[A/N] I have another gift fic for y'all! This one is for Child of Sithis (otherwise known as notoftheskaal), who requested something with her character Sithia of "Doom Driven" fame and Kajsa wrecking havoc together... ergo, this is what I wrote.

... And yeah, the title is a really half-assed Leverage homage. :)

[DISCLAIMER] I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim or anything related to it; that's Bethesda's deal, not mine (sadly). I also do not own Sithia Dupre; that grumpy little darling belongs to Child of Sithis. However, Kajsa Red-Blade and Finverior are my original characters, and they belong to me.

THE STALHRIM JOB

"Someone should have be here by now," Glover mused worriedly. "It's been long enough since I sent the letter; you'd have thought that she'd send someone by now."

Finverior, sprawled across a chair with his back and legs supported by the armrests, only shrugged in response. "Maybe the High Queen's been delayed. Judging by what you sent her, she's probably coming herself – and I don't imagine that her husband's just letting her jump on a ship to Solstheim without any explanation. Especially a few weeks after she gave birth."

The Breton snorted in assent. "Aye, there is that." He glanced over at the door. "I just wish she'd hurry. Even though we've done our fair share already, we might not have the time to finish the job."

As if on cue, there was a sharp rap at the door to Glover's house.

Almost instantly, the blacksmith hurried over and opened the door, ushering the two cloaked figures inside before shutting the door securely behind them. "Good to see you again," he said to the foremost one, relieved. "I'd hoped you'd gotten my letter."

"Actually, we were wondering when you'd show up," Finverior interjected, sitting up and swinging his legs back over the armrests.

"Wonder no more," Kajsa said wryly, shrugging off her cloak and tossing it over the back of a nearby chair.

"Did a certain High King of Skyrim delay you?" the other asked, smirking. "You look marvelous, by the way."

"He tried." Not rising to the bait, the Dragonborn crossed to the fire and held her hands over it, warming them. "Ulfric finally let me go when I explained the severity of the situation – albeit reluctantly."

"Is that why we have a new member in our merry little band of misfits?" the Bosmer questioned.

It was the woman that had entered with Kajsa who spoke. She was a dark-haired Imperial with angular features that seemed accustomed to scowling. "This isn't permanent." She spoke with a clipped, harsh accent.

"More's the pity," Finverior commented, eyeing the figure highlighted by her close-fitting leathers.

"Show some manners, Finverior," Kajsa chided, turning around. "This is the one I was telling you about. Sithia Dupre."

The Bosmer raised an eyebrow. "Ah, the infamous Thalmor-killing assassin, the rumored last Silencer of the Dark Brotherhood. I hear you've been difficult to track down." He gave the Imperial a suave grin. "A kindred spirit."

Sithia shot a disparaging look at the Dragonborn. "This is the Listener you were telling me about?" She snorted. "You really are desperate."

"Sometimes I do wonder what the Night Mother was thinking, but better him than me," Kajsa agreed sardonically. Ignoring Finverior's indignant squawk, she addressed Glover. "Your letter was vague at best. Would you care to elaborate now?"

"Of course." The Breton pulled out two other chairs for his guests, and then seated himself as well. "I was in Skaal Village maybe a week ago to see if I could trade. Y'see, I succeeded in finding a vein of Stalhrim – honest-to-gods Stalhrim – and since the Skaal are the only ones who know how to smith it –"

"I seem to recall you mentioning that before," the Dragonborn said, cutting him off. "What exactly is Stalhrim?"

"It's very rare mineral," the blacksmith explained. "Enchanted ice as hard as iron and cold as death. It's hard to mine and even harder to shape into armor or weapons, but the Skaal know how to do it." He leaned back in his chair. "Anyway, I went to Skaal Village to try and talk to their smith about it, but one of the Skaal said he left – but another said he'd been kidnapped."

Sithia frowned at Kajsa. "You spend months tracking me down just to drag me out to Solstheim over a missing blacksmith? I thought it was more serious than that."

"It is," Glover said, his voice grim. "The man that claimed Baldor – their smith – was kidnapped mentioned that he'd seen two elves lurking around the village late last night. Two Altmer, to be specific."

The Imperial scowled. "You think they're Thalmor, then?"

