Elder Scroll series 1. Chapter 1

Imperial City Waterfront, Cyrodil, Rains hand 3E 428

As docks go, the Imperial City waterfront was less chaotic than most. Despite being situated at the capital city of the empire, most ships that graced its shores were trade ships, their journeys short and regular and their sailors less society-starved than those that infested the docks at Anvil or Senchal. Also, now that the Blight curse in Morrowind was finally at an end, there were less shiploads of people fleeing the disease, and less fuss caused by the lack of trust between Dunmer refugees and Imperial watchmen.

So apart from the usual ripples in the peace caused by pickpockets, gossips and over-enthusiastic hagglers, the waterfront was calm. For now.

The disturbance was brought about by a blur of grey-green cloth, pink skin and suppressed giggles which came tearing through the scene, more like some furtive little creature than a child. Two sailors carrying a crate onto a ship found themselves almost bowled over by the running figure, and yelled curses at her as she raced up the stone steps to the other side of the curved wall. On the other side of the dock, a Nord girl stood facing the wall, counting out loud: "1...2...3...4..."

Crouched low to the ground, 7 year old Lettie Feucomme scrabbled alongside the thick wall which separated the sailors and traders with the people living in the tiny shacks facing away from the docks. It was in one of these shacks that she often slept, though she couldn't be said to inhabit one in particular. A few of the people on the Waterfront owned one for themselves– Armand Christophe, a Redguard and Doyen of the thieves guild, for instance, owned his own house and had filled it with his belongings. Well, the word 'belongings' is used loosely here. They belonged to someone, at least.

But generally, those who didn't have the 2000 gold available to buy a house ate, slept and sheltered in whichever of the decrepit buildings wasn't too crowded. It was hardly ideal, but ideals are for those for whom the basics are granted, and this was certainly not the case for the small community of people that Lettie called herself part of. And in the end, even though it was small, tucked away and entirely inhabited by the dregs that form at the bottom of society, it was still a community, and one that would look out for each other, and give each other room to sleep when room was available.

Somewhere in the distance, Lettie could still hear her friend Erica counting to 10 for the third time. She stood with her back to the world, with one hand over her eyes, and with the other hand outstretched, fingers uncurling one by one as she counted. "3...4...5," then swapped her hands over and counted, "6...7...8...9...10!" Then with characteristic Nord lungs, she bellowed "COMING READY OR NOT!!!"

Somewhere far off, the other boy taking part in the game, a tiny Bosmer, yelled "Cheater! You said you'd count four times!", then seemed to let the issue drop in favour of finding a hiding place before Erica came hurtling after his cry. However, he needn't have worried, since as far as the two girls were concerned, they were playing hide and seek and he'd just joined in because they had had the grace to let him. He could hide as long as he liked, but the chances of them actually coming to find him were minimal.

Meanwhile, Lettie had scuttled round one of the shacks and into the Garden of Dareloth, a fancy name given to what was basically a bush and some grass with a low wall around it. Behind this wall was generally considered a good hiding place, but Lettie had bigger ambitions. Instead, she jumped up onto the wall, and wedged herself in the space between two ridges in the larger wall behind it. Then, with some difficulty, she manoeuvred herself so she had her neck and shoulders up against one ridge and her bare feet against another, then walked herself up until she was a good nine feet above the ground. There, in the shadow of the overhanging stone and outside of most people's field of vision, she was almost invisible.

And not a moment too soon, for as soon as she had got herself into this position did Erica come into view, walking slowly and looking all around her, running to look in every crate or barrel she could see, even those too small for Lettie's slender frame. Never looking up, though, Lettie noticed. People usually didn't. They seemed to forget that the world went on going past the tops of their heads.

After a good 10 minutes or so of intense searching, checking every place at least twice as though she could somehow have missed her playmate first time around, Erica was beginning to get frustrated, and Lettie's back was getting worn raw by the stone it was pressed up against. But in Lettie's world, stubbornness conquered all, so she endured the scratching until Erica sat down on the low wall with an infuriated screech, and said the magic words "Oh, okay! I give up."

There was a delighted yell and then a one of momentary pain as Lettie let go of the wall and fell to earth with a bump. Surprised and annoyed at this, Erica pounced on her and pinned her down, laughing the whole time. Amid cries of "Hey!" and "Gettoff!" and "Not fair!", Lettie wriggled one hand free from beneath her, summoned up what little magicka she had under her control, grabbed Erica's nose and let fly with a fire spell. It wasn't a very good one – the lack of any sign of flames made the scene look quite comic to passersby, and without the control of age or proper teaching Lettie burnt her own hand more than she did Erica's nose. But the second or so of heat was enough to make Erica let go with a squeal and roll away. She touched her nose gingerly while her friend laughed.

"You made it peel!" she said reproachfully, then "That's not proper fighting."

"Yes it is!"

"No its'not!"

"Yes it is!"

On the Waterfront, it was generally believed that you use everything in your arsenal while fighting, even if it was just play-fighting. It was why there was no objections to Erica periodically rugby tackling her friend, even though she was three years her senior and almost twice as tall. It was also why Lettie was right, and Erica knew it. Still bruised from defeat, she said "You are so sneaky!"

Lettie jumped up and said "There's nothin' wrong with being a sneak." This was a phrase repeated often by Othrelos, a Dark Elf who could often be seen hanging around the market place. He'd teach others how to sneak too, for a price, and seemed to find some sort of pleasure in reminding the guards that he wasn't breaking the law, oh no, there was nothing wrong with being a sneak.

Erica had heard him say this often enough to get the joke, and forgot her defeat as she laughed at the playful mockery of another thieves' guild member.

"You just keep thinking like that and we'll make you a Prowler of you yet." This remark came from the entrance to the 'garden', and was said in the quiet, smooth accent of a Redguard. Armand was leaning on the wall, watching the two of them. He laughed as both of them jumped round to face him. They were an odd pair – the only similarity between them was the mud on their faces. Even at the age of ten, it was already clear that Erica would be a stunner once she hit growth spurt. Her hair was a shade of such pale blonde that it almost matched her pale Nord skin, while Lettie was quite ruddy for a Breton. This skin didn't seem to match her bright red hair, which was permanently tangled. Red hair usually comes with green eyes, but Lettie looked at the world through eyes that were marbled in different shades of brown, like polished wood.

The moment that Armand mentioned the guild, both girls forgot their joke and jumped at the opportunity to pester him. Both had tried their hand at pick pocketing a couple of times, and had often been taken along to distract shop-owners while older members pocketed items from the shelves, but the idea of having an active role in a heist was one that they both fantasised about.

"Ooh!" Lettie shrieked, "Does that mean I can go on jobs with Marc now?"

"Me too, Armand," Erica added indignantly, "You know that Mandil taught me to pick locks? Well I'm getting really good at it, I only broke two last time..."

"Keep it down." Armand said, his voice rising ever so slightly to compete with the young girls' pleads. It wasn't a request, and it wasn't a threat. It certainly calmed them both down, though, and before they managed to spill all the guild's secrets to any snooping watchmen that might be nearby. When he was certain they were subdued, he continued in a hushed voice.

"Right now, you're too young. Yes, you too Erica. You keep," he paused deliberately, "practising, and perhaps you'll be needed once I know you have what it takes. Remember, we work alone. Even if you happen to be in the same place and with the same goal, and even part of the same plan, you are still alone. You have to be able to look after yourself, because no one will do it for you." He paused, and was met with two blank faces. Evidently the vast proportion of this speech had gone over their heads. With a wave of his hand, he said "Off you go." They went without question, giggling once they thought they were out of earshot.

Armand smiled to himself. In his 30 years as Doyen, he had seen several guild members' children or younger siblings grow up and take their place in the world, and no matter how hard he tried he still found himself picking out the ones he reckoned would be most useful, even at these girls' tender ages. With those climbing abilities, even now he could see that once Lettie was old enough to pick locks, she could prove invaluable for getting to hard to reach items – she was quick on her feet too, courtesy of being born under the sign of the thief. To many this would seem an amusing coincidence, for a thief-born to become a thief, but Armand had seen so many use the extra nimbleness granted by that sign to make their way in his business that he often wondered if the tendency or the name had come first.

