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Chapter Text

Hera stomps through the snowy streets of Windhelm sourly. If one more drunken Nord mistakes her for a wood elf under her black Thieves' Guild hood, she may end up spending a night in the jail. Her Redguard skin may be dark, but she definitely does not look like an elf.

She pushes through the heavy eastern gates and makes her way down to the dock. She needs to speak with Captain Gjalund about passage to Solsthiem, as a favor to Delvin. Apparently, he may have found where his brother Glover ran off to, but he has a job in Markarth and can't make the trip north. So Hera, being the helpful Guild Master that she is, offered to come instead.

She is swiftly regretting it.

Hera finds herself at the dock, but realizes she never stopped to ask what Gjalund looks like. She spots an Argonian carrying a stack of firewood off one of the ships and hurries over to him.

"Excuse me?" she asks, doing her best to sound polite despite the frosbite eating its way onto her lips and adding to her irritation. "Would you happen to know, by chance, which one of these bone heads is Captain Gjalund?"

The Argonian quirks a brow and grins, baring his pointed teeth. Hera's skin crawls. Scales make her cringe.

"Yeah, he's that tall one over there. With the hammer," directs the Argonian with his surprisingly warm voice. It's smooth, like sugared honey.

Hera scans the crew on the nearest ship and spots the man he indicated. "Oh, that one. Thank you," she says, waving absently before scampering over in the captain's direction.

The Argonian watches her leave, tilting his head slightly before shrugging and carrying on with his work.

Hera flags down the captain and supplies her inquiry. The captain looks at her like she just grew a horker tusk.

After several minutes of pointless bartering, Hera walks away two hundred and fifty Septims poorer, muttering stubbornly under her breath, "You owe me so much for this, Delvin..."

The Argonian catches up to her on the stairs leading back up to the gates and touches her elbow to stop her.

"Hey, wait up. I saw what Gjalund did. Slimy bastard. He's upset because his boat was robbed a few nights ago, so he's been weaseling all the gold he can get to make up for it. It's all the dock workers have been hearing about since. Of course, he blames the Argonians. Anyway, I'm feeling a little vindictive, and you look like just the person I need to cure that. If you're interested..."

Hera lifts a brow. This reminds her so much of the first scam she did with Brynjolf, the job that led to her initial recruitment into the Guild.

"What do you have in mind?"

He grins and wraps an arm around her waist, guiding her back down the stairs. For some unfathomable reason, she shivers at his touch. She quickly discounts it to the cold.

"You see, Gjalund there has a pretty strongbox in his cabin beneath the deck. But he doesn't sleep on his boat! He has a room up at Candlehearth. Pretty Susanna keeps him entertained, you see. So if someone were to... say... sneak onto the boat after Gjalund and the crew have gone... I imagine it would be the good captain's own fault if another robbery were to occur, don't you agree?"

The entire idea has Hera grinning from ear to ear. "Won't it just get worse for you workers if another robbery happens?"

"Not at all. You see, the Argonians are locked into the Assemblage at night. You know, to keep us from getting any ideas. You can imagine the suspicion we face from the Nords. So if another robbery were to happen at night, when all the workers are locked up in the Assemblage..."

"Then he would have to admit it wasn't the Argonians. Good idea."

He grins proudly and slicks back his blue hair-feathers. "That's why they call me a genius."

"Speaking of calling you things..." Hera notes, "what is your name?"

He bows his head as if tipping a hat, and Hera laughs.

"Scouts-Many-Marshes, at your service."

"That's a long-winded name. How about just Scout?"

He shrugs. "I've been called worse. How about you, hm?"

Hera grins beneath her black hood. "I'm Steals-Many-Jewels."

Scouts rolls his eyes, playing along. "What a mouthful. How about I just call you Jewels?"

Hera shrugs, her eyes sparkling. "I've been called worse."

They walk onto the long dock pier between the boats and sit on the edge. Hera sits cross-legged while Scout dips his toes into the water, the chill sending a shiver up his spine.

Hera lifts a brow. "Isn't that cold?"

"Very. I do this every night, trying to get used to the cold in case I ever fall overboard during one of my shifts. I don't think it's working very well but it beats not being prepared."

"It must be very different going from a hot marsh to the ice caps of Skyrim," Hera muses, watching Scout kick his feet in the frigid water.

