[A/N] Wahoo! We survived the apocalypse! (Not that I ever actually believed that the world would end on December 21, 2012, of course; it's just great to make jokes about it.) And I survived my last week of school! And there are exactly one hundred favorites for this story! :D

So many things are just making me insanely happy right now. To celebrate, I'm posting another nice long chapter. Enjoy!

[DISCLAIMER] I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim or anything related to it; that's Bethesda's deal, not mine (sadly). I'm pretty sure that The Art of War is in the public domain, so really anyone can own it. However, Kajsa Red-Blade is my original character and she belongs to me.

CHAPTER XXXIII – Laying Plans

The art of war is of vital importance to the State. It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin. Hence it is a subject of inquiry which can on no account be neglected.

Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Except for the distant sound of water dripping somewhere, the Ragged Flagon was completely silent. The six of them, the only ones in the bar and the only ones awake this early in the morning, were gathered on the main floor. Not one of them had spoken a word, unwilling to be the one to take charge and direct this most unlikely of meetings.

Glancing around from his seat at one of the tables, Ulfric was tired enough to believe he was still sleeping – I must be, for me to dream of sitting down and holding a discussion with the Thieves Guild. His drinking last night hadn't helped him sleep any; every time he closed his bleary eyes, he seemed to see Kajsa behind his lids and jolted awake again. Finally, he'd given up on the enterprise of sleeping and just lay in his bed in the dingy back room of the Ragged Flagon, listening to Galmar snoring thunderously from across the room.

At long last, Brynjolf stood from his chair and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Seeing as I'm Second, it appears that it falls to me to run this meeting."

"Be our guest, Bryn," Vex said sarcastically from her perch on top of a barrel. "No one's stopping you."

The Nord thief sighed quietly, but straightened up and fixed them all with a serious look. "We all know what the situation is: our Guildmaster has been captured by the Thalmor. Jarl Ulfric –" he motioned at the jarl "– has designs of rescuing her, and we have pledged to join him in his endeavor. I need not tell you that this is an incredibly dangerous endeavor, as the Thalmor are not to be taken lightly. We will need to plan extensively and prepare carefully if this is to be a successful mission." He spread his hands to invite others to answer. "Where do we start?"

Karliah, sitting on a tall stool by the bar, spoke first. "We find out where she is. It's like Gallus always used to say: location, location, location." She smiled sadly, briefly. "Everything – our attire, our weapons, our tactics – depends on where Kajsa's being held. If we determine that first, everything else will come together."

Ulfric regarded her for a moment with the beginnings of respect. For a split-second, he could see the woman that Brynjolf had spoke of the previous night: the woman framed for the murder of her beloved, the woman who ran from her own friends and covered up her tracks for a quarter of a century. In her deep violet eyes, he saw the woman she had been forced to become: always calculating the risk, always thinking ahead, never taking anything for granted.

"Well, assuming she's still in Skyrim," Galmar said gruffly, there's only one place she could be: Haafingar. It's the only hold still under Imperial control and the one place that those accursed Altmer are certain to be."

"The Thalmor Embassy's there," Delvin mused. "That place sure 'as a 'elluva lot o' security and masses o' Thalmor. Do you think they'd take 'er there?"

The housecarl shrugged. "Maybe. There's also Fort Hraggstad, but that's teeming with Imperials now. And then there's Northwatch Keep, the Thalmor's personal circle of Oblivion for everyone and anyone they don't like. A lieutenant of ours, Thorald Grey-Mane, ended up there as a prisoner of war. Was there for quite a bit before he got rescued by his brother and –"

"– Kajsa," the jarl finished grimly. "And therein lies the problem with the Thalmor imprisoning her in either of those location. She knows them both; she's successfully infiltrated both of them. It would make it much easier for her to escape if she knew her way out."

"Unless she couldn't escape at all," Vex pointed out disparagingly. "It's a possibility," she defended when a few glares were thrown her way. "I mean, the Thalmor don't have a habit of leaving their prisoners alive. Once they've gotten whatever information they want from Kajsa, they'll probably ki –"

"We ain't doubtin' you, but that was jus' a touch insensitive, luv," Delvin muttered, glancing over at Ulfric.

The jarl kept his face neutral, but with some difficulty. Insensitive, yes, but very much true. The Thalmor are hardly going to leave their single most powerful enemy alive for long... He swallowed painfully.

Karliah cleared her throat, interrupting the uncomfortable silence. "Vex, could you go find Etienne and bring him in here? I believe he's back in the Cistern somewhere."

With a snort and a dramatic eye-roll, the Imperial slid off the barrel and slunk past the huddle, vanishing into the corridor leading to the back rooms of the Ragged Flagon.

Brynjolf frowned. "Etienne? Etienne Rarnis? What's that scatterbrained lad got to do with this?"

"Don't you remember?" the Dunmer gently chided. "Kajsa released him from the Thalmor Embassy after he was kidnapped while on a sweep of the Ratway. He has first-hand knowledge of the place."

