I'm Really Not the Dragonborn.

The shadows clung to the walls of Nightcaller Temple, deeper and colder than any natural darkness. Within them, unseen and unheard, the members of the Dark Brotherhood watched. They had infiltrated the temple under cover of the chaos, their presence as subtle as the whisper of the wind through the crumbling stonework. They witnessed Ibnor's journey through the ruins, his battles against the possessed Orcs and Vaermina devotees, and finally, the confrontation with Erandur's past.

Gabriella watched with a mixture of fascination and unease as Ibnor dispatched the larger Orc with brutal efficiency.

"He wasn't playing around when he took down that Orc Warlord," she murmured, her voice barely audible even to Nazir, who stood beside her.

"He's capable of more than he lets on. A dangerous quality in a leader." Nazir nodded, his eyes narrowed. 

"Oh, the drama! The betrayal! The divine intervention! It's simply delicious!" Festus Krex, ever the theatrical one, chuckled softly. 

"That priest… he's hiding something." Arnbjorn grunted, his gaze fixed on Erandur as he prepared to destroy the Skull. 

As Erandur began the incantation, the air crackled with magical energy. Astrid, her face obscured by her hood, watched intently. She had seen many displays of magic in her time, but this felt different. Rawer. More… primal.

Then, Vaermina's voice echoed in their minds, a cold, seductive whisper. Astrid felt a shiver run down her spine.

"So, the Daedric Prince herself takes an interest," she murmured, more to herself than to the others.

They watched as Ibnor ignored Vaermina's command, choosing to trust Erandur. The blinding flash of light and the ensuing explosion shook the very foundations of the temple. When the dust settled, the Skull was gone, and Erandur stood beside Ibnor, offering his loyalty.

The assassins retreated from the temple as quietly as they had arrived, melting back into the night. They reconvened at their hidden camp outside Dawnstar, the flickering torches casting long, dancing shadows among the trees.

The silence hung heavy as they considered what they had witnessed. Finally, Gabriella broke the silence.

"He defied a Daedric Prince. He chose to trust a former priest of Vaermina over the direct command of a Daedra. What does that mean?"

"It means he's either incredibly foolish or incredibly confident," Nazir replied, his voice pragmatic. "Or perhaps… both."

"Oh, I do hope it's the latter! A truly chaotic leader! Imagine the possibilities!" Festus cackled. 

"He's using us. He's using the Thieves Guild. He's playing a dangerous game." Arnbjorn remained skeptical. 

Astrid listened to their arguments, her expression unreadable. She had been carefully considering everything she had seen, weighing the risks and the potential rewards. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and measured, cutting through the murmurs of the others.

"He is powerful," she began. "He is charismatic. And he is… unpredictable. He has defied a Daedric Prince, forged an alliance with a repentant priest, and now he has liberated a city. He has shown us a glimpse of a different kind of power, a power that extends beyond the shadows, beyond the confines of the Brotherhood's traditional methods."

She paused, her gaze sweeping over the faces of her companions.

"He spoke of merging the Brotherhood with the Guild. At first, I dismissed it as a fanciful notion. But now… I see the potential. Two powerful organizations, united under a single leader. The resources, the influence… we could achieve things we never thought possible."

"We answer to the Night Mother, not to some… upstart Jarl." Arnbjorn growled. 

Astrid met his gaze, her expression firm.

"The Night Mother has been silent. Our contracts have dwindled. We are fading into obscurity. Perhaps… Perhaps it is time for a new path. A path that leads us back to power, back to significance." She took a deep breath, her decision made.

"We will remain in Dawnstar. We will continue to observe Ibnor. And we will… consider his offer." She looked at each of them in turn, her gaze holding a steely resolve. 

"This is not a decision to be taken lightly. But we must be prepared to adapt, to evolve. Or we risk becoming nothing more than whispers in the wind. Let us see what he does with this power. And let us be ready to act, should the opportunity—or the necessity—arise."

The assassins remained silent, the weight of Astrid's words hanging in the air. The fate of the Dark Brotherhood, it seemed, was now intertwined with the destiny of the Jarl of Dawnstar.

Ibnor and Erandur returned to Dawnstar under the watchful gaze of the now-clear night sky. The magical motes had faded, leaving behind only the crisp, cold air and the faint glow of the town's torches. Brina stood waiting near the gates, her face etched with worry that quickly dissolved into relief as she saw them approach.

