might burn to the ground again."

"Is that any way to talk? Besides, Riften won't burn. We have a fire pump. Paid double tax to the jarl this year for it." Haelga leaned over the counter in a move calculated to display a generous amount of cleavage. Grelka could practically see the waves of hatred flowing from all the married ladies in the square. Grelka found Haelga's company trying at the best of times. On a positive note, her presence had driven off the pickpockets. Haelga was chattering about some man—there was always some man—and although she didn't name names she usually dropped enough broad clues that names were quite unnecessary. Grelka let this flow over her like the wind. And then Haelga froze in mid-conquest, so to speak.

"Oh, my," she said.

Grelka didn't look up from the gauntlet she was reinforcing. "Fresh meat?" she asked.

"Oh, the freshest. Look at those shoulders! Look at those thighs!"

Grelka sighed.

"He just came out of the temple. He's going to the smithy. You know, I think I need some nails. Was just thinking that this morning. I could really use some nails."

"In case you need to get hammered?" Grelka muttered. Luckily Haelga wasn't listening.

"He's talking to Balimund. Nice face. Nice arms. Nice tight bu—er, everything. Not too sure about the beard but I'm sure I've got a razor around somewhere. Oh! He's looking this way! Do I look all right?" Haelga bit her lips and adjusted her blouse to show more of her charms. "Oh, Dibella, yes! He's coming this way! He's smiling at me!"

Grelka finally looked up. Her mouth opened in a silent O. She mouthed his name. Thorald? The crowd parted for him in a congenial way it never parted for her. He's gotten so big! Has he always been that big? And then he was right before her, with those bright blue eyes and open smile. And scruffy beard. Divines, would it ever grow in properly? And then his arms were around her waist and her arms were around his neck. For a moment, a brief moment, Riften and the rest of the horrible world went away.

But then the horrible world was back, tugging at her sleeve.

"Who's your friend?" Haelga asked.

Grelka ignored her. "So. Are we making up?"

Thorald's laugh was a rumble against her chest. "Of course."

"Just like that? What, no flowers, no candy? No liquor?"

"What was I thinking?" And then, before the increasingly interested crowd, he dropped to one knee and broke into a sappy old love song. Grelka nudged his shoulder.

"Shut up! Shhh! What are you doing?" she hissed.

He grinned and continued singing as if she hadn't interrupted. His voice, his fine, clear voice, rose over the square. At the dramatic finale, the crowd burst into applause. His teeth flashed. "I'm really sorry for being such a fool," he told her. "Please forgive me."

For a moment she couldn't speak but he seemed satisfied by what he saw in her face. "So that's settled then, I hope," he said. He got up, brushed off his knees. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

At that point Haelga broke in. "If you need a place to stay, I have a private room at my bunkhouse. Your, uh, friend here is staying there as well."

Grelka was perfectly aware that the only private room at the bunkhouse was Haelga's nasty little love nest.

"Maybe we could go to the inn?" he suggested. "I've had a long ride and my tongue's hanging out. If I don't get a drink soon, I can't answer for the consequences."

"I'm banned," she said shortly.

"You're banned from the inn? You?" Grelka gave a miserable nod. "That must be quite the story. Is there a tavern?"

"Only the Ragged Flagon," Haelga said.

"I can't go there either," Grelka said.

"At the stables they said there's a meadery in town," Thorald said. "I expect they have a tasting room."

"No!"

Thorald blinked. "How long have you been in Riften? Sounds like you've been busy." Grelka felt tears come to her eyes.

"Oh, Thorald, I've made such a mess of things! This awful town! They stole my horse and my money and everything! Even my tools!"

"They threw your tools in the canal," Haelga said. Grelka turned.

"What?"

"Yeah, your clothes, tools, everything they didn't want. Right over the rail." She pointed. Somehow that made everything worse. One hot tear spilled over. Thorald took Grelka's arm.

"Find us someplace to talk," he said.

They ended up at the end of a deserted dock with a couple of bottles of ale.

"Enough of my tale of woe," she said when she finally unburdened herself. "Why are you in Riften? How did you know I was here?"

Thorald choked back the fury that had been building ever since he saw Grelka fighting tears in the market square. Grelka, in tears! He would have rather faced the World-Eater.

"No one would tell me but Aela dropped a hint," he said. "But I'm here on business as well."

"Stormcloak business?" she asked.

"Not exactly." He decided this was not the best time to get into a discussion about dragons and being the Dragonborn. Whatever that meant. "I'm looking for someone. He's said to be in a place called the Ratway. Do you know it?"

He saw Grelka shudder. "Don't go in that place alone."

"I have a friend who is going to help me," he said. "As soon as he gets healed up."

"Oh, yeah? I'm coming too."

"Fine," he said. "But that's for later. I do have some other things I have to take care of first. Are you going to be okay?"

"I am now," she said. "Get a room at the Bee and Barb. Whatever you do, don't come to Haelga's Pit of Oblivion. She'll have you undressed before you can say 'Shor, Help Me!'."

"Undressed? What do you mean?"

"Don't ask. And hold onto your coin purse, for Mara's sake. There's a pickpocket on every corner."

Thorald knew the name of the ranking Stormcloak officer, Vulwulf Snow-Shod. Thorald met him at the inn and was swept off to a private room upstairs. The man was older than Thorald expected, and he wondered when he had last seen active service. He was knowledgeable however. Thorald shared his concerns for the city's defense, not just from the Empire but from dragons.