Ha, he thought, leave that to the book-worms at the university.

---


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Special thanks to my beta, aquaphoenix. She is responsible for spotting my spelling mistakes. She's also responsible for the copious use of semi-colons throughout the chapter. :P**

Imperial City Waterfront, Cyrodil, Heartfire 3E 431

Travellers to and from the city tended to stop at Wawnet inn, it being the first inn you came across on the way into the city, just before the huge stone bridge connecting the metropolis to the rest of the world. But now it was late in the afternoon, and the stream of customers had all but ceased. Behind the inn, Lettie sat on a wood-worm eaten chair, with a bucket held between her knees. She looked out over Lake Rumare; the Wayshrine of Julianos was faintly visible on the other side, and the rapidly setting sun was sending sparks over the rippling water. She should be getting home soon.

She glanced down at the bucket, and a recently killed slaughter-fish suspended in the water looked back at her. With her heavy jaw set in concentration, she laid her palms gingerly on the surface of the water and felt the gentle fizz of magicka, as she let a steady stream of frost-spell spill from her fingertips. It took a few minutes, but by the time she was done the water in the bucket was frozen solid, the slaughter-fish still staring out at her with huge, glassy eyes. She blew hard on her hands to get rid of the lingering ice crystals, and tipped the bucket upside down, leaving the large, irregular ice-cube with several others beside her.

This was her summer job – Aelwin Merowald, an aging fisherman, had realised he could wait until morning to sell a particularly large catch if he froze them overnight. Lettie, who even at that tender age could see her opportunity to make some gold, would sit for hours and freeze bucket after bucket of slaughter-fish. Aelwin appreciated it, as it gave him more time to catch the sneaky little things.

Lettie ambled over to the water, bucket in hand, and scooped up a fresh supply of water. She walked back to her seat, dropped a slaughter-fish into the bucket and started the whole ritual again. She must have performed it hundreds of times this summer, but contrary to what you might expect, she rarely found it boring. She relished the chance to just let her hands work away and to let her mind wander.

Granted, it never wandered into the territory of what you might call deep philosophical thought; she was only 11, after all. She mostly thought up hypothetical adventures; running away with pirates, fighting dragons, you know the sort. The closest to home her imaginings ever took her was to daydreams of that illusive, first proper heist.

One of these days, surely one of these days, Armand would come to her and say 'Lettie, we need to steal some rich bloke's magical heirloom, and your special skills make you the only girl for the job.' Oh, it would be heroic, dare-devil, perfect! She would elude tens of thousands of trained guards, sneak past all possible methods of security, crack open locks with liquid ease. And then, in the moment when she is just about to lay her hands on the expensive, no, _priceless_ artefact, then she would know for sure that _she_ was the best.

In the real world, the smile that was threatening to cut the top of her head off quickly vanished as she was snapped out of her child's reverie by Aelwin. He was heaving two more slaughter-fish off his boat and calling to her:

"This'll be the last batch today, love; sun's almost down. You'll want to get back to your brothers, yes?"

"Yeah, sure," Lettie got the last two done relatively quickly as Aelwin moored his boat. Just as he was about to go into the inn, he heard an indignant little cough behind him. Lettie was stood with one hand outstretched. Remembering with an 'Oh!', Aelwin fished around in his waders for his money pouch. He tipped out five gold into his rough hand and placed it into her young one. There was a pause, during which Letties hand remained stubbornly open, and her brown eyes remained fixed on his.

"Ah, I know that look," Aelwin chuckled to himself as he fished out another five coins, "Armand has taught you well."

Lettie considered saying 'Please, I teach myself,', but she knew not to push it. Besides, it wasn't true.

As she walked back along the bridge, she balanced along the brick wall like a tightrope walker. If her mother had been alive and here, Lettie was certain she would have cried out in panic at how perilously close she was to falling into the lake. At least, Lettie liked to think that she would have. It was the sort of things mothers ought to do.

Just then, she noticed another figure walking along the bridge, coming the other way, illuminated by the torches places at intervals along the bridge. She squinted in the dim light. The figure was tall, but there wasn't much of him. He had the thin, stretched look that came with having grown a lot in a short period of time. Lettie grinned; she recognised that ungainly trot. It was her brother, Florrie.

Florrie's real name was Florian, a good Breton name, however painfully difficult to shorten. Somehow, Florrie had ended up with quite possibly the only shortened version that was even more effeminate than Flo, and was having trouble getting rid of it.

"Hey there," Lettie said, looking down on him from the wall, "You looking for me?"

"'Course," Florrie replied, "Actually, Armand asked me to come and find you." Lettie's heart-rate cranked up a couple of notches. Could this be it?

"What about?" she asked in a voice she would have thought nonchalant, had she known the word.

"Well, Dovyn's thought up another endeavour," this was something of a code-phrase, among the thieves of the Waterfront, "Armand said you might be ready to come along."

What? Was that it?

"He didn't mention any particular reason, did he?" Lettie asked hopefully. _Special skills, special skills, special skills..._

"Not really," Florrie shrugged, "Marc's been saying that you ought to start sometime."

Oh well, it had been worth a try.

"Usual place?" she asked. Dareloth Gardens, Midnight. The meeting place and time was common knowledge among local thieves' guild members.

"Usual place," Florrie confirmed, "Come on, I'll walk back with you."

Lettie was woken by Florrie at a few minutes to midnight. By the time they arrived at Dareloth Gardens, Dovyn Aren and their brother Marc were already there. If the name doesn't give any indication, Dovyn was a Dunmer, and had been a member of the thieves' guild for over 40 years. He didn't live on the waterfront like Armand, but he never considered himself too high up to involve Waterfront dwellers in his heists. Marc had been his regular help almost since he and his younger siblings had arrived.

At 19, Marc was shorter yet than 14 year old Florrie, but was stockily built, which along with his dark hair, cut to about half an inch from his scalp, gave him an appearance reminiscent of a cannon ball. This appearance suited his general demeanour; if he saw any impediment to his happiness, or the happiness of his siblings, his tendency was to break noses first and ask questions later, if at all. It was for this reason that Florrie, despite his far-from-macho appearance, never had any trouble if his big brother might be around, to butt in and deal with the situation the cannon-ball way.

They exchanged a brief greeting, but then none of them spoke until Armand appeared, carrying a torch in one hand. He greeted them, then said: "Alright. Now that we're all assembled, I'll let Dovyn tell us about his plan." He glanced at Dovyn; there was respect there.

Dovyn stepped forward. His hair was grey, but the real indication of his age was in the creases in his features. His dark elf skin had lost its bluish tone of youth, but there was still an unmistakable spark in his eye. He glanced around the small group, and then spoke:

"This job is quite simple. There's a jewellery shop, been open for a few years now. The Red Diamond Jewellery, owned by one Hamlof Red-tooth." They all nodded, including Lettie. She'd always thought that 'Red Diamond' was a bit of a silly name. A red diamond was a ruby, wasn't it?

"I've already cased the place," Dovyn continued, "Most of the cabinets are easily opened with spells…"

"Well then, he's just asking for it," Lettie interrupted, excitement briefly getting the better of her, "He should know to have a key for everything." There was an awkward silence, and Lettie knew immediately that she'd said the wrong thing. A true thief shouldn't try and excuse themselves by implying it was the mark's fault.

Dovyn gave her a bemused glance, but continued without comment.

"_As I was saying_, I will be able to open most of them, but there are two that are key-only. Hamlof must keep the key in his private quarters."

This time is was Marc's turn to butt in: "Well, Lettie's the littlest here. And she's a good sneak – she can have a look for it." Armand raised an eyebrow, but turned to Dovyn for the verdict.

"Are you sure? Hamlof will be asleep in there."

Marc turned to Lettie, who nodded vigorously.

"Yes, I'm sure. I trust her."