"It's not ideal," he admits, "but I don't have much choice. None of us do. The Nords don't pay us enough to even think about traveling anywhere else. I used to love to travel. But apparently Argonian labor isn't worth as much as 'proper Nord labor'."

Hera frowns, refraining from digging her hand into her coin purse and showering this man in wealth. Since joining the Guild, her coffers have only grown. Now she carries around at least a few thousands in gold wherever she goes. Probably not the smartest idea, but her reputation is well known and no one would dare attempt to rob her.

Even if she did somehow lose her gold, she has practically endless amounts of coin stored at her home in Solitude. Money hasn't been a problem for her in a long time.

Scout somehow notices her hesitation and reads her mind. "Please, do not think I am asking for charity. I refuse to take your coin. We will make our own way. We always do."

"There must be something I can do," she insists.

Scout shrugs. "If you want to have a go at Torbjorn Shatter-Shield, I won't be the one holding you back. I've pled our case to him several times and he doesn't pay me any mind. Perhaps you could be more convincing."

"I'll speak to him as soon as possible," she promises, smiling and, without thinking, she places a hand over his where it rests on the stone pier.

He looks up at her suddenly, eyes wide with surprise. She quickly withdraws her hand and tucks it into her pocket.

"Sorry," she mutters, embarrassed.

Scout grins. "Not a problem at all. Your hands are very warm. Must be that Redguard blood in you."

She may have taken the bait if it had been any other time or any other person. But instead, she cheers, "Finally! Someone who doesn't call me an elf!"

Scout laughs and cocks his head at her. "An elf? Who in their right mind would call you an elf?"

"Those stupid Nords that drink their bloody minds away and harass the Dunmer! I don't know how many times they have pestered me and called me a Bosmer. Not that I have any qualms with the elves, but by Ysmir, how do you mistake a Redguard for a wood elf?"

Scout throws his head back and laughs, clutching his ribs. "Oh, that's priceless! Best thing I've heard all-"

"Hey! Lizard! It's past curfew. You should be in the Assemblage by now," snaps a chunky Windhelm guard, pointing a fat finger at Scout, eyes narrowed.

Scout frowns and says, "Can't a man have a moment to himself, Abjorn?"

The guard, Abjorn, sneers and jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward a door barely visible on the wall in the darkening northern sky. "A man can. A lizard can't. Tell your lady love good night and get inside."

Scout rolls his eyes and sighs, hopping up to his feet. He gives a serious look to Hera, a reminder of her task for the night, then turns and stalks away. She just barely catches something muttered under his breath, something that sounds like, "Lady love. Please."

His overheard remark bothers Hera a lot more than it should, more than she expected, but she shakes it off and makes herself scarce to keep the guards from becoming suspicious.

After another half hour, by her count, she slips back onto the dock yard and enters the ship.

Scout was right. There's a cabin beneath the deck and a heavily-stocked strongbox. She also finds a chest containing several baubles and jewelry pieces. Gjalund has been hoarding, it looks like. Hera wonders what he's saving up for, but pays it little mind as she reminds herself she's on a deadline.

The half hour she spent crouching in the shadows wasn't for nothing. She took the time to count out the guard rotations on the dock. About this second, a guard will be glancing over the boat yard. Now he's turning on his heel and heading down the dock toward the warehouse. Hera counts out the last heartbeats until he's well out of her way, then climbs up onto the deck, hops onto the dock, and scurries across the stone, ducking around the corner on the stairs leading up to the gates.

She waits, silent and breathless, until the guard continues his pace back toward the boats. She hasn't been caught. She grins to herself and casually walks up the stairs into the city, heading toward Candlehearth Hall.

Gjalund is laughing boisterously and chugging a tankard, Susanna comfortable on his lap. One of the crew members is telling some old sea tale, and Hera is grinning slightly at his obliviousness. It's delicious.

The night brings a restful sleep, and Hera wakes with the dawn, buzzing with excitement and charisma as she sets out on her morning task. After that is completed, she heads out to the docks.

When she steps out of the gates, she can already hear Gjalund shouting at his crew for their incompetence and she can practically see the grin on Scout's face before she even turns the corner.

It's even better in person.