"Jarl Ibnor!" she exclaimed, hurrying towards them. "We were worried. There were… strange lights in the sky."

"The nightmares are gone, Brina," Ibnor reassured her, a tired but satisfied smile on his face. "It's over."

Brina's eyes widened, and she looked from Ibnor to Erandur, a flicker of understanding dawning on her face. "You… you did it. You actually did it."

"With Erandur's help," Ibnor added, gesturing to the priest.

Brina turned to Erandur, a look of profound gratitude in her eyes.

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

"It was my… honor," Erandur replied, a faint blush rising on his cheeks.

They entered the Longhouse, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and hearthfire a welcome change from the stale air of the temple. The main hall was dimly lit, but the atmosphere was noticeably different. The oppressive tension that had hung over the place for weeks was gone, replaced by a quiet sense of relief.

"How fares Dawnstar?" Ibnor turned his attention back to Brina. 

"Better," Brina replied. "The people… they seem… lighter. There's a sense of hope I haven't seen in weeks. But…" she hesitated.

"But?" Ibnor prompted.

"Skald… he's taken his defeat badly. He said some… unsavory words when he departed for Windhelm. Not just at you and me, Jarl. At all of us. Even the townspeople. There's talk he might seek support from Ulfric Stormcloak."

"He can try," Ibnor said, a hint of amusement in his voice, "but I doubt Ulfric can spare the attention."

"What do you mean?" Brina asked, her brow furrowed.

"Haven't you heard?" Ibnor asked, a sly grin spreading across his face. "About my… little visit to Windhelm?"

"The rumors… they're true? You really marched into Windhelm and… injured Ulfric in his own palace?" Brina's eyes widened. 

"Slightly exaggerated," Ibnor said dismissively, "but yes, there was an… altercation. Let's just say Ulfric has more pressing matters to attend to than a disgruntled ex-Jarl. He can't afford to split his forces—not between me and the Imperials at the same time."

"What about the Imperials?" Brina asked, her voice laced with concern.

"What about them?" Ibnor countered.

"Surely they won't let this go. You've taken control from a… legitimate Jarl."

"One," Ibnor said, raising a finger, "I did it legitimately, by right of challenge. Two," he raised another finger, "the Imperials know by now, after what they did to me in Helgen, that I'm a… shit stirrer, bluntly saying. If they ask me to hand Dawnstar over to them, my response will likely be that I'll just hand it back to Ulfric. They know I'm unpredictable, and they'll be hesitant to push me too hard." He gave Brina a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Brina. I've considered all the angles."

He gestured towards a nearby table, and they both sat down.

"Now," Ibnor continued, his tone shifting to a more businesslike one, "let's talk about Dawnstar itself. What needs immediate attention?"

"The docks are in disrepair," Brina began, "and the fishing yields have been poor. The miners are also complaining about unstable tunnels. And of course, there's the general morale. The nightmares have taken a toll."

"The docks are a priority," Ibnor said, his voice firm. "A thriving port is essential for Dawnstar's prosperity. I envision a bustling hub of trade, bringing in goods and resources from across Skyrim and beyond. This will not only improve the town's economy but also provide much-needed jobs for our citizens." He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. Brina watched him, a flicker of hope igniting within her. It had been a long time since she had heard anyone speak of Dawnstar with such passion.

"Imagine, Brina: new ships docking daily, bringing in exotic goods from distant lands. Merchants setting up stalls, creating a vibrant marketplace. Dawnstar could become a major trading center on the northern coast."

"That… that would be incredible," Brina said, a flicker of excitement in her own eyes. Ibnor smiled, pleased to see her enthusiasm. He knew that the people of Dawnstar needed something to believe in, a vision of a brighter future.

"It will require investment, of course," Ibnor continued. "We'll need to repair the existing docks, expand the harbor, and perhaps even establish a proper guard to protect the trade routes. But the potential rewards are immense. It will bring wealth and opportunity to Dawnstar, and it will solidify our position in this… chaotic time." He paused, his expression turning more serious. He knew that this was a gamble. But he was willing to take the risk, for the sake of Dawnstar, and for the sake of his own ambitions.

"It will also give us leverage in this war. A strong, independent Dawnstar is less vulnerable to the whims of either the Empire or the Stormcloaks."