"Oh, we know they're Thalmor, darling," Finverior said. "Otherwise, Glover here wouldn't have sent you a letter and ordered me to investigate."

The Dragonborn raised an eyebrow. "Getting ahead of yourself, are we?"

"Hey, I needed something to do," the Bosmer protested. "The weather's shit, the drinks aren't worth my money, and there isn't anyone to tumble; the only Dunmer who might be any good in the sack may have a nice voice, but his face is always covered by this damn creepy helmet. Kills the mood."

Kajsa smiled tightly. "Get to the point."

"Fine." Finverior sighed dramatically. "I hiked out to Skaal Village and then headed southwest, where the man that Glover talked to claimed that the Thalmor went. Lo and behold: an abandoned prospector's shack with Thalmor prowling around it."

"You took care of them, I hope." It was not a question.

The Bosmer took on a lofty expression. "Just a little public service, High Queen."

Admittedly, it was a little messier than his usual jobs, but no less difficult. Poison was his preferred method of operation, but when there was no food or drink nearby to taint, shooting them down with arrows from a distance followed by slashing the throats of any who got too close was good enough. Then again, nothing's too good for the Thalmor when it comes to killing them.

"That's my favorite kind of public service," Sithia commented.

"What a coincidence, darling – it's mine, too." Finverior stretched out his legs. "In any case, I took the liberty of looking inside to see what they were so keen on guarding. Turns out it wasn't so much of a 'what' as a 'who.'"

"You found the blacksmith," Kajsa finished.

The Bosmer nodded. "The Thalmor roughed him up a bit, but other than that, he was fine. I ended up escorting him back to Skaal Village."

"Well, it sounds like you have everything under control, then," Sithia said dryly. "Why am I even here then?"

"Favor for a favor, Dupre." The Dragonborn's tone was neutral, but her eyes were calculating as she turned back to Finverior. "Did you question the blacksmith?"

He assumed a hurt expression. "Of course I did. I'm only lazy when I'm off the job."

"And?"

"Well, Glover's suspicion was right. The Thalmor were indeed looking into how to forge Stalhrim."

Kajsa's face grew dark. "Did he say whether or not they had even found any?"

"Funny you should say that," the Bosmer said, picking at his nails. "Baldor said that there was a Justiciar named Ancarion along with them who had a map showing a source of Stalhrim. Apparently, they stole that too when they dragged off Baldor."

The Dragonborn sighed harshly. "So there are still Thalmor on Solstheim. Wonderful."

"I wouldn't despair just yet," Finverior interrupted a trifle smugly. "Baldor heard two of the guards griping about Ancarion getting the posh quarters on the boat while they were out in the cold wilderness." He grinned. "I suppose they regretted it in the end."

"Well, if we're looking for a ship, then we should start combing the coast as soon as we can," Kajsa mused. "I can only hope that the Thalmor haven't discovered the loss of their prisoner."

"Wait a second," the Bosmer interjected. "Who's this 'we'?"

"You, me, and Dupre." The Dragonborn crossed her arms. "We don't know how many they have, so numbers would be best in this case."

"You don't need numbers for an assassination," Sithia objected. "You could just send me to take care of it. You are paying me to be here."

"Perhaps, but I have a better idea." Kajsa turned to Glover. "You wouldn't happen to have already mined some of that Stalhrim you found, would you?"

"Just a few samples that I took over to Skaal Village. They should be in the basement safe if Finn hasn't picked the lock."

"I'm not that bored, you know," Finverior drawled.

"And what do you have for armor in your shop?" the Dragonborn continued. "Any bonemold or chitin?"

"I've got both."

"Two sets of chitin, then. Cuirass, gauntlets, greaves, the whole thing. Make sure to include the helmets." She rose from her seat. "I'll need the key to your safe as well."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this plan?" Sithia muttered.

"Oh, believe me, darling," Finverior said with no small amount of dismay. "It's not just you."

The chitin armor was fairly light and easy enough to move in, but the helmet was on the verge of being suffocating, to say nothing about the limited visibility. Behind it, Sithia had a scowl affixed to her face. Being out in the open like this – in broad daylight, no less – made her uneasy, even though nobody she knew would have recognized her in this stupid armor.