"Ah, the Jewel graces me with her presence. I assume your... late night activities were fruitful?" Scout inquires, sweeping snow from the stone dock.

Hera nods. "Indeed, they were. But I bring even better news."

"Better news?"

She grins widely. "I spoke to Torbjorn this morning, flagged him down as soon as he walked out of his door. Thanks to my excellent persuasive skills, you, my friend, and all of the workers here have earned yourself a much higher pay."

Scout stares at her in astonishment for several heartbreats, then his face breaks into a grin and he scoops her up into a hug, listing her effortlessly and spinning her around. She squeals and giggles, taken by surprise, and he gives her several rotations before setting her down gently.

"You could not have brought more wonderful news! I could never thank you enough, kind Jewels." Scout takes her hands in his and gives them a firm squeeze, making Hera's cheeks swell.

"Oh, it was nothing," she abashes modestly.

Scout shakes his head and laughs. "Are you ever going to tell me your real name?"

Hera shrugs, her eyes sparkling. "Maybe some day. Not today."

Scout rolls his eyes, about to say something before he suddenly remembers something else and pulls a handful of coins from his pocket. "Here, please, take this. It isn't much, but with my new wages, I can afford to buy all of the workers lunch tomorrow, and for that, you have my eternal gratitude."

Hera smiles warmly, her eyes soft as she shakes her head gently. She cups her hands around his and closes his fingers around the gold.

"You need that more than I do. Buy something pretty. Remember me."

Scout lifts his brows. "Are you not coming back?"

Hera shrugs. "Maybe some day. Not today."

With that, she gives her friend another hug and lingers several heartbeats longer than she should. Then she bids him farewell and returns to Riften.

Chapter Text

After the fall of Mercer, the Guild has been brimming with an endless flow of coin, thanks to Hera's efforts.

Despite her title as Guild Master, Brynjolf has become the real puppeteer behind the screen, giving Hera a lot of freedom to roam. He even told her once if she wants to go off and fight in the war or go Nordic Ruin diving, she's definitely welcome.

Something has held her back though. Ever since that trip to Windhelm, she feels as though she is missing something.

She ponders this as she approaches Ysgramor's city.

The streets seem even more bustling than when she last arrived. The Stormcloaks have been on the rise lately. But Hera pays them little mind.

She steps through the eastern gates and walks down to the docks. As soon as she turns the corner, a familiar face catches sight of her.

"Jewels!" Scout calls, already hurrying toward her. Without warning, he grabs her up in a hug and buries his face against her neck. "I thought someone said a Bosmer was on the loose."

Hera laughs and pushes him off, punching his arm playfully. "Oh, please. Don't make me regret coming all this way to see you."

Scout lifts a brow. "You came all this way just to see me?"

Hera's eyes widen and she blushes brightly against her dark Redguard skin. "I, ah.... had some business to take care of.... locally... Thought I'd, um, you know... stop by."

Scout grins from ear to ear, a thing that makes Hera's cheeks swell even more, and he props his hands on his sides and shrugs. "Alright, well, I'm glad you came by anyway. Come on, let me buy you a drink."

Scout flags down one of other dock workers and points up at the city. The Argonian nods and waves him off. Scout wraps an arm around Hera's waist and guides her up the stairs and into the gates.

The odd pair receives many an odd stare as they parade through the streets of Windhelm. Neither of them care.

"I suppose everything is going well, then, if the drinks are on you?" Hera attempts to ask casually, though it must be obvious she's checking up on him.

"It's better. I'm not used to the spare coin," he grins, tightening his grip on her slightly.

Hera flusters as the feel of his hold sends a flash of warmth through her. She looks at him with concerned eyes. "And they haven't been treating you as poorly, I hope?"

Scout's eyes glaze over and he looks as if he's remembering something distant, but he merely concedes, "It isn't like before. Mostly unkind glares and a few harsh words muttered under their breath. I'll be glad when I can leave this blighted city, get away from Ulfric and his army of baffoons."

"You want to leave Windhelm? Where would you go?" Hera says, her voice growing softer as they approach Candlehearth.

Scout shrugs. "Solitude. Markarth. Somewhere far away and Empire-controlled where I can live in peace."

Hera's chest tightens, an image flashing through her mind of Scout sitting in front of the hearth in Proudspire Manor, of her walking up behind him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Before she can stop herself, she wonders what he'd look like sprawled out on her bed. What his bare chest might look like, if those blue markings along his dark green skin reach all the way down...