Dovyn shrugged. His thoughts were pretty clear: _If he wants to get his sister caught, why should I stop him?_ "So be it. Lettie can look for the key, and anything else that might fetch a good price," He pointed to Marc, "You can load the loot from the shop, maybe the basement as well," and then to Florrie, "You can cast a good detect life spell, yes? You stand watch." There was a murmur of agreement, then Armand spoke again.

"Well, it seems your plan doesn't break any of the guild rules. Hamlof is not a member of the guild, he's certainly not poor, and I _assume_," he cast a significant glare round the group, "that none of you intend to kill him. You have my approval."

"Ok, then," said Dovyn, "I have it on good authority – that is, that of one of the beggars in the market district - that Hamlof is late to bed most nights, so we'll meet at 1:00 am tomorrow night. Shadow hide you."

The group returned the salutation before departing. Lettie just got out of Armand's line of sight before high spirits took over. She laughed out loud, and cart-wheeled back to the shack where Erica was sleeping.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up!" She shook her until her sleep-mumbling gave way to half-muffled complaints.

"Wha's happening? S'there a fire?"

"Shut up!" Lettie exclaimed, still grinning, "I'm gonna be on a heist! A proper heist! I'm a proper thief now!"

Erica gave her a long, hard stare. "Good. Now go to bed."


	3. Chapter 3

**To the one person who reviewed the story last time: Thankyou! And as a reward, the Bosmer kid is back. And he has a name.**

Imperial City, Cyrodil, Heartfire 3E 432

The next day, Lettie woke up at a normal time. She had slept all the way through the night, had had no extraordinary dreams and had appetite enough for the fruit breakfast she normally had. She walked over the bridge as normal and asked Aelwin if he wanted her to freeze any fish, as normal. He didn't, so she walked back along the bridge and wandered around the Imperial city, waiting to get excited. She didn't.

It was all so Mara-mother-mild fetching _normal_! She should have not been able to sleep a wink. She should have fallen asleep just hours before dawn, and dreamed amazing dreams the whole time. She should have had butterflies in her stomach. She shouldn't have been able to contain her excitement. She should have had some excitement to contain.

She caught up with Erica just after midday, and together they bought some bread and apples at the Feed Bag. Walking back across Green Emperor Way, Lettie explained her plight.

"It's jus' not right!" she said agitatedly, "I should be really, really excited, but I'm just not."

Erica seemed to consider this. "_Well_," she said through a mouthful of bread, "Maybe it just means you're born to do this."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, the people who've been doing it, like, forever, they just act like it's normal, and they're really good at what they do," she chose her words carefully, being deliberately vague in awareness of the Imperial guards nearby, "So perhaps...perhaps you're already there."

She paused. "That make sense to you?"

Lettie remained unconvinced. Erica abandoned cheering her up by logical argument, and went straight to cheering her up by lifting her up onto her shoulders and running with her.

"Hey! Put me down!" Lettie screeched, but she was laughing. Erica carried her all the way to Lake Rumare, at which point she announced that they were going to pick primrose leaves for Lettie to chew.

They ambled along, looking for signs of the pink and purple flowers. There were plenty among the rocks at the edge of the water. Lettie made a point of ripping the flowers to shreds, to make perfectly clear to any observers that she was picking them for purely practical reasons. Talos forbid anyone think she was doing anything even vaguely girly.

Erica was just recounting for the billionth time her disastrous first heist, clearly with the intentions of showing Lettie that no matter how badly she might mess up, it would never compare to what she did. She hadn't actually broken any of the rules, but it was only Armand's unwillingness to stray from them that meant she wasn't thrown out.

"So anyway," she said briskly, "I was really nervous before mine, honestly, so yours will probably..." She was interrupted by a cry of "BOO!", and a small brown figure shot out at them from behind a bush. It was Taelondir. He was 9 now, but since mer lifetimes differed from humans, he could still have been the 5 year old boy they used to play hide-and-go-away with.

"Oh go away, Taelondir," Erica said in exaggerated irritation.

"Whatcha doin'?" he inquired, gesturing to the leaves that Lettie was currently chewing.

"'S for luck." She said simply.

Taelondir giggled. "That's silly, that is! You can't get lucky from eating flowers!"

"You can," Lettie protested, "I know, 'cause I heard where this mage up at the university did an experiment, and he found out that it's true. So there!"

Taelondir turned to Erica for the final judgement. As the eldest present, she had Word of the Gods.

"Yeah, that's right." She decreed, and Taelondir shrugged and went back to playing with a couple of Dunmer children.

"Is that true?" Erica asked Lettie as they walked on.

"'Course it is, I know 'cause I heard some blokes from the University saying it. I was outside The Main Ingredient and I heard them say it." Lettie paused as if looking for more cement for her argument, "And I know they was from the University, 'cause they were wearing the robes and everything. They was blue!" This seemed to impress Erica.

The two of them walked along, alternatively mocking and admiring the mysterious blue-clad fellows. Erica spotted a mud-crab scuttling along the waters' edge, clicking its pincers. Lettie killed it with a fireball, and after much bashing it against rocks Erica managed to prise the shell open and expose the pink meat inside. It was already a little cooked from Lettie's spell.

The two of them headed off to the cluster of homes to find someone to suggest what to do with it. Oddly enough, they found Marc and Florrie in one of the shacks. Usually they would be out and about in the city, or over at the Bloated Float, teasing the Altmer proprietor. But today they were sat cross-legged, counting their lock-picks. Bundles of the curved, metal things lay between them.

"Hey Marc," Lettie said, sitting down next to them.

Erica sat down as well, the opened shell lying across her long legs, and said "Look what we got, boys."

"Hey!" Lettie said indignantly, "I was the one who got it! I got it with a fireball."

"Well I was the one who heard it," Erica retorted, "If I hadn't been there it would've chopped your toes off and you'd've never seen."

Lettie turned to her bemused looking brothers.

"Anyway, can we eat it?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"'Course not. You can't get a decent meal from one crab. Erica can go down to the Bloated Float and trade Ormil for a couple of loaves of bread."

Florrie laughed, "Yeah, Ormil's always looking for ways to get more customers. He'll be out there with a bell going 'Catch of the day, catch of the day'!" he jumped up, miming the bell-ringing. Lettie laughed, then realised what Marc had said.

"Why does Erica have to go?"

"'Cause," Marc reached over for a food bag, "You've gotta eat this and then sleep. It's almost dark, and I won't have you falling asleep on the job. Dovyn would love that."

"You mean... we'll be going right after I wake up..?" Lettie began. Both boys laughed at her shocked expression.

"Don't time fly when you're..." Florrie glanced at the scorched and dead crab, "...having fun."

At that moment, Lettie jumped up and yelled in delight, surprising both her brothers and Erica. Apparently aware of the need for an explanation, she said "Erica! Great news! I just got excited."

Then the ecstatic smile that was spreading across her face quickly subsided and he hands fell to her side as she said "Oh great. Now I have to sleep."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Oops, thought I'd already posted this chapter. Well, you get two chapters at once now!**

Imperial City, Cyrodil, Heartfire 3E 432

"Lettie, Lettie. Wake up!" Florrie was knelt by her bedroll and was shaking her. The newfound excitement hadn't robbed her of much sleep, but it still felt just plain wrong to be woken up just after midnight.

"D'you want me to do that spell to make you feel more awake?" Florrie suggested. He hadn't meant it as a threat, but it got Lettie up as quick as if he had. You see, a few months back, Florrie had paid 15 gold for a spell of fortify fatigue. The only place in the city where you could buy spells so cheap was 'Edgar's Discount Spells'. Most mages avoided this shop like the plague, and the spell that Florrie now knew was a good indication why.

Fortify fatigue spells were useful, but only if they let you down slowly. Otherwise you could be running with all the energy in the world one minute and asleep in the gutter the second. Lettie and several other Florrie had eagerly tried to help wake up had found this out the hard way.