Beside her, dressed in chitin armor with a bug-eyed helmet concealing her face as well, Kajsa checked the satchel containing the Stalhrim samples. "We're good to go."

"About time," the Imperial growled. "Let's just do this."

Ignoring her, the Dragonborn looked at Finverior. "Are you all set up?"

Clad in the red-and-black leathers of the Dark Brotherhood with a supple bow of gleaming dark wood in his hand, the Bosmer nodded. "Lucky thing we're on a bit of a hill. I've got a perfect view up here."

Sithia glanced down at the lone wooden dock perched on the sparse Solstheim coast. A long, thin wooden ship was tied up by it; though its crisp sails were not out, the black-and-gold banner of the Dominion still waved in the breeze. Some soldiers – she counted three, and then amended it to four as another came into view – in gleaming elven armor patrolled the surroundings with steady, regular rotations.

"Good." The Dragonborn adjusted the enchanted Daedric sword at her side. "Let's get going then. You know what to do." With that last comment towards Finverior, she emerged from the sparse trees and set off down the hill.

After a moment, Sithia followed her, but kept her voice down. "As far as plans go, this is more dangerous than I normally go in for," she muttered, "and that's saying something."

The Dragonborn only shrugged. "Infiltrating a ship is difficult to do discreetly unless you're willing to swim, which isn't always an option. Wet footprints on a dry deck are noticeable." Her tone turned grim. "We won't be recognized, if that's what you're worried about. That's what these gods-damned helmets are for."

Opening her mouth to respond, the assassin closed it when she realized their proximity to the ship, growing closer with every step. As much as I want to, I can't say anything now. Not without blowing everything to Oblivion.

Noticing their approach, a Thalmor soldier stopped and held out a gauntleted hand to ward them off, the other going to the hilt of his sword. "You are trespassing here. I strongly suggest that you move along," he said, his tone threatening.

"I have business to discuss with Justiciar Ancarion." Sithia almost didn't recognize Kajsa's voice; it had suddenly become more accented and flat, with different syllables stressed (a bit like Dunmer speech, she realized). "It concerns the Skaal prisoner."

Luckily, the soldier seemed to buy her story, as he took his hand off his sword hilt. "You will find the Justiciar in his cabin, mercenary," he said stiffly. "Any hint of treachery, and your life will be forfeit."

"I'll keep that in mind," Kajsa said wryly, brushing past him.

The assassin caught up quickly enough, glancing back at the soldier that had stopped them to confirm he was not following them. "Impersonating voices is a handy trick," she commented, grudgingly impressed.

"I lived in Morrowind long enough to pick up some things," the other dismissed, reverting to her usual voice. "Unfortunately, sounding like a Dunmer is only useful if no one can see your face." She strode briskly along the length of the dock towards the ship. "Let's have a chat with this Justiciar while Finn takes care of things out here."

As soon as he saw the two faint figures in chitin armor vanish below decks, Finverior grinned to himself. And now the games begin.

Drawing an arrow from the quiver on his back, he nocked it to the bow and drew the bowstring back with practiced ease. Peering down at the dock below, he scanned the soldiers for a potential target before selecting the one furthest out on the dock.

Inhaling deeply, the Bosmer aimed carefully at the standing soldier. Then, as he let out his breath, he released the arrow.

It was a beautiful shot. The arrow sped through the air, straight and true, and in the distance, the soldier on the dock stiffened and fell into the water as the projectile found its mark.

Upon hearing the splash, the other soldiers immediately whirled around and rushed out to the end of the dock, weapons drawn and destruction magic blazing in their hands. Chuckling to himself, Finverior readied his bow again, casually aimed, and fired.

Another fell, this time collapsing on the dock with an arrow in his unhelmeted head. The remaining two began to charge back down the dock, but the Bosmer reacted quicker, dropping another one as his bowstring sang.

The last one continued to race up the hill, hurling a fireball in the direction of the trees. Sighing, almost in a bored manner, Finverior pulled out the Blade of Woe from his belt and threw it. It whistled through the air and sunk into the Thalmor's neck; the soldier stumbled back and tumbled down the hill, his corpse coming to a stop halfway down.