She shakes her head as the heat from within the tavern pulls her from her thoughts. Scout guides her to the bar and orders two drinks.

Right about the time that the barmaid places two tankards in front of them, a large, burly man with very little hair in beggar's garb lumbers up to them and sneers, grabbing the two tankards and wandering off.

"Hey, we paid for those!" Scout protests, grabbing the man's shoulder and attempting to turn him around.

"Sod off, lizard. Take your whore and begone," the man spits, shrugging off Scout's hand.

But instead of backing off, Scout furiously grabs the man's arm, whirls him around, and lands a solid blow against the man's face. The tankards clatter to the ground and the man sputters blood and a few teeth.

"Don't you dare speak of her that way," Scout warns, his voice low and deadly.

The Nord's burning eyes turn sharply to Scout, and he pulls his hairy, muscled arm back for a returning blow.

But Hera gets their first.

The blow sends her tumbling backward into Scout, and he catches her deftly. Her eye swells black and the Nord spits at her feet and saunters off, up the stairs.
Scout sees blood trickling from Hera's nose and curses, turning toward the barmaid.

"Does she have a room rented?" he calls, his voice urgent.

The woman nods and points toward the hall. "Yeah, first door on the left. Do you need some help?" Her eyes are large and concerned.

Scout shakes his head. "No, I've got her. Well, actually, if you've got a towel, could you bring it to me, please?"

The barmaid nods and starts looking around underneath her counter.

Scout lifts Hera up in his arms bridal style and carries her to the indicated room. Her head rolls against his shoulder, the blood dripping from her face seeping into his shirt. He doesn't care. He kicks through the door and settles her onto the bed, brushing the inky black strands of hair from her face so they don't get caught in the blood.

The barmaid runs in with a handful of dish towels, setting them on the foot of the bed. "I'm sorry I don't have anything more. And I'm sorry about Angrenor. I'll be sure to charge him double for the drinks and I'll bring you your gold back. Is that okay?"

Scout smiles graciously and pats the woman's arm. "You are very kind, mistress. Thank you."

She nods and scurries out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Scout takes a towel and starts wiping the blood from Hera's face, brushing his fingers over her swollen cheek. He frowns deeply. He caused this. This is his fault.

He only hopes she will forgive him.

It's not long after Scout finishes cleaning up the blood from her face that she starts to stir.

"Ow," is the first thing from her lips, followed quickly by, "Scout?"

Scout touches her cheek gently and whispers, "I'm here, Jewels. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have hit him. This wouldn't have happened-"

Hera shakes her head quickly, then immediately regrets it. "Oww. Okay, first of all, you stop that. He deserves a few good blows to that thick skull of his. Second of all, I would have taken a lot worse if it kept you out of the way."

She lets the sentiment hang in the air, accounting it to the fuzziness in her head from the punch. Even then, however, she can't deny how her chest swells at the warmth in his eyes.

"I should be the one protecting you, little jewel," he whispers, brushing a strand of black hair from her face. "And for the record, I could have ended that fight myself."

"For the record my ass. Why the hell did you punch him anyway? It's not like I haven't been called worse before, and ten Septims for a couple of cheap meads isn't that big a loss, even for you common folk," she teases, but the question hangs there nonetheless. Why did he defend her?

Scout shrugs, his expression unreadable. "I guess I'm just protective of you. You're the only person I care--I mean, my only friend."

Hera's eyes glimmer, her cheeks flushing brightly. She wishes he had said what he was originally going to say, but she settles for knowing what he meant.

Without thinking (though if she had thought about it, the result would be the same), she says suddenly, "Hera."

Scout lifts a scaled brow and his hand ceases stroking her cheek, instead settling against her chin. "Hera?"

"My name. My name is Hera."

Scout graces her with the most spectacular smile she's ever seen. "That is a beautiful name for a jewel."

Hera blossoms with a blush and closes her eyes, allowing herself some rest and soon drifting off to sleep.

She wakes in his arms. It's deliciously warm.

At some point, he must have removed his shirt. Hera's curving figure is cradled close against his bare, scaled flesh. She allows herself a few moments to relish in the surprising beauty that is this man. She was right. The blue markings reach down as far as the eye can see; oh, Mara, does she wish her eyes could see more. This is it, isn't it? It's happened.