Marc and Florrie had sorted all of their lock-picks into neat bundles of ten; this made it all the easier to keep track of them. Odds were, tonight there would be no need for them, not with alteration expert Dovyn with them, but as all good thieves know, you have to keep all your escape options open.

When the three of them arrived at the Market District, Dovyn was already there. Like the inverse of a performer, he was doing a very good job of not drawing attention to himself. A couple of legionnaires were wandering about, but at this time of night most just guarded the gates, assuming that if any trouble cropped up they'd probably hear it.

The old Dunmer and her two Breton brothers spoke in hushed voices for a few seconds, using words as though they cost money. Then all three set off, with Lettie following.

Round the slowly curving street that ran through the middle of the district. Towards the gate to the arena. Then left, into one of the two covered squares, onto which most of the shops opened. The Red Diamond was at the far end of the square. Lettie couldn't help but feel nervous of the guard at the gate close by, and found herself torn between mentioning it and trusting Dovyn and her suddenly professional brothers. In the end, she decided not to mention it.

Dovyn nodded to Florrie, who cast his detect life spell. For a moment you could see the purple light playing around his eyes, then he gave Dovyn a nod back; Hamlof was definitely not in the immediate vicinity. Dovyn then crouched down, and placed his thumbs either side of the keyhole. Lettie expected to see another light, or to at least hear the click of the lock, so was surprised to see Dovyn stand up and open the door without either of those things. They all slipped in quickly, Dovyn shutting the heavy door with hardly a sound.

Lettie had been in here a couple of times. The merchandise glittered and shone from the display cabinets: jewellery, of course, but also complicatedly tailored outfits, smooth suede garments, gold and silver threaded tunics and more. No wonder they were in velvet-lined glass cabinets as opposed to just shelves. These clothes weren't meant to simply be worn, they were meant to be _displayed_.

For a moment Lettie had forgotten what her job was; to get Hamlof's key from his room. Dovyn was already climbing the stairs to open to door to Hamlof's private quarters. She followed him, copying how he, without seeming to think about it, avoided the middle of the wooden steps to avoid creaks.

After Dovyn had opened the door, he wasted no time in getting back to her brothers downstairs. She was alone. Good, she told herself, I don't need Dovyn to look after me. She still had to stop herself from gasping as she stepped through the door; there was Hamlof, asleep, and there only a few feet away were a chest of drawers. They were too small for clothes, and besides he already had his wardrobe. She knew that was the first place to look. She knew it'd be silly to start with the crates in the far corner – who'd keep a key in a crate?

Still, she could always start with the table. I mean, he could have just left the key lying on the table after his supper. Yes, that'd be alright.

Out of habit, Lettie pocketed the food still on the table – some cheese, some bread and some potatoes. Then she noticed something odd – three tiny white bottles. They looked like salt shakers, but on closer inspection she could see no holes, just a tiny stopper in the neck of each one. She pulled one of the stoppers out and had a look inside. A sickly sweet aroma wafted from the bottle. There seemed to be some kind of thick, syrupy potion in there, pink in colour. Contrary to everything she'd been told, Lettie found the urge to taste it.

She quashed the notion and pocketed all three bottles. Another overly careful search of the table proved what she'd known all along: the key wasn't there. Now she knew she'd have to search the chest of drawers.

She could feel her heart thumping in her chest as she crept, on hands and knees, towards the drawers. They were parallel to the end of the bed, so no matter how she positioned herself she could never keep her eye on both the snoring mound in the bed and the drawers she was meant to be searching. With infuriatingly clumsy fingers, she pulled the first drawer open. It creaked ever so slightly as it opened.

Nothing. A few quills and nothing else.

She left it open to avoid making more noise, and moved onto the second. It opened smoother than the first, but still scraped in a paranoia inducing fashion.

Just parchment and ink.

Crouching lower, she clasped the handle of the bottom right drawer. These drawers were more dust coated than the top two, a sure sign that they were hardly used. The nerve-wracking sound that was emitted as she opened confirmed this. Trying to control her shallow breathing, she looking inside.

Nothing.

Only one drawer left to look in. She winced as it whined at her intrusion, and for a moment fear got the better of her and she glanced round madly to see if Hamlof still slept. Her anxieties subsiding, she felt inside.

Nothing.

She sagged with disappointment. Where to look now?

Just then, she was aware of a sound from across the room, the way she had gone in. For a moment she felt sure that she had been caught, even in the knowledge that no one could have gotten into the shop and up the stairs without her hearing it. But it was only Marc.

He beckoned to her to come outside the room, and shutting the door behind them whispered urgently: "Have you got it?"

Her eyes on the floor, Lettie shook her head. She glanced up briefly to see her brother's expression, then quickly looked down again and shoved her hands into her pockets.

And found the three little bottles. She pulled on Marc's sleeve and he was turning away to go and speak to the others.

"I found these." She held them up. Clearly thinking that he was just humouring her, Marc took one and took a look inside. He took a sniff at it, then his eyes grew wide.

"Mara-mother-mild." he swore softly, "This is skooma." Not it was Lettie's turn to gape. Thank god she hadn't drunk it then; less because of the horror stories she'd been told about it, after all she didn't believe most of them, but because of the amount of gold you could supposedly get for a bottle of it. Addictive substances generally had that effect.

A smile had spread across her brother's face. "Eh, who'd'a thought it? Who knows, maybe Hamlof could be blackmailed for this..."

He remembered the work at hand, and turning to Lettie with what she hoped was newfound trust, added: "We still need his key. Have you looked everywhere?" Lettie was about to nod, and then a horrible thought occurred to her.

"What is it?" he asked when he saw her expression.

"I didn't look...actually on him. By the bed, or in his hand." She paused for thought. "I mean, he weren't wearing much, nothin' with pockets."

Marc didn't say anything to help her make up her mind, so she made it up on her own.

"I'll check there."

Marc nodded, then as if sensing her apprehension – although she suspected it was pretty obvious already – said: "I'll keep watch for you."

The two entered Hamlof's quarters again. Trusting in his ability to remain unheard, Lettie let Marc shut the door behind them. Unsure whether to crawl for the sake of her own nerves or not to for the sake of a better chance of getting away should Hamlof wake up, she crept towards the sleeping figure.

Like most Nords, Hamlof was a formidable hunk of muscle and bone, and Lettie was painfully aware of the fact that although he might now be asleep, his great chest rising and falling like a bellows, the potential danger of those huge fists coming into contact with her face, her stomach, her kneecaps, was still there, waiting.

She swallowed as quietly as possible, and then stopped, wondering where to look. She knew that every second's time spent thinking was a second too many, the second in which he might awake. Why hadn't she thought more before approaching the bed?

She glanced round; Marc was still there by the door, silently waiting, expectant. What had she said to him out on the stairs? By the bed...there was no bedside table on which to put it, and besides to leave it just on a surface was almost as silly an idea as leaving it on the dinner table had been. She got down on her knees and tried to look beneath the bed to see if it could have fallen there. But despite the shadows, it was still clear that no key was there.

In his hand? There was one of them on the covers; she could see no sign of metal protruding from his fingers. The other was concealed by the cloth. Oh so carefully, holding her breath as if it could somehow stop him feeling the movement, Lettie pulled back the blanket to reveal his other hand, lying palm up. No key in sight.

She wracked her brains, trying to think of where she might hide a key, or to be more accurate where a shop keeper with a poor imagination would hide one. Some place where you'd feel certain you'd tell if it was being stolen. Then she was struck by a memory of Othrelos bragging about his initiation test for the guild, about how he'd had to steal some bloke's diary. He said it had been hidden...under his pillow.

Lettie glanced at the pillow. If Hamlof felt it...but what else had Othrelos said? "Damn silly place to put it – folk move in their sleep all the time and they don't wake up every time. Ha!"

It was worth a try.

She slid one hand under one edge of the pillow, trying to keep her hand as flat as possible, and having to fight the urge to pull at the mattress with her finger tips. Her heart was pounding so furiously in her ears that she felt sure Hamlof would hear it!