"And the miners?" Brina asked.

"I'll send word to some experienced miners I know," Ibnor replied. "They can assess the tunnels and advise on how to make them safer. We'll also need to ensure the miners are properly compensated for their work. Their safety and well-being are paramount."

He looked around the Longhouse, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"We need to give the people of Dawnstar something to believe in, Brina. We need to show them that things are changing, that there is a future for this town. And we will do it together."

"But we are short on people," Brina pointed out.

"I've already taken steps to address that. I sent a letter to someone in Helgen… someone named Illia." Ibnor smiled. 

"What did you write?" Brina asked, curious.

"Just two words. 'Green Light.' If it's truly Illia, she'll understand." Ibnor's smile widened. 

The conversation ended there, the weight of the political implications hanging in the air. News of Ibnor's takeover of Dawnstar spread like wildfire across Skyrim, eliciting a variety of reactions:

In the Palace of the Kings, Ulfric Stormcloak sat upon a hastily repaired throne, the scars of Ibnor's assault still visible on the surrounding stonework. Galmar Stone-Fist paced before him, his face a thundercloud.

"This… this is intolerable!" Galmar roared. "He waltzes into our city, assaults you in your own hall, and now he claims another hold? This is an insult to the Stormcloak cause!"

Ulfric raised a hand, silencing Galmar. He rubbed his still-aching shoulder, a grimace flickering across his face.

"He is… bold," Ulfric admitted, a hint of grudging respect in his voice. "Audacious, even. To take Dawnstar… by right of challenge, no less… it is… unexpected."

"Unexpected? It's an act of defiance!" Galmar retorted. "He's mocking us! He's mocking you!"

"Perhaps," Ulfric conceded. "Or perhaps… he is simply demonstrating his strength. He has shown he is not afraid of either the Empire or the Stormcloaks. He has carved his own path." He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "He claims to seek a united Skyrim. A Skyrim free from Imperial influence. That… is a goal we share."

"But his methods!" Galmar protested. "He uses dragons! He defies tradition! He assaults Jarls in their own halls!"

Ulfric sighed.

"Tradition… has not served us well, Galmar. And perhaps… perhaps it is time for new methods. This… Ibnor… he is a force to be reckoned with. We cannot afford to dismiss him. Not while the Empire still holds sway over much of Skyrim." He looked at Galmar, his eyes firm. 

"For now, we will observe. We will gather information. We will see what his intentions truly are. But we will not engage him directly… not yet. The war against the Empire takes precedence. But… keep a close eye on Dawnstar. And on Ibnor."

The last time, Ulfric had inadvertently played a part in Ibnor's downfall in Falkreath. He'd spoken of testing Ibnor's strength, of needing proof of his worth as an ally. And Ibnor, in his own dramatic fashion, had provided it – by walking alone into Windhelm, shattering the city gates, and confronting Ulfric in his own hall.

The public rebuke that followed, orchestrated by Siddgeir to appease both Ulfric and the Empire, had stripped Ibnor of his Thane status and control of Helgen. Now, this same man had seized Dawnstar. Ulfric knew that any direct action against Ibnor would be perceived as weakness, as an inability to control his own vassals, especially after the humiliation in his own palace.

In the Blue Palace, Elenwen, the Thalmor ambassador, received the news with thinly veiled disdain. She paced before a large window overlooking the city, her expression a mask of carefully controlled displeasure. Her advisor, Ondolemar, stood silently behind her, his face equally impassive.

"This… Ibnor," Elenwen hissed, her voice laced with contempt. "He is becoming… problematic. His actions are… disruptive. Unpredictable." She paused, her eyes narrowing. 

"And he is not even one of them. He has the look of an Imperial dog, yet he acts with the boldness of a Nord warlord. A dangerous combination."

"Indeed, Ambassador," Ondolemar replied. "His control of a dragon is… concerning. Such power in the hands of a Man… is a dangerous development."

"He is a wild card," Elenwen agreed. "A loose end that must be… addressed. His recent actions in Windhelm and now this… takeover of Dawnstar… it is clear he is seeking to establish himself as a power in Skyrim. This cannot be allowed." She stopped pacing and turned to Ondolemar, her eyes narrowing. 

"I want a full report on this man. His history, his motivations, his… weaknesses. I want to know everything."