She's let herself fall in love.

It's a tickle in the pit of her stomach, crawling up through her spine to a hollow at the base of her neck. It flutters and teases her, thinking boldly that it knows what's what in the world and telling her very certainly that she has in fact fallen in love.

The idea confounds her.

He's a lizard.

Hera drags her fingers over his scaled torso, tracing all of the dents and curves and grooves. She memorizes his markings and distinctions without even thinking about it.

With a soft mumble, Scout stirs slightly and shifts Hera's body against him. Somehow, she's pulled impossibly closer by his arm firmly wrapped around her narrow waist.

"Well, this is a wonderful way to wake," he hums softly, reaching his free hand across his width to place it atop Hera's wandering fingers on his chest. She momentarily turns to butter, savoring every tiny detail of the moment. It's something about male chests that makes her weak in the knees, and she has no shame for it. It makes her blood boil.

"I can't say the warmth is unwelcome," she supplies, realizing she's about to drift off.

"I very much agree. How's your head feeling?"

Like it's trying to swim through a pool of plum pudding?

"Better," she says instead. "I think I'll live."

"That's good," he says contently, giving her waist a gentle squeeze and smiling slightly.

Hera's throat clenches. She has to say something. She can't lay here and drown in her blurry puddle of emotions while he's right here beside her, holding her in his arms. She has to say something. She has to-

"Are you leaving Windhelm today?"

That gives her pause. She looks up at him, eyes brimming with confusion. "What?"

"I assumed that since you're feeling better, you would be heading home, wherever that may be," he explains, his eyes closed and his face relaxed as though he's about to fall back to sleep.

"I, um.. I suppose? I mean, I thought... well, never mind. I guess I do need to be heading home. Riften, I mean. I live in Riften."

Hera's cheeks burn furiously. She closes her eyes a moment, mentally scolding herself for letting her judgement-lacking, early morning mind trick her into thinking there was anything significant going on here. She shakes her head to herself and pushing herself upright, swinging her legs off the bed and standing up.

Scout watches as she gathers her black Guild Master armor and dresses herself. The tight-fitting leather is slightly uncomfortable over her tunic and cotton pants due to the dampness of sweat, a result of the fabric being pressed between two warm bodies. She is in no mood to rummage the wardrobe for more clothes, however. She's in no mood for anything less than storming out of the city and marching her pathetic self home.

When she reaches for her Nightingale blade, Scout's hand appears over her own.

"Jewels," he says firmly, his small eyes narrowed in concern.

Hera frowns deeply and snatches her hand away from his, grabbing her Nightingale blade and Dawnbreaker (a gift from Meridia for purifying her temple of dark magic). With one furious and embarrassingly hurt last glance at Scout, with his raised, scaly brows and his eyes sickeningly sincere, Hera does exactly what she should have done that first day she met him, when he asked her for help clearing the Argonians' names from accusations of theft, and storms out of Windhelm, burning with humiliation and fury. She doesn't look back.

Chapter Text

He lost her. He lost her, and it was his fault

Scout carries a heavy crate of apples off the boat and places it on top of a tall stack of similar crates, each containing a different food. He wipes his brow with the topside of his forearm and heaves a sigh. A saddled shade of sadness has glazed over his eyes. At any given moment, he's not truly seeing anything in front of him. He's working on auto-pilot, devoid of any will to give a care.

He lost her, and it was his fault.

Scout knows good and well why she left. Why couldn't he have controlled his temper? Why did he have to punch that stupid Nord? Why didn't he push her out of the way when Angrenor swung back?

Why didn't he stop her when she stormed out of that inn, eyes brimming with tears and full of hurt?

It was his fault. It took her a few moments to fully wake up and gain her senses, but he should have known she would realize it sooner or later. Now he's left here to pine for a love that he'll never find again.

He's pondered the idea of going to Riften, of tracking her down and confessing his love for her, of apologizing profusely until she has no choice but to forgive him. He has the coin. He could be in Riften in a matter of days.

But what would he say? What could he say?

Scout knows what he could say. What he should have said.

He also knows good and well that she would never hear that from him now. He could say it all day long, but she would never hear it. She will never forgive him.