Further...further... there, the cold clink of metal against her fingers! Hooking two fingers around the key, she withdrew her hand. Hanging from her finger tips was the key.

Lettie was pulled from her moment of triumph by the most horrific sound in the world to her: a groan, a snort, a sign that Hamlof was waking up! Lettie had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. What now? What now? To run would cause more noise, what could she do?

That moment in which she waited to see if Hamlof would rise or go back to sleep felt like an age, filled with terror and the sound of her own thumping heart. But to her immense relief, no more sound emitted from the sleeping man, and she was finally able to breathe out and turn to show her brother what she had found...

Only to be greeted by the sight of Marc, stood there silent as ever, but this time only two feet away, and towering over the bed holding a great leather cudgel high above his head. Almost as soon as she had spotted him there, waiting, he lowered the weapon and a smile returned to his face, but for a moment there had been such a look of reckless madness that Lettie was almost as terrified of her brother before her as she was of the sleeping man behind her.

And then they were out of the door and downstairs without a word, Marc waving the key in silent triumph, back to normal again. Dovyn and Florrie had already cleaned out the other cabinets and the basement into their large sack, and Florrie was stood by the door with the purple glow of life detection about his eyes, watching for guards.

She stood beside him while Dovyn and Marc opened up and emptied the last two cabinets. It was a little eerie knowing that Florrie could see things they couldn't see, at least for the moment. She found herself shaking his trouser leg, like something Taelondir would do. His gazed snapped down at the interruption.

"What?" he said semi-urgently, "Something wrong?"

Lettie realised she had nothing to say to him. Maybe she should tell him about Marc. But the moment had been so quick, she wasn't altogether sure she hadn't imagined it. So instead of saying that, or nothing, she said simply: "Are there any guards?"

Florrie smiled then said reassuringly: "Nope, at least not in the square. I'll bet that guy up at the arena gate is still there, but we can go round the other way."

"Oh," she said distantly, "ok." Florrie smiled again, then reached down to pat her on the arm. Lettie squirmed at what she saw as a grossly patronising gesture, and Florrie shrugged and went back to staring at the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Once again, thanks to my beta. I've changed the transport system slightly so that there are horses and carts. It just seems to make sense that horse and carts would be used for trade etc, even if the player character is mysteriously barred from using any.**

Cyrodil, Heartfire 3E 432

At the meeting the night following the heist, Dovyn had announced he planned to travel to Anvil to sell the goods. Travelling to another city directly after a heist was both prudent, as it let the guards calm down before returning, and also necessary, as the only guild fence in the city was Fathis Ules, a rich Dunmer, and not even Dovyn was up to his standards of customer. It was said that only those who have had direct correspondence with the Gray Fox did.

Lettie had never been to Anvil; the furthest from the city she'd been since she was five was Cheydinhal. It had been a nice enough place, except for the count's idiot son wandering around trying to be heroic. But since there was no regular thieves' guild fence in the town, she'd never been back. But Anvil was a docking town; surely it would be full of exciting people and exotic merchandise.

Her discovery of the ever-valuable skooma during the heist meant that Dovyn was in good spirits in regard to her, so she had little trouble convincing him to bring her along. He didn't seem to realise that to bring Lettie meant to bring Erica, though. There'd been many jokes about the two being 'joined in magicka' and one being powerless without the other. In many respects it was true.

So now the two of them were sat at the front of an old horse and cart that Dovyn had managed to hire, Lettie on Erica's knee and Florrie beside them with the reigns. For a clumsy teenager, Florrie was remarkably un-clumsy when it came to steering horses, which inevitably meant that he spent the entire journey with the job. Dovyn and Marc were in the back, speaking in alternately loud then hushed voices.

They were moving along the Gold Road, which stretched all the way from the city to the coast. Lettie, who had never been to this part of Cyrodil before was astounded at the sheer volume of plant-life she could see from her perch. The West Weald was definitely something for Imperials to brag about. If you wanted to boast about architecture and trade, you'd speak of the Imperial City. If you wanted to talk about multiculturalism, Bruma, with its Nord population, or Morrowind-proximate Cheydinhal would be prime examples. Or if you wished to brag about the history of the province, then you'd cite the various forts and Ayleid ruins dotted about the place.

But when it came to hugely varied plant life, with soil perfect for both the humble tomato and the fairly illusive nightshade to grow in abundance, the West Weald stole the limelight from even the agriculturally driven Nibenay Basin. The group had stopped off at Skingrad about an hour previously, and both Lettie and Erica now had a lapful of grapes and tomatoes, much more than the money they had should have been able to buy. Well, Tamika and Surile and Undena wouldn't miss them, with the amount of crops the Skingrad soil yielded.

As the cart made its bumpy way towards Kvatch, Lettie was inspired by the sight of the many different plants by the road to show off by explaining in great detail the other alchemical facts she'd picked up from mages and shop owners about the city.

"Did you know," she said through a mouthful of grapes, "that everything what can be made into a potion has tons of effects, loads more than most people can actually use? You have to be really good at alchemy, so you know what amounts to use and what to mix it with and how to cook it, that way you can get those secret effects out of them. Like grapes," she held one up as if to demonstrate, "I heard grapes can make it so you can walk on water. I mean, you can get it from eating them, but it'd go away after like a squillionth of a second. It'd wear off so quick, you'd be drowning before you noticed it!"

This was followed by a bemused silence on the others' part while Lettie had her mouth too full to speak without spraying. Then Erica, who'd been watching the West Weald go by, said: "Hey Lettie, this'll be the furthest you've ever been from the city, right?" She bounced her on her knees like one would a small child, but surprisingly Lettie didn't mind this in the slightest.

"Yeah, s'pose. Never been out of Cyrodil though. Not you, though. You've been to Skyrim before."

Erica shifted on her seat and grimaced, "Yeah, well I'm never gonna go back there. You'd have to tied me up and gag me. And tie my legs together so's I couldn't kick you. And strap my head down so's I couldn't nut you." By the end of the sentence she was laughing at the absurdity of it, the brief moment of unease forgotten. Lettie laughed with her.

"Still," she said more thoughtfully, "At least you come from somewhere. I ain't never been to High Rock."

"Yeah, we just come from Bravil, and that's a dump!" Florrie remarked from his driver's seat.

"Yeah, but you don't _come from_ there, jus' like I don't come from Skyrim. That's just where we was. Where we are now is what's 'portant." Erica rested her head on Lettie's shoulder, face turned towards the world rushing past, and added almost to herself, "We don't need to come from anywhere but the Waterfront."

This was quite deep by all of their standards, and it struck Lettie that Erica could be quite wise when she wanted to, it was just because she said 'portant' instead of 'important' that it wasn't always obvious. She probably had a lot more wise things in her head than Lettie herself did, she just didn't always find the words. Lettie had just learned to echo people like the two blue-clad mages.

She opened her mouth to somehow try and convey this line of thought, but was interrupted by a jolt as the cart went over a stone. Florrie jumped in his seat and pulled on the reigns to stop the horses from panicking, and Erica's head snapped up from its place on her shoulder and she gripped Lettie tighter with her strong arms to stop her from falling the short distance between them and the road. The moment of ruminating was broken fully by the appearance of Marc from the back of the cart.

"What happened just then?" he queried, resting one hand on his brother's shoulder to steady himself while stood on the moving cart.

"Drove over a stone, it's fine," came the immediate answer, Florrie's eyes fixed on the road. His mop of greasy red hair was ruffled carelessly by Marc's spare hand. With the brief moment of fury the other night still firmly lodged in her mind, Lettie slid off Erica's lap and crawled into the canvas-covered area where Dovyn was still sat. Erica followed suit, and Marc took it as a sign he could have the seat.

Dovyn was sat with padlocks of varying difficulty, practicing his lock-picking spells. The two girls watched him, Lettie sat cross legged and Erica with long legs out-stretched. The aging Dunmer didn't seem to be in any hurry to look up from his work, so Erica spoke first.

"D'you think I could learn to crack locks like that?"

