A Dragonborn by any other name

Surfacing

Gueneveire swam steadily across the lake, back towards Riften. Though cold, freezing actually, the water was a safer option than surfacing and taking the main gate.

Making sure there was nobody around to see her, and slipping through the gateway into the canal, she moved to the Ratway, fingers resting lightly on where the Amulet sat, nestled under her armour.

This time, there were no thugs or skeevers to fight, and she made it to the Ragged Flagon still dripping water. Now in safety, she called a Flames spell to hand, using it to warm her numb hands, and feeding enough magicka in to be able to begin to dry out.

By the time Brynjolf emerged from the direction of the cistern, she was almost dry, and a lot more comfortable.

"Word on the street is that Goldenglow's been hit. Riften woke to smoke this morning, and you've done your job. Were you able to get anything from the safe lass?"

"Bag of coins, and this;"

Undoing some of her buckles, she pulled out the oilskin, and unwrapped the document she had recovered. Handing it over, she made no mention of the gold; that was her bonus as far as Gwen was concerned.

As Bryn read the page, he passed over a bag of coins. "Your pay, Aringoth sold Goldenglow? Is the wood elf insane or just suicidal?"
"I don't know, didn't see him to ask. Had other things on my mind."

"So you did lass. Maven's asked to see you, up at the Bee and Barb. She doesn't like to be kept waiting, even less than Mercer. No getting drunk with Delvin this time."

Leaving, with a gesture towards him that could be in no way misunderstood, the half-mer left through the cistern, casting a longing glance towards 'her' bed as she passed. Instead, she emerged into the growing light of day, picking her way across the marketplace and slipping into the inn.

Weaving past the tables and chairs to the bar, a quiet word with the Argonian barmaid directed her upstairs. Looking, she found the Nord matriarch and walked over, leaning casually against the table. She could play these games of posturing if she had to.

"You wanted to speak to me?"

"You're the one Mercer sent? I thought I told him his best." Gwen fought to not let her surprise show, to be thought such after one job. Something was a bit odd about that, but she would think on it later.

"I prefer to let my actions speak for themselves. What do you want." She refused to be cowed. This woman may be powerful here, but she was nothing to the flowing amulet that lay hidden under her armour.

"I need you to take down an upstart new meadery. You will be meeting with my contact, Mallus, in Whiterun at the Bannered Mare. While you take him down you can find out how he started up so quickly. Well, what are you still doing here?"

Parting with a glare, and a roll of her eyes, Gwen was muttering curses, running through languages as quickly as she thought of them. Nothing was complimentary, to say the least. Returning to the Ratway, she packed her bags and, not bothering to care about the corruption of the driver, clambered on the carriage back to Whiterun.