"Of course, Ambassador," Ondolemar replied, bowing slightly. "I will dispatch our agents immediately."

"And Ondolemar," Elenwen added, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "I want you to explore… alternative solutions. If he cannot be controlled… he must be… neutralized."

In the war room of Castle Dour, General Tullius conferred with Legate Rikke. Maps of Skyrim were spread across the table, marked with troop movements and strategic points.

"This… Ibnor," Tullius began, his voice laced with frustration. "He's a constant thorn in our side. First Helgen, now Dawnstar. He's deliberately stirring up trouble, disrupting the balance of power."

"He has certainly made a bold move, General," Rikke replied. "Taking Dawnstar by right of challenge… it's… unprecedented."

"Unprecedented and infuriating," Tullius retorted. "He claims to be acting in the best interests of Skyrim, but his actions are only creating more instability. He's playing a dangerous game, and he's dragging us all into it." He paused, tapping his fingers on the table. 

"We can't ignore this. We need to decide how to proceed."

"Perhaps we should send an envoy to Dawnstar," Rikke suggested. "To assess the situation and… perhaps negotiate with Ibnor."

Tullius shook his head. "Negotiate? With a man who assaults Jarls and commands dragons? That would only embolden him. No." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

"We can ill afford to divert significant resources while this war is raging. Sending a legion to deal with him would be like throwing meat to a hungry wolf… or in this case, a hungry dragon. Between the rumors spreading among the populace and the… unsettling reports we've received about his control over the beast, the very idea of confronting him directly with a large force is… troubling." He paused, his gaze hardening. 

"Dawnstar was under Stormcloak control. Sending Imperial troops there, even a small detachment, would be seen as an act of aggression, a direct violation of the current… delicate truce. It would give Ulfric the perfect excuse to break negotiations and renew open hostilities. We cannot risk that."

He paced for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "We need information. Reliable information. I want eyes on Dawnstar, but not Imperial ones. We need to find… other means of gathering intelligence." He looked at Rikke, his expression grim. 

"For now… we watch. And we wait. But if Ibnor becomes a direct threat to Imperial interests… we will find a way to deal with him. Discreetly."

In Dragonsreach, Balgruuf the Greater, Jarl of Whiterun, received the news with a thoughtful nod. He had already forged an alliance with Ibnor, witnessing first hand his power and his commitment to a unified Skyrim. The news of Dawnstar's acquisition, while surprising in its swiftness, did not unsettle him. He saw it as further consolidation of Ibnor's influence, a development that could be either beneficial or detrimental, depending on how Ibnor chose to wield his newfound power. He summoned Proventus Avenicci, his steward.

"Proventus," Balgruuf began, gesturing to the reports spread across his war table, "news from Dawnstar. Ibnor has taken control of the hold."

"Indeed, Jarl. The reports are… quite remarkable. A challenge by ancient right, against Jarl Skald. It is… most unusual." Proventus adjusted his cloth, his expression carefully neutral. 

"Unusual, perhaps," Balgruuf agreed, a slight smile playing on his lips, "but not unexpected, given Ibnor's… methods. He is a man of action, Proventus. He does not hesitate to seize opportunity when it presents itself." He paused, his expression turning more serious. "This strengthens our alliance, undoubtedly. But it also places a greater responsibility on both of us. We must ensure that Ibnor's power is used wisely, for the good of Skyrim, and not for personal gain."

"Of course, Jarl," Proventus replied. "I will send word to Dawnstar, offering Whiterun's continued support and inquiring as to any assistance Ibnor might require in establishing his rule."

"An excellent idea, Proventus," Balgruuf said. "And ensure that the message conveys our… congratulations. And our… anticipation for future cooperation." He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Ibnor is a force to be reckoned with. He is a powerful ally, but he is also… unpredictable. We must tread carefully, and ensure that our alliance remains mutually beneficial."

In Mistveil Keep, Maven Black-Briar sat upon the Jarl's throne, her fingers steepled before her, a calculating glint in her eyes. The news of Ibnor's actions in Dawnstar had reached her, and she considered the implications with her usual shrewdness. The usual boisterous atmosphere of the keep was muted, replaced by an air of tense anticipation. Hemming stood beside her, his expression mirroring her own.

"Dawnstar," Maven murmured, her voice smooth as silk. "Ibnor continues to surprise. He moves with a… boldness that is… almost reckless."