"Depends," said the Dunmer, pausing to reseal the lock he had been working on, "Can you do any other spells of alteration?"

She nodded: "I can protect myself with this spell I got from Calindil."

"Yeah, works like a shield, 'cept there's nothing there. I can too."

"Oh she's great at magic! She had tons of power in her."

Dovyn seemed doubtful. "Well, you can have the biggest magicka in the world, but you have to know how to use it to your advantage, especially with locks."

"But we can!" Lettie insisted.

Ganged up on by the two eager girls, Dovyn finally said, "Well why not?" He set the lock to one side and then carefully picked out two more. "I think these are the easiest. Tell you what, let's make it a competition: first to open their lock gets…hmm, gets this." Dovyn fished out an amulet from one of his many pockets, assumedly one from the heist. It was silver, and the chinks of light peeping through the tears in the canvas bounced off it and gave it an air of value. However, both girls knew that all that glittered was not gold and all that stunk was not dung, so the thing that really caught their attention was the engraving of a unicorn on one side.

"Unicorn…that's luck, right?" said Lettie.

Dovyn nodded. "Don't get carried away, mind, I reckon this can't be more than a base amulet. Might get you a couple wins at the arena, if you can sneak it past the bookmaker."

"Cool!"

---

There was considerable debate over who got their lock open first. While Lettie, after several tries, managed to manipulate the flow of magicka until heard the gentle click of tumblers sliding into place, Erica had only moments ago managed to crack open hers in a powerful surge of sheer frustration. However, Dovyn said it didn't count.

"But why didn't it count?" Erica demanded, worked up over the apparent unfairness, "I got the lock open, didn't I?"

"Yes, but I told you, that was easy. The springs were not as tightly wound, and there were fewer tumblers. A better lock would never have given in so easy. Oblivion, it wouldn't have given in at all. Besides," he said before she could protest, "Didn't you hear the cracking sound it made? You'd wake up a whole house!"

Erica didn't take kindly to the dig at her noisiness, so she grabbed the newly sealed lock and went to sit at the back of the cart. Lettie, who would always take the side of her friend, said sternly "You shouldn't've said that. She doesn't like people finking she's not a good thief."

Dovyn, who found being told off by an eleven year old more amusing than intimidating, said "_You_ should learn to respect your elders."

Lettie knew the answer to this. "I'm a Waterfront girl. I'm gonna say what I fink." She eyed the amulet still held in Dovyn's wrinkled hand.

Dovyn laughed, a far realer laugh than Lettie had ever heard from him. "You keep thinking like that, girl."

He handed her the amulet, and Lettie ducked to avoid getting her hair ruffled. Why did people keep doing that?

Leaving Dovyn to his locks, she crawled over to where Erica was still sat. She was scowling and rigid, yet she still had the lock in her hands and was trying to open it again. Lettie suddenly found herself strangely inarticulate.

"You ok?"

"Mm-hmm."

"He's jus' a grumpy Dunmer." the words felt wrong as soon as she said them. Judging by her expression, Erica thought so too. "Ok, no he's not. He's Dovyn, and he's brilliant. But that's the point: everyone who's good at something finks everyone else is rubbish at it."

Erica smiled, as she had smiled while they were talking with Florrie before, and put one arm around Lettie, pulling her into a hug. "Thanks." she said simply, meaning 'thanks for trying to cheer me up, even if it's obvious that you're trying'.

Feeling on firmer ground again, Lettie held up the amulet and said "Look, we pract-tic-cally drew. I fink we should share it."

She dropped it in Erica's lap. "Besides, I'm a thiefborn, right? I've got enough luck already."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for not updating in a while, this chapter contains some combat, which I'm a little scared of writing. Thankyou to my beta, not only for checking the grammar, but for telling me if the fight scene worked.**

Cyrodil, Heartfire 3E 432

As the cart trundled further along the Gold Road, the two girls sat at the back, taking turns to try on the lucky amulet and flipping septims to see if the wearer really did win more tosses. Unfortunately, both girls lost count repeatedly, until they were forced to conclude with child-like logic that 'Well, I 'spect it probably is lucky. Why else would it have a unicorn on it?'

The road looped round in such a way that for a few miles they were travelling beside the river dividing Cyrodil from the densely forested Valenwood. There were still a few large trees and thick bushes by the road-side, but as they moved from the West Weald to the Gold Coast they were beginning to thin out. Looking past her brothers at the front, Lettie could see the city of Kvatch in the distance.

"Ooh, Florrie, can we stop there?" she asked, crawling over and perching herself between them.

"What for?" Florrie said absently, his mind on the road ahead.

"Well, nuthin' really," Lettie said a tad less insistently, "I just never been there. I want to go to the arena."

"You've seen the arena back at the city," Marc said pointedly.

"But I want to look at this one and, you know…" she searched for the word, "Compare."

Florrie momentarily took his gaze off the road to look at Marc. He opened his mouth to say 'Why not, eh?', but Marc had read his expression already.

"Look, we don't have time to stop off at another city. We spent long enough picking-our-own in Skingrad. Speaking of which," he said, changing the subject deftly with a gesture to the half-empty baskets of tomatoes and grapes, "you know you'll get ill if you eat many more of those, right?"

"Oh Marc, I..." She was cut off by a succession of different sounds from behind her. First came the almost unnoticeable whistle of something flying through the air at great speed, and then several ripping noises, accompanied by an infuriated cry from Dovyn, and, more worryingly, a shocked gasp from Erica. For a moment, she thought she saw furtive movement among the bushes.

"What the-!" Marc began to holler, but a single word from Dovyn answered him before he could finish:

"Arrows!"

Lettie was going to say something silly like 'What does arrows mean?', but the world had already burst into chaos and frenzy before she could even open her mouth. Magical fire came flying from somewhere to their left, aimed low to the ground. The majority hit the earth around the horse's frantic hooves, but some found their mark, burning the lower legs until the horse couldn't even take off in panic, and the cart came to a juddering stop.

Lettie stumbled through the canvas hanging over the entrance to the canvas-covered back; there were arrows on the floor and several rips in the side where they had entered. To her and the others' horror, rough bandit's hands were already reaching through, widening the rips to let both hands in, then a sneering, Imperial's face. Dovyn was closest and tried to push him away, but he was still disorientated and now the cart had stopped moving the bandit found it all too easy to wrap one leathery arm round the dunmer's neck and pin him to his chest. Erica yelled and tried to pull him free, but Lettie had just spotted another bandit, a Nord like Erica, climbing through the hole. She saw his eyes fall greedily on the bag of stolen goods: he reached out to grab it...

He was greeted by a vicious kick from Lettie, who, acting on commands from the only part of her brain which wasn't completely useless from panic, grabbed the loot just as his retaliation sent her flying. For a sickening moment both she and the bag were airborne, then she hit the ground knees first. Ignoring the pain from the grazes, Lettie picked up the bag and ran. Only when she realised that she couldn't just keep running did she check behind her to see if she was being pursued.

Watching the scene play out from 20 feet or so away, Lettie felt an odd sort of detached numbness, as though she were not really a part of this scene, as though she were watching a play by a group of street performers. The few seconds she stood there seemed to last much longer.

She could see Marc and Florrie, searching furiously in the foliage for the illusive mage who was throwing the fireballs. Marc's trouser leg was singed from the magical attacks, but now the mage's magicka was waning, and Marc found him and pulled him into the open, swinging his cudgel in one hand.

She could see the Nord who had tried to snatch the loot, distracted by Erica's attacks. She saw her kick him in the shins repeatedly, saw him grab her and roughly throw her to the ground. A few feet from where she landed, she saw Dovyn, his features terrible beneath the swings of the Imperial's dagger. Florrie saw it too, and rushed to try and tackle him from behind, leaving Marc in his attack on the screaming mage.

Dagger...fists...magic...where had the arrows come from?

As if to answer her, there was a yell from Marc: "Lettie! Watch out!"

Panicked, she screamed back "What?! What?!" and spun round to look for the danger.