He'll never see her again.

"Scouts-Many-Marshes," says Neetrenaza, looking up from his grindstone. "Dare I ask why you've been in such a mood lately?"

Scout shakes his head, not meeting the eyes of his fellow Argonian friend. "No, Neetrenaza. You don't want to know."

"Does it have anything to do with that Redguard girl that you took out for a drink a few weeks ago?"

Scout frowns and gives him a steely glare. "I don't want to hear it, Neetrenaza. It's not worth talking about. I screwed up and she left."

Neetrenaza gives a huff from his scaled nostrils, shrugs, and gets back to pumping the grindstone with his foot.

"For what it's worth, Scouts," he says after a moment over the hiss of the blade on the stone, "I've never seen you happier than when she was around. Whatever you did.. If there's a chance for you to fix it, I would suggest you give it the best damn try you can give, because a girl like that isn't coming around again."

Scout looks out over the half-frozen expanse of water beyond the stone of the dock. His eyes drag toward the stables, past the shivering horses and off into the distance. Somewhere in that direction is his firey little Redguard. He wonders if she misses him, up here in the cold.

"I know, Neetrenaza. There will never be another Jewel like her. But I don't think there's any way she will forgive me. Not for this." Scout's voice sounds miserable, twisted with self-loathing and regret.

"You never know until you ask her yourself. Anything would be better than watching you walk around here tearing yourself apart from the inside out. Keep that up and I'm going to have to throw myself into the water for a moment of relief."

Scout smirks, his eyes meeting Neetrenaza's briefly before wandering back to the stable. "I think you're right," he mutters.

Within an hour, he's on a carriage to Riften.

***

"Aw, come on, Vex. Everyone knows that you're secretly pining for me."

Vex rolls her eyes and takes a long draft of her ale, doing her best to ignore Delvin's ceaseless advances.

"It's never going to happen, Mallory," chides Vekel the Man, wiping down the counter with a grin on his face as he watches the two bicker again.

"Oh, it'll happen. The lovely lady can't deny her undying lust for me," says Delvin, waggling his eyebrows at the platinum blond thief, who looks appropriately disgusted.

Hera smiles into her tankard, watching the nightly spectacle and counting down the seconds before Delvin ends up on his arse with a bucket over his head. That's happened a fair amount of times, enough that it's a safe bet it'll reoccur at any given moment.

Tonight, however, it doesn't seem like there are any buckets within Vex's reach, so Delvin may just end up on his arse. Nothing short of entertaining, even so.
"Drowning your sorrows in mead, are we?"

Hera can't decide whether she wants to grin or frown when the warm, familiar voice materializes just behind her right ear.

"I'm a stupidly wealthy master thief leading a stupidly wealthy guild of stupidly wealthy thieves. Well, maybe just stupid, if Delvin is our mascot," Hera replies, swirling the amber-colored liquid in her tankard. The smell of the alcohol mixes pleasantly with the smell of nearly rusted metal. "Either way, I have no sorrows."

Brynjolf smiles and takes a seat across from her at the table and gives Vekel the international "bring me beer" hand signal.

"After all of these years, do you really think I can't read you like an open book by now? I'm wounded that you underestimate me so," Brynjolf sighs dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest.

Hera rolls her eyes. "You're hopeless. And if you read me so well, what do you think I'm so melancholy about?"

Brynjolf smiles mischievously. It's unnerving yet charming. "Ah, lass. One doesn't need to be fluent in your mannerisms to know that you are suffering from a broken heart."

Hera's expression drops instantly, and she abruptly sets her tankard down with a clank.

"It's not a broken heart. I'm not broken-hearted. That's ridiculous."

"Ah, is that so, lass?" Brynjolf hums, his knowing grin ceaseless. "Are you forgetting that I am the one who does all of the paperwork behind the jobs everyone runs, and you have taken a third of the Windhelm jobs that have come in over the past few months?"

"I like Windhelm. Snow is pretty," Hera protests, chugging down half the mead in her tankard. It burns the entire way down.

"You're a Redguard. You lived in a desert most of your life. You hate snow," Brynjolf says, chuckling.