The Bosmer surveyed the now-deserted docks with an approving look. "Not too shabby," he congratulated himself, holstering his bow onto his back and beginning to stroll down the hill to retrieve his dagger. "Now to flush out any remaining ones..."

"I don't know which of my men let you in, but you are trespassing here," Justiciar Ancarion said sternly, addressing the two mercenaries standing just inside the door to his cabin. "I will not even make mention of the fact that you are interfering with official Thalmor business. Now, if either of you values your well-being, I would suggest that you leave now."

Mentally, he made a note to speak with his guards, and have the one who was dim enough to let anyoneanywhere close to Northshore Landing flogged. By the Eight, how was he supposed to concentrate on filling out his reports if random sellswords were going to barge into his cabin at any hour of the day?

The taller of the pair spoke, the harsh Dunmer accent grating unpleasantly on his ears. "My comrade and I heard you found a map showing a source of Stalhrim."

Ancarion frowned. "And just how would you know that?" he said icily, directing his steeliest glare at them. He wished that they would just take off their helmets so he could see their faces; it was so terribly difficult to intimidate someone when one couldn't judge their expression.

The shorter mercenary answered him. Surprisingly, her accent was not Dunmeri, but rather Imperial – not from the Imperial City, definitely, but more of a northern one. "We found the blacksmith you kidnapped, Justiciar."

He kept his face neutral, but mentally, Ancarion swore. I thought I told the lieutenant to move the prisoner! "And so now you think you know my purpose here, hmm?" he said mockingly.

"Yeah, I think I know enough." The shorter one made to step towards him, her hand going to the glass sword at her side, but the taller one put a hand on her companion's arm, holding her back.

Ancarion permitted himself a cold smile. Fools. "Unfortunately for you, my mission here is also a secret. To protect it, I have no choice but to silence you. Now, give me one good reason that I should not kill you where you stand."

"Because we'll kill you first." The shorter one tore off her helmet, hurling it down to the floor with her dark hair coming loose around her pointed, pale face – a face that he never thought he'd see off of a 'Wanted' poster.

He found his voice after what seemed like an eternity. "Sithia Du –?"

The Justiciar barely had time to finish his question before her glass sword was out and whistling through the air, cleaving his head from his shoulders.

"We could have gotten more information from the Justiciar, you know." Kajsa, swathed in a thick fur wrap, was lounging in a chair by the fireplace in her chambers, with a stack of confiscated papers from Ancarion's cabin on her lap. "What his mission was, who ordered him to go to Solstheim... I can think of many questions to ask him were he alive."

Standing by the desk with her arms crossed, Sithia shrugged tightly. "But he isn't."

"Yes. He's not." The Dragonborn's tone was even, but her eyes were dark.

"Don't tell me you weren't going to kill that bastard!" the assassin exclaimed.

"For future reference, Dupre, I would have waited until after interrogation." Kajsa's lips quirked into a sort of wry smile. "But no matter. We recovered some materials – even if they are incomplete," she added, frowning at one particular document.

"Anything worth mentioning?"

"Perhaps." The Dragonborn indicated the paper she was holding. "This letter references 'Operation Priesthood' briefly, but unfortunately, it doesn't say anything more about it."

Sithia pursed her lips. "Should I know what that is?"

"If you did, I'd be very eager to find out more about it. I don't know what Operation Priesthood is either, but whatever it is, it's bad news." Her face sobered slightly.

"Whatever it is, it's not my problem until you make it mine," the assassin dismissed.

"And I won't," Kajsa said. "You've accompanied me to Solstheim and aided in a rather sensitive mission, and now, I'll hold up my end of the bargain." She gestured over to the desk. "You'll find the file there. It contains everything we know on her."

Sithia picked up the dossier on the desk. Running her fingers over the leather cover, she flipped it open to the first page, her eyes catching the name at the top:

Elenwen Saururiil

"I don't know where she is now, but it's likely she's still on Alinor," the Dragonborn said quietly. "If you do end up going after her... tread cautiously." She raised her eyes to those of the assassin. "And make it painful."

Sithia nodded, her gaze murderous. "You can count on that."

The End

[A/N] Thanks for reading, and please don't hesitate to review!

BrunetteAuthorette99