And there was the marksman. His hood was up, but his stature showed he could only be a Bosmer, stood not 10 feet away, arrow drawn ready to shoot her point blank in the back.

Again as though her movements were not her conscious own, Lettie's hand's sprung up with palms outstretched, and she felt the magicka in her surge. Fire formed round her hands, but in her hurry she forgot how to protect her own flesh, and the fire scorched the top layer of her skin before flying off. It had already found its target by the time the pain became real to her, and she screamed along with the Bosmer. Through the searing pain she could see him bent double, clothing singed and the skin just visible beneath was red and quickly blistering like her own hands.

Through eyes half-shut from pain, she saw the man clutch once more at his bow, clumsily pulling back on the arrow once more. She never found out if he would have managed to shoot her, because at that moment Marc flew past her and swung his cudgel right into the Bosmer's face, flinging him to the ground. When, after standing for a few seconds with the weapon still raised, he was confident that the bandit wouldn't get back up, he jogged over to where Lettie still stood as though stuck to the ground.

"Are you alright? Julianos, what have you done to your hands?"

"I-I'm ok." she said quickly, aversion to being babied greater than the desire to curl up in a little ball and say 'Help me.'

Marc seemed to accept this, as he immediately rushed back over to where the others were. Lettie had almost forgotten that there was peril other than her own, but now her senses filtered in the shrieks and grunts, the clanging of metal and thumps of blunt objects. The last thing she'd seen had been both Erica and Dovyn on the ground with a bandit each trying to kill them, but now it was three against two, not counting Dovyn since he still lay by a rock, his blue-gray complexion streaked with blood. It could be four against two if she could only get her feet to uproot themselves. How could she be so useless? Wasn't she a fighter?

"It's over!" she heard Marc shout once the two remaining bandits were surrounded, "Your tree-hugger friend has had the skin burnt off his belly. And you can see what's become of the mage."

Lettie's eyes moved with everyone else's. And now she saw what had become of the mage. His hands and ankles were a familiar yellow hue, which meant he was…meant he must have been an Altmer. His face had probably been the same shade too, but now it was purple with bruises, and swelling from the blows from…her eyes flittered over to Marc, but they kept getting drawn back to that face. She now saw the blood trickling from beneath his head, seeping into the soil, a thick, steady flow of syrupy red. She opened her mouth to say something about how disgusting it was. What came out was "Wow…"

Everyone's focus seemed to snap away at the same time. The Imperial had lowered his hands to his side in an act of submissive defeat, the sight of his broken comrade more crippling than any blow. Useless anger flared up in the Nord's eyes; you could see the moment when he decided it wasn't worth it to fight.

"That's right," Marc said with a growl in his voice when he saw that moment of surrender, "now get out of here. All of you!" His command was punctuated by a swing of his blood-stained cudgel.

From his crumpled spot on the ground, Dovyn yeered and cursed fluently in his home tongue as the bandits loped off. Florrie joined in, but seemed to stop in embarrassment. No matter how he tried, he didn't suit curse words.

Lettie's eyes stayed on the retreating bandits. She felt her feelings switch like the two sides of a flipped septim. One second she felt pity at the beaten, bereaved group. Then she was reminded that only, what was it, five minutes ago? they had been trying to kill her, her brothers, her mentor, her friend…

She didn't notice Erica had been stood beside her until she spoke.

"Lettie… what happened to your hands?"

Lettie glanced down at her blistered palms.

"Burnt 'em." she said simply. She could feel a lump building up in her throat, but she was damned if she was going to blubber like a little kid here, now. If it had been only Erica, maybe, but not with her brothers and a fellow thieves guild member here.

Erica fumbled in her pockets. "Hang on, I fink I have something here…" she produced a small bottle three-quarters filled with a clear potion, "It's a healing potion, got it off an adventurer type, said he needed to shift some stuff to make room in his sack." She popped the cork off in one movement with her thumb. Lettie could never figure out how she did that.

Healing potions are a little odd to take when you're not used to it. Lettie could never understand why her brothers got so excited on the rare occasions they could afford some red meat, as she couldn't find anything particularly special about it. Florrie had explained that it wasn't the taste or texture that mattered, it was the feeling of it doing you good.

This is the best way to describe the sensation as Lettie swallowed the potion Erica had handed her; if it tasted of anything, it tasted of boiled leaves, but as soon as she had swallowed it she felt a warmth spread through her, a sort of general feeling of wellbeing. The potion couldn't have been more than a fairly weak one, so the feeling subsided quickly, but already the angry red irritation on her palms had calmed to a pinkish tinge, and the grazes on her knees no longer stung.

"Thanks," she said, hugging Erica round the waist.

With the release from the pain came a greater sense of her surroundings, and the two of them trotted over to where Dovyn was propped up. Lettie grimaced at the cuts on his face, but Dovyn assured her that he'd seen far worse.

"Besides," he said as he gathered up his magicka to heal himself, "at least I didn't end up like that bastard."

Lettie glanced over to the fallen mage, who was being matter-of-factly checked over by Marc and Florrie. Lettie tiptoed over to have a closer look. There was really no doubt that the man was dead. No amount of healing spells could put that skull back together. But she asked the question anyway.

"Is he dead?"

Florrie nodded grimly, checking each of the dead man's fingers. He pulled a slim, copper ring from his forefinger, holding it up to the light.

"Ah, chameleon. That'll explain why we couldn't see him at first."

Marc leaned in to have a look. "I reckon that's worth more to sell than to keep." Florrie nodded in agreement.

"Are you going to sell his stuff?" Lettie asked. She hadn't meant to sound so indignant, but apparently the come-down from adrenaline made the boys impervious to tone of voice.

"Of course. He can't use it now. Besides, if we don't take it someone else will." Florrie said simply. Lettie realised that she wasn't that shocked by the idea. After all, it made sense. She gestured to a dwarven-style dagger which Marc had just levered free from the already stiffening frame.

"Can I have that?" she asked cheekily.

"Do you have five hundred-odd gold pieces? 'Cause that's how much I reckon this is worth."

"Really?!"

"Yup. It's a Dagger of Scorching. Could've done some real damage. But hey, I got him first." The reminder of how the man had come to be in his current state jolted Lettie out of her momentary freedom to joke around. The image of Marc stood over the bed of Hamlof flashed once more before her mind's eye.

"Yeah. You got _him_ first."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I know I've taken a while to update this time. To be honest, I'm thinking of not finishing this story, just 'cause I have another idea for a possible Dark Brotherhood questline fic. Also, since this one uses original characters, but doesn't follow a questline, I reckon it isn't as interesting as either NPCs doing original stuff or an OC doing in-game stuff. I'd love to hear what you think – now on with the chapter!**

Cyrodil, Heartfire 3E 432

It took a surprisingly short amount of time to clear up after the attack. Spurred on by Marc's insistence that enough time had been wasted, Florrie set to work healing the horse, him being the most magicka literate of the group. Dovyn had staggered to his feet despite the still raw cuts on his face and his own muttered admissions that he was 'getting too old for this.'

In Lettie's eyes, the cart was as near to destroyed as a cart could be while retaining all four wheels, but she was assured by the guys that it would last them until they got to Anvil. Erica ran her hand over the gashes in the canvas.

"Why did they do that?" she said almost to herself, "They'd have to fix it themselves."

"My guess is they wouldn't have used the cart, least not for travelling," Dovyn noted, "They'd have taken the horse, though."

"Ah, that's why they jus' burned the feet. I'd've just shot it." Erica checked herself.

Dovyn grinned, "You mean you'd have got the Bosmer to do it."

Erica punched him on the arm playfully, "Yeah, and then I'd've come in with an axe!" She mimed slashing through invisible enemies. Dovyn chuckled to himself.

---

Marc disposed of the Altmer's body, explaining that he'd made the mess so he might as well clean it up. Lettie hadn't laughed, but not because she found the death particularly shocking –after all, both Erica and her were huge Arena fans – but because she couldn't stop imagining Hamlof's face bloodied up like the Altmers.