Hera keeps her mouth shut and looks over Brynjolf's shoulder to where Delvin is on his arse muttering a long string of curses. From the goose egg rising on his forehead and the smug look on Vex's face as she heaves a broom over her shoulder, it looks like the blond thief's skill with brandishing household items as weapons is not limited to buckets.

"What's in Windhelm, lass?" Brynjolf insists, dragging Hera's attention back to her red-haired friend.

"Nothing," she snaps.

Brynjolf holds up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. You don't have to tell me. But I'll have you know-"

Whatever he intended to say is cut short by the sound of commotion coming from somewhere behind Hera. She turns quickly to see what's going on, and her jaw hits the floor.

Dirge stands at his post, tall and intimidating as ever, with his fists curled at his sides as he looks down upon a figure struggling to hoist himself back up to his feet. The torchlight makes the blue color streaking down the side of his head glisten, and Hera jumps from her chair.

"Scout!" she exclaims, shoving by Dirge and helping Scout to his feet. She gives Dirge the most menacing glare she has ever given another human being.

"You," Hera says in a low, deadly voice, her dark eyes on Dirge. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"He tried to push past me, boss. He wouldn't take a hint," Dirge defends, looking haughty.

"Go," she says, her eyes flashing. "Find somewhere else to be so I don't have to look at you."

Dirge frowns, but he concedes and saunters deeper into the cistern, out of sight.

Hera's eyes immediately fall back on Scout, and a million emotions flood her chest as she realizes she's clutching the only person she's wanted to see in weeks. His scaled cheeks are flushed in an amber color she hasn't seen on him in so long, it makes her breath catch.

"Are you okay?" she asks after a moment of catching up with herself.

Scout coughs, dusting off his shirt. "I-yes, I'm fine." His eyes venture to hers and he suddenly looks very uncertain and embarrassed. "I, um.. this may have been a bad idea. I just.. wanted to see how you were doing."

"Shh," Hera says, looking back toward the tavern, where all eyes were on her. Brynjolf grins smugly, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet propped on the table. Delvin and Vekel and Tonilia look stunned. Vex looks like she couldn't give two shits. Turning back to Scout, she says, "Not here. Let's step out for a minute."

Scout nods, suddenly aware of all of the prying eyes watching them as they leave the Flagon. The air is different away from the overwhelming smell of leather and booze. This tiny room used to be a timid woman's alchemy laboratory before a couple of fools thinking they could sneak into the cistern decided to run her through. They never made it past Dirge, even armed.

Hera's told that that woman was one of Tonilia's oldest friends. She spent the next week cleaning the blood from the stones and preparing a burial for her. This was only a few weeks before Brynjolf inducted Hera into the guild.

When Hera and Scout reach the table where the alchemy laboratory is still assembled because no one had the heart to remove it, Hera seats herself on the edge of the table, swinging her legs idly.

"Before you say anything," Scout says quickly, "I didn't plan this. I didn't mean to drop in on you, I just.. When you said you were from Riften, I figured you must be part of the Thieves Guild, so I asked around and someone pointed me to the Ratway."

Scout rubs the back of his neck, pacing now. "You're, um.. someone important here, I suppose? That oaf in there, he deferred to you. You must be important."

Hera looks down awkwardly, observing the floor. "Important, that's a word for it. I'm, uh, the Guild Master. I'm the leader of the Thieves Guild."

That stops Scout's pacing. He looks at her with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open. "The leader? Wow, that's.. I mean, I guess I should have expected that. You're you."
One look at Hera's face when he says that and suddenly he's scrambling for words. "I mean, it's just that you're.. you look like someone, you seem like someone who would be in charge in a place like this. Not that that's a bad thing! It's not... oh, Divines, someone shoot me."

Hera's face slowly spreads into a grin. "You came all of this way to bluster like an idiot and pace a ditch into a stone floor?"

"I came here to.. I came here because.." he stutters, words failing him. He presses his hands to his forehead, closes his eyes tightly, and lets out a frustrated groan.

"What is it? Spit it out," Hera says, growing impatient, an anxious knot forming in her stomach.

Something seems to click, and Scout drops his hands, meets her eyes squarely, walks right up to her, grabs her face, and crushes his lips against hers in one fluid motion.
Hera didn't expect his lips to be warm. She expected scales, cold and hard. What she didn't expect is a soft, warm spread of flesh that caresses her lips and makes her sigh into his kiss, makes her wrap her arms around him and pull him closer, makes her melt into his embrace.