"Indeed, Mother," Hemming replied. "His influence is growing rapidly. From Helgen to Dawnstar… he is quickly establishing himself as a major player in Skyrim's affairs."

"He has the support of Balgruuf," Maven mused. "A powerful ally. And he has… other… connections." She paused, her gaze distant, as if recalling something from the past. "Connections that could prove… very useful… or very dangerous."

"What do you intend to do, Mother?" Hemming asked.

Maven smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

"Observe, Hemming. Observe and wait. Ibnor's rise to power presents… opportunities. And I intend to be ready to seize them when they arise. The Thieves Guild will undoubtedly see increased activity in Dawnstar now that their… associate… is in charge. It's a development we can certainly… capitalize on." She paused, tapping her finger on the armrest of the throne.

"But we must be careful. Ibnor is not a man to be trifled with. He understands the value of discretion, and he knows what I know. That… mutual understanding… is currently our best… deterrent. But that could change. And if it does…" She trailed off, her smile widening slightly. "Well, let's just say I prefer to be the one holding the strings."

In the Jarl's Longhouse, Siddgeir paced nervously, clutching a goblet of wine. The crimson liquid sloshed precariously close to the rim with each agitated step. The news from Dawnstar had hit him like a physical blow, a cold wave of fear washing over him. He had expected some resistance from Ibnor, perhaps even some angry words or a minor skirmish. But this… this open seizure of another hold, this blatant display of power… it was far beyond anything he had anticipated. Dengeir, his uncle and advisor, watched him with a mixture of concern and disappointment, his brow furrowed.

"Siddgeir, you must calm yourself," Dengeir said, his voice firm, his eyes fixed on the jittery Jarl. "Pacing will not change the situation. It only makes you appear more… unsettled."

Siddgeir stopped abruptly, sloshing wine over his hand, staining his tunic a deep red.

"Calm myself? He's taken Dawnstar! He's openly defying the Empire, defying me! What am I supposed to do? He'll take everything I have!"

"We anticipated some… fallout from revoking his Thane status," Dengeir replied, his tone measured, his gaze unwavering. "But this… this is indeed a significant escalation. I confess, I did not foresee this."

"Escalation?" Siddgeir scoffed, his voice laced with panic. "He's practically declared war! He's showing everyone that he can do whatever he wants, with no consequences! What if he comes for Falkreath next? What if he decides he wants to reclaim Helgen by force? He'll take my mines, my lumber mills… everything!"

Dengeir placed a calming hand on Siddgeir's shoulder, his grip firm. "He has made no such threats, Siddgeir. And he has the support of Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun. Open conflict with him would be… disastrous. Even the Empire hesitates to move against him directly."

"Disastrous?" Siddgeir repeated, his voice rising in panic. "He commands dragons, Dengeir! Dragons! What can we possibly do against that? The Imperial Legion couldn't stand against a single one, let alone a man who commands them!"

"We must rely on the Empire," Dengeir said, though his voice lacked conviction.

He knew the Empire was stretched thin, their resources focused on the war with the Stormcloaks. He also knew that Tullius was wary of provoking Ibnor further. He suspected the Empire would offer little more than empty platitudes and thinly veiled threats.

Siddgeir sank into his chair, his face pale, his hand trembling as he set down the goblet.

"What have I done?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I thought I was being clever, appeasing Ulfric, showing my loyalty to the Empire. But now… I've created a monster. A monster I can't control." He looked at Dengeir, his eyes filled with genuine fear. "He'll come for me, won't he? He'll want revenge. He'll make me pay for what I did."

Dengeir sighed, his expression grave. He knew Siddgeir's fears were not unfounded. Ibnor was a man of action, and he had a long memory.

"We must hope that his ambitions lie elsewhere," Dengeir said, though he knew it was a slim hope. "And we must prepare for any eventuality. Perhaps… perhaps it is time to reinforce our defenses. And to send word to Solitude, requesting… guidance." He paused, a flicker of worry in his eyes.

"Though I doubt they can offer much more than empty words."

In the Ragged Flagon, the usual hushed conversations were replaced with a raucous celebration. Mugs clanked, ale spilled across the floor, and the air was thick with the smell of mead, spilled ale, and unwashed bodies. Laughter and shouts echoed through the dimly lit tavern as the Thieves Guild, despite their usual disinterest in the affairs of Jarls and holds, were reveling in their "Guild Master's" newfound status.