Not that she cared about some good for nothing shop-owner with enough spare cash to live pretty _and_ have a skooma habit, she told herself. She just...she just wanted to know if Marc would've done the same to Hamlof if he'd have woken up.

A phrase Marc had uttered over and over again, back when they first came to the Waterfront, kept replaying itself at the back of her mind. '_I will do anything to stop either of you from getting hurt again.' _At the time the word 'anything' had filled her with great pride in her big brother, and a sense of security. Now it had an altogether different ring to it.

---

She didn't manage to ask him until they were nearly at Anvil. Marc had offered, for once, to steer the horse instead of Florrie. Lettie sat by his side for almost the whole journey, telling herself she was about to ask him about it. Telling herself over and over, like a water-phobic child telling themselves they were about to jump in.

Only when she saw the gate to the city in the distance did she say anything.

"Um, Marc?"

"Yeah?"

She paused momentarily, unsure whether to plough on or to tread lightly.

"Um, Marc?" Oh wait, she'd already said that. "You know that Altmer?"

"What about him?"

"Well, you know Hamlof, the other night?"

Marc looked at her quizzically, unable to make the connection, or possibly unwilling to.

"Well, the thing is...what would you have done, if he'd woken up?"

No answer.

"Would you have hit him?"

"Yes." he said without hesitation.

"Like you did that Altmer?"

"If I had too, yes."

"An' if he had kept fighting, if you had to, would you have killed him?"

There was another uncomfortable pause.

"Yes."

Like the final piece of a dam being lifted away, Lettie felt a surge of some strong feeling she couldn't quite place, because she wasn't angry and she wasn't scared and she didn't think worry could overwhelm you like that.

"But, Armand would've kicked you out!"

Marc's features flickered between annoyance and resignation; he pulled on the reigns so he could look at her properly.

"Do you think, if that bear had woken up and sent you flying, that I'd think 'Well, thank the Nine I'm still in the guild.'?"

"But Armand always said we musn't kill anyone. That we aren't the Dark Brotherhood…"

"You shouldn't listen to everything Armand says."

"But-"

"'But' nothin'! Armand is too rigid-minded for his own good. If I was Doyen, things would be altogether more flexible." He groaned, both at the way that last sentence had come out and his little sister's incomprehensive reaction. "There's a difference between mindless killing and self defence. You have to learn that."

She opened her mouth to argue back, but then Marc spoke up again, bringing up the very thing she'd prayed he wouldn't:

"I didn't get you guys away from Bravil for you to get yourself killed."

He knew he shouldn't have brought it up. He _knew_ it would stop any counter-argument she had dead. That was exactly why he'd said it. It wasn't cruel exactly, just against the rules. The old life they had run away from, one which for Lettie was compiled of half-forgotten memories and Akaviri whispers, belonged in jokes and jokes alone, because in arguments it cut sharper than any insult.

She wanted to say as much, even if she knew from experience that her thoughts would never truly map themselves onto her spoken words, but before she could they were interrupted by Florrie emerging from the back wanting to know why they'd stopped.

"Lettie felt sick." Marc said with a sense of finality Lettie realised was best to agree with.

"Yeah."

Florrie jumped back automatically.

"I'm not gonna _be_ sick," she said adamantly, adding reproachfully as she got up "And I'll feel a lot better once I'm in the back."

---

The sun had set by the time the weary group arrived to Anvil, and after leaving both the horse and the battered cart at the stables, decided it was best to put off trekking up to the castle to sell their goods until tomorrow, in favour of looking for a place to stay.

Lettie had liked the idea of staying at a place called The Fo'c's'le, but was assured by Dovyn that it was reserved 'just as a boarding house for sailors', to which her brothers had sniggered, saying things like "Some boarding house," and "The sailors certainly leave satisfied." Lettie pretended to know what they were on about, then asked Erica about it while they ate at The Flowing Bowl. She almost choked on her bread and cheese.

While back in the Imperial City the summer was in its decline and the good weather going with it, the warmer climate of Anvil meant that the next day brought a warm breeze and bright sunlight in a cloudless sky. Lettie, Erica and Florrie abandoned meeting up with the Orrin, which Marc said was probably a good idea, since the guild fence was bad with kids and worse with teenagers, apparently not trusting them not to blab about his rather questionable purchases.

"Then again, with Orrin's sense of trust he's either in the perfect business for him or the worst. I can never tell." Dovyn quipped as he and Marc headed away, in the infuriating tone of one telling an in-joke.

The three of them meandered along the docks, sleepy from the heat and the journey. Florrie spotted two Redguard girls, presumably sisters, and immediately perked up.

"Hey, they're looking for exotic sailors!" Lettie teased as he hastily excused himself and made a bee-lined for the two girls.

"Yeah, not some skinny Breton." Erica added with a hearty laugh.

They left Florrie to his unsuccessful flirtation, and, after making a couple of dips into sun-weary visitors' money pouches, bought some apples for lunch. By the time they were done it was almost mid-day, and the sun was blazing up above. Lettie took this as her cue to strip down to her pants and dive-bomb into the bay, splashing several passersby. Erica, her pale skin more suited to permanently snowy mountains already getting burnt, sat in the shade of a docked ship and dabbled her feet in the water.

The thick blanket of heat seemed to subdue everyone around, so when a grimy, stinking group of what could only be sailors came blundering out of a nearby tavern, all heads were turning in the direction of the noise. There were five of them, all human except for the scrappy Bosmer talking nineteen to the dozen about his itchy clothing, his mother and fish.

"How are they drunk at mid-day?" Lettie commented as she trod water. Erica didn't reply; she had apparently been spotted by one of the sailors, a Nord like her, who was now nudging his friends and jabbing his thumb in her direction in a way he must have though very suave. She deliberately avoided his gaze, hoping he would get distracted, but he was already stumbling over to her.

"Well, what a lovely lass," he slurred. He cut her off as she got up to leave, leaning in until she could smell his putrid breath. "What's the hurry? Don't you wanna chat?"

"Not with you." she spat the words out, her face turning even redder from embarrassment and contained rage.

Unperturbed, he leered at her, saying "Why so frigid, huh? It's not Rain's Hand."

This was a reference to the age old Skyrim tradition among Nords to be celibate during the beginning of Spring. This was considered superstitious nonsense by many Nibeneans, but when you consider that weather in Skyrim during Morningstar – nine months after Rain's Hand - was cold enough to freeze a glass of water if it were placed outside for more than half an hour, this made sense. Even Nord babies generally aren't resistant enough to survive that, especially newborns.

However, if this particular sailor thought that he could get close to Erica by reminding her of their homeland, he had another thing coming. As he said these words, pressing one huge hand against her waist, something clicked in her, and with an almighty yell she brought one knee up rapidly, hitting him hard right between the legs. As he crumpled forward, sobered up in half a second and no sound but a whine escaping him, Erica gave him a shove with all the intensity of a strong and furious girl, and he crashed into the waters of the bay. He floated to the surface a few seconds later, gasping for air as he doggy-paddled to the shore, whimpering as his friends jeered and Lettie laughed herself pink.

"That was brilliant!" she hooted as she too swum back, but Erica seemed less excited. She sat down again, her eyes fixed on the water, disgust written all over her face.

"I'm fourteen." she muttered darkly.

Lettie sat down beside her, resting her head against her shoulder just like she had done on the cart before the bandits attacked. "It's just 'cause you're pretty."

"Not really. He just finks I'm old enough."

Lettie grimaced. "Ugh. I never want to be old enough."

"You will."

"No I won't!"

"Yeah you will. I bet this is your last summer you can run around like that."

"Well, if that's true, then I'll make myself as ugly as possible."

"What like cover yourself in mud?"

"Yeah, and get into a million fights so I have tons of scars."

"Yeah."

There was a moment of silence as the two girls sat and stared out at the open sea beyond the bay, at the thin line of the horizon.

"Come on," Lettie said, light-heartedness back intact, "let's go find Florrie."


End file.

Elder Scroll series, Friendship, Humor