She didn't expect to be warm. She didn't expect to kiss an Argonian. And she certainly didn't expect she would like it this much.

She clutches him to her, arching her curvy form against his body and wrapping her legs around him. He presses himself against her, forcing her to lean back over the table and cling to him for support. His hands tangle into her hair, lock her face against his, and his lips are a cage within which his tongue invades her mouth and assaults her, drawing soft, mewling moans from her.

The world around them is gone. The air crackles with the pent up energy between them finally being released. And by the gods, she can feel his desire pressing against her very acutely with her legs wrapped around him and his body crushed against her.

She breaks the kiss for a breath, panting with heat. "There's a bed, deeper in the tunnels. If you want."

Scout's face melts into a grin and his eyes dance with excitement. He removes himself from the cage of her legs and hoists her up bridal style, her laughter bouncing off the stones. With her guidance, he carries her to the abandoned alcove, furnished with only a bed and a tattered rug.

He places her feet on the ground, and Hera faces him and wraps her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in. His arms snake around her waist and clutch her tightly. She has to rise on her toes slightly to press her lips to the soft flesh at the base of his neck.

He shivers, leaning his head against her and letting out a soft moan. Her lips venture farther down, tracing his collarbone. His fingers curl desperately, but the leather is stiff and unyielding, so as she trails her kisses along what little flesh is exposed at the neck of his shirt, Scout gets to work untangling her piece by piece from the mess of straps and buckles that is her Guild Master armor.

Hera laughs a bit against his chest, her fingertips curling beneath the hem of his shirt. "I can help, you know," she says.

"Nope, I'm getting used to this now because I plan on doing it several, several more times in the future," he says.

"Oh," is all she can muster in response.

He grins when he finally figures out how the top layer of buckles comes off. He peels it from her, and makes quick work of her leather pants as well.

She's left in a black sleeveless tunic and black cotton pants. Her eyes sparkle in the dim light, daring him to venture on. She tugs his shirt up over his head and tosses it away. The sight of him shirtless is definitely just as delicious as it was before, all those weeks ago. She swallows the space between them and presses her lips to his chest, kissing and cherishing the spattering of scales upon soft flesh, her fingertips following the blue markings all the way down.

He touches a hand to her cheek as she kisses down his abdomen, appreciating the firm musculature that meets her there, until she finds herself at the hem of his cotton pants.
Hera's eyes flick up to meet his, and he gives her a crooked grin and nods slightly. She smiles excitedly and hooks her fingers beneath the fabric, tugging it down until it pools at his feet.

Scout's arousal is straining against his small clothes. In Hera's over-eagerness, she struggles to wiggle the smalls down, and Scout chuckles at her struggle.

"Need some help, little jewel?" he teases.

"Not at all," she says as the smalls give way and drop to the floor, allowing his rather impressive length to spring to attention.

Hera oggles her prize, her cheeks utterly flushed. She looks up at him in amazement, only to see that his own cheeks are swelled with a blush. He looks adorably bashful.

"That's a, um.. rather large spear you have there," Hera says awkwardly, choking down a laugh.

"I think you have your Lusty Argonian Maid characters reversed," Scout replies, grinning.

"Better get to polishing, hm?" she teases.

Hera nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his deliciously primal scent. They are both sleek with sweat and their bodies are pasted together. Hera wouldn't have it any other way in this moment.

She strokes a hand down his scaled abdomen, admiring his chiseled musculature, when he begins to stir.

"Sleep well, Scout?" she murmers, smiling up at him.

He perks an eye open to peek at her, then closes it again and grins. "I woke better."

"What does this mean?" she asks, resting her cheek against his chest.

"What, this? It means I'm not letting you get away from me again. That was a stupid, stupid thing to do." His arm tightens around her waist, making her skin flush warmly.

Hera smiles, tracing circles with her finger on his chest. "Yes, I agree. The thieves are going to talk, you know. I'm sure they're already taking bets on what exactly happened when I dragged you out of the flagon."

Scout shrugs a bit, making Hera's head bobble back and forth. "Let them talk. As long as I have you, I'm pleased."

"Me too," she says, and tucks herself more snugly against his side and closes her eyes, content to fall back to sleep in his arms.