"The city guard walks the town in Stormcloak colors," Vulwulf warned. "But don't let that fool you. These are Maven Black-Briar's men first and Ulfric's second. A long second at that. You want to get anything done in this town, you go talk to Maven. Don't bother with that ice-brained jarl of ours. And don't bother with that poncy elf of a steward. You go talk to Maven. She's got a decent head on her shoulders, Maven does. There's a group of concerned citizens in town, led by a warrior called Mjoll. Might be worth talking to her. But Maven's the real law in this town. You mess with her, you'll be in jail. If you're lucky."

"And if you're not lucky?"

Vulwulf's smile turned from serious to grim. "Face down in the canal," he said.

This confirmed what Etienne had told him on their long ride across Skyrim. According to him, Maven Black-Briar ran not just the Thieves Guild but the Rift itself as her own personal treasure house, to be used or plundered at will. And this is the woman you serve above Jarl Ulfric? For it was clear that Vulwulf admired Maven Black-Briar. Thorald didn't like the thought of dealing with her. But he was refused an appointment with the guard captain. At Mistveil Palace, he did get a few minutes of the steward's time. He told her he'd come from Whiterun and had been involved in the city's fight against the dragon. But as soon as he mentioned he had ties to the Companions (which he thought would be a helpful credential) she became unaccountably chilly.

"Looking for a contract, are you?" she said down her nose. "Let me assure you, the city's defense is excellent. Our jarl has everything under control. We have no need for your 'services'."

And he couldn't get her to listen. He had no choice but to tackle the matriarch herself.

To Thorald's surprise, he had no difficulty in arranging a meeting with Maven. She invited him to her house. He wasn't sure what he had expected but what he found was a commanding woman with an intelligent look to her. She listened to what he had to say in silence.

"So you offer to share your experience fighting dragons with the city's guard. And what do you expect in return?"

"In return?" Thorald asked.

"What payment do you expect?"

"I'm not looking for a job! These dragons are dangerous. They must be stopped. I'm asking for a chance to teach what I know."

"Ah. I see. Very well, Thorald Gray-Mane. I see no harm in this and possibly some good. I will speak with the steward and she will make sure that our guard captain sets up a meeting. Is there anything else?"

"There is a personal matter."

"Ah." Her lips curved to mimic a smile.

"I understand you have recently purchased a horse. His name is Frost. I would like to buy that horse from you."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

Grelka said men in Black-Briar livery had taken Frost. Or so she'd been told. "You may have been given a forged bill of sale for the horse. May I ask how much he cost?"

Maven's eyes turned from cold and assessing to downright steely. "I said I don't know what you're talking about."

Thorald wasn't by nature easily daunted but he could feel his resolve wither under that gaze. Particularly when he realized that his coin purse wouldn't possibly stretch to purchase a horse, even if she had offered it to him.

"I see," Thorald said. "Well, I thank you for your time."

Once Thorald Gray-Mane left, Mercer Frey stepped out from behind the long window curtain.

"You heard all that?" Maven asked him.

"I did."

"So this is the young man the Thalmor are raising such a fuss about? Interesting. "

"This is the so-called Dragonborn?" Mercer said. "Didn't look too impressive to me. Typical beefy brainless Nord." At Maven's raised brows, he added, "No offense. But Dragonborn? Sounds like a load of superstitious nonsense."

"Who can say? The Dragonborn is a legend but so too are dragons. Yet dragons have been sighted at several places across Skyrim. Perhaps the Dragonborn is real as well. And he's a Stormcloak. Rising fast through the ranks. I hear Ulfric's crusty old general thinks Thorald Gray-Mane hung the moons. It takes more than a little to impress Galmar Stone-Fist. Or perhaps you think the general is yet another beefy, brainless Nord?"

"What do you think this man really wants?" Mercer asked, after a pause too sterile to be called pregnant.

"If I'm not mistaken," she said slowly, "He wants to be a hero." Mercer laughed. Maven did not.

"Come now. A hero?" Mercer scoffed. "In this day and age? Next you'll say he's in the service of the gods."

"Yes, a hero. I don't know who he serves. Let's wait and see what happens before taking any definitive action. He's going to be a thorn or an asset."

"Or both," Mercer said.

"As you say. But we know how to deal with thorns. And speaking of thorns." She gave him a slow, long look. "If this business with the horse comes back to bite me, I will not be pleased. Your guild has failed me again and again, Mercer. I'm beginning to question if there is any profitability in our continued relationship."

After Mercer left, Maven sent for Anuriel.

"That horse Brynjolf brought, is it still at the lodge?" she asked abruptly. Anuriel was not pleased at having to excuse herself from Laila, who was under the mistaken belief that she was actually her employer. Too many excuses lately. Laila was peeved. She didn't yell. Anuriel could handle yelling. She whined.

"I believe so," she said.

"Put it on the first ship to Solitude," Maven said.

"Solitude?"

"Yes, it shall be a wedding present for the emperor's cousin. Have them put a ribbon in its mane or something."

"I don't believe horses travel well by ship," Anuriel said.

"No? We don't want the damned thing dying or arriving sick," Maven said. "Then I'd have to come up with another gift. Very well. Have it travel with the next mead shipment to Solitude. Tell Maul I want him to see to this personally. I want that horse out of here."

"There will be a shipment in a couple of days, I believe."

"Good."

"Is there a problem about the horse?"

"There better not be."