"By Sithis's hairy backside!" one thief bellowed, hoisting a tankard of ale high, nearly knocking over a nearby Khajiit. "Our Ibnor's a Jarl now! A bleedin' Jarl! Who'd have thunk it? From picking pockets in Riften to ruling a hold! It's a tale for the ages!"

Another thief, wiping ale from his long, braided beard, chimed in, "Maybe he'll finally get us some decent ale in here. This swill is fit for skooma addicts!" He let out a hearty laugh, earning a few cheers from the surrounding patrons.

Even Vex, usually as expressive as a gargoyle, allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to play on her lips as she watched the commotion. She leaned against the bar, casually sharpening a dagger, her eyes scanning the room.

Brynjolf, however, remained detached from the revelry, leaning against a rough-hewn pillar near the entrance, his arms crossed, his gaze thoughtful. He had always known Ibnor was ambitious, but the speed and scale of his rise to power were… unsettling.

Delvin Mallory sidled up to him, a mischievous glint in his eye and a mug of ale sloshing in his hand.

"Well, Brynjolf," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "Looks like our little bird has flown the coop and built himself a nest fit for a dragon… literally. Fancy that, eh?"

"He has indeed," Brynjolf replied, his voice low and thoughtful. "Bigger than I anticipated."

"What's eating you?" Delvin asked, noticing Brynjolf's serious demeanor. "Don't tell me you're not joining the party. You look like you've swallowed a lemon whole."

"I am happy for him," Brynjolf said. "But this… this is more than just becoming a Jarl. He's consolidating power. He's building an… influence that stretches far beyond the borders of Dawnstar."

"Influence, eh?" Delvin chuckled, taking a long swig of his ale. "Sounds like music to the Guild's ears. More influence means more opportunities, more coin. Maybe he'll finally get us that pardon from Maven."

"Perhaps," Brynjolf conceded. "But it also means more attention. From the Jarls, from the Empire, perhaps even from the Thalmor. We've always thrived in the shadows, Delvin. This… puts us in the spotlight."

Vex joined them, her expression equally serious.

"Brynjolf's right," she said, tucking her dagger back into its sheath. "This changes everything. We need to be careful. If Ibnor's ambitions grow too large, it could bring unwanted attention to the Guild. We become a target, not just for local guards, but for… larger powers."

Brynjolf nodded. "Exactly. We need to keep a close eye on him. And we need to be prepared for whatever comes next." He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "But… I trust him. I've seen what he's capable of. He's not one to forget his friends."

Delvin took another swig of his ale.

"Aye, he's always been fair with us. Even back in Helgen, he never forgot where he came from. Shared his spoils, always had a kind word. A right proper bloke, he is."

"That's true," Vex conceded, her expression softening slightly. "But this is different. He's a Jarl now. He's dealing with Jarls and dragons and… who knows what else. He might have bigger fish to fry than the Thieves Guild. He might not even remember us once he is surrounded by nobles and advisors."

Brynjolf met her gaze.

"Perhaps. But he offered us a place in his new order. A partnership between the Guild and his… organization. He spoke of mutual benefit, of shared power. It wasn't just idle talk. He was serious." He paused, his expression becoming more serious. "If he were to offer us official positions within his hold… what would you do?"

"Official positions? Me, a tax collector? I'd rather wrestle a troll in a mud pit. Though… imagine the opportunities for 'misplacing' a few coins here and there. But seriously, if it meant more coin flowing into the Flagon, I wouldn't say no. Especially if it involves less… wet work. My back ain't what it used to be." Delvin chuckled. 

Vex considered the question carefully, her brow furrowed in thought.

"It depends on the terms," she said. "If it meant compromising our independence, being beholden to his every whim, I'd refuse. We're thieves, not soldiers. But if it allowed us to operate with more… freedom, with the protection of a Jarl… it could be advantageous. Less running from guards, more… legitimate business opportunities. It could be a golden age for the Guild."

Brynjolf nodded slowly.

"That's what I've been thinking. It's a gamble, either way. But if we play our cards right… This could be the greatest opportunity the Guild has ever had. Or… it could be our downfall." He looked at both of them, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

"We need to be ready for either outcome."