The Second sighed. "Karliah, that won't do us much good. The lad's forgetful; I'm surprised he walks into the Flagon every day with his boots on, let alone being on the right feet."

Karliah smiled at him. "True. But he's unswervingly devoted to the Guildmaster. She did save his life, after all. I have a feeling that he'd be more than willing to help repay the favor."

The unseen door in the back room slammed again. Almost immediately after that, a narrow-eyed Vex pushed a slight Breton thief with lank blonde hair and wide eyes into the center of the Flagon's floor. Brushing past him without a word, she hoisted herself back onto her perch on top of the barrel.

"You – you wanted to see me, Brynjolf?" the young Breton asked hesitantly.

The Nord thief tiredly pointed towards Karliah. "Talk to her, Etienne. This was all her idea."

Raising an eyebrow at Brynjolf, but leaning forward slightly in her seat, the Dunmer addressed the newcomer. "I only have a question for you: do you remember the Thalmor Embassy in great detail?"

"Er... um..." Etienne squinted confusedly. "Erm... not really. Sorry."

The Second spread his hands again in a "there you have it" gesture, looking meaningfully at Karliah.

She ignored him and posed another question. "What do you remember about the layout, if anything?"

"Not much. I only ever saw the dungeons, and that was only when I was semi-conscious." Rarnis forced a laugh, but it came out strangled and awkward. "If you don't mind my asking... why are you looking for information about the Embassy?"

Brynjolf shot him a warning look.

Etienne gulped. "Right. Sorry I asked."

Now the Dunmer fixed the Nord thief with a sharp, prim look. "Brynjolf, honestly: stop being so childish." She turned to the other again. "Do you know of anyone that would know something about the Embassy? Someone, perhaps, that would be well within our power to easily contact?"

The Breton brightened up a little; Ulfric was beginning to get the feeling that it was because this was an easily answered query. "Kajsa – er, I mean, the Guildmaster. Guildmaster Red-Blade. She was the one who rescued me."

"But she wasn't there on a rescue mission, was she?" pressed Karliah. "Do you know what Kajsa was there for?"

Rarnis scrunched up his face again in thought. "No... actually, yes. It seemed like she was looking for something; she asked me about the old coot down in the Ratway Warrens, like the interrogator had – I forget his name – the crazy old guy, not the Justiciar... it was something like Sideburns. Es-something..."

The jarl frowned in recognition, remembering an old Nord man in rumpled black traveling clothes, met at a negotiation that seemed like it had happened years ago. "Esbern?"

Etienne brightened again. "That's it! Esbern! Wait," he asked, squinting once more in confusion, "how do you –?"

"Thank you, Etienne," Karliah interjected smoothly. "You may go now."

The Breton was more than happy to oblige, scurrying off into the maze of back rooms and out of sight with a single nervous glance back at them.

Shaking her head slightly, the Dunmer frowned at Ulfric. "You know this man that Etienne spoke of?"

"I wouldn't say that I know him per say," the jarl replied shortly. "I only encountered him once. I don't know much about him except that he's a loremaster for the Blades."

"The Blades?" Delvin stared incredulously at him. "There's still some that 'aven't been picked off by the Thalmor yet?"

"Apparently so." Ulfric tiredly pushed some stray hair back from his face. "I know of only two, though: Esbern and Delphine. From what I can surmise, both have worked alongside Kajsa in the past and have no great love of the Dominion, Delphine in particular."

"Well, it would seem likely that this Delphine 'ad our lovely Guildmaster infiltrate the Embassy, then," concluded the fence. "I don't suppose you would know where to find 'em, eh? Per'aps this Delphine character can give us some intel about the Embassy."

The jarl shook his head. "If only I knew where they were hiding. They and whatever other Blades there are would be formidable allies against the Thalmor."

"That brings up another question," Brynjolf said, drumming his fingers on his arm. "Regardless of where in Haafingar Kajsa might he held, who should we recruit – if anyone – to aid in the rescue? Is there strength or instability in numbers?"

"Who will be sent on this little suicide mission, anyway?" Vex interrupted. "Is the jarl just going to sit back and let us do the dirty work?"

Ulfric glared at her, some of yesterday's fury boiling up within him again. "I have no intention of doing that. I will be leading this mission and I will be fighting alongside you."

The words were out of his mouth almost before he could stop to consider what he was saying. It was only once they hung in the air that the jarl realized the implications of what he'd said. Think! You're nearly fifty years old and haven't touched a blade since Helgen! What chance have you of surviving?

Apparently, Vex had been thinking the same thing; she snorted incredulously. Delvin merely furrowed his brow in doubt.

Galmar sighed reluctantly. "I suppose I'm coming along, too, being your housecarl. Being your sword and your shield and all that."

"Then I will come as well." Karliah rose from her stool, her eyes gravely resolute.

"And I," volunteered Brynjolf, his jaw set.

The Dunmer shot an alarmed look over at him, but remained silent. Ulfric didn't know what to make of it, but he was strangely thankful that both of them had stepped up.

Delvin chuckled. "No 'fense to any of your combat skills, but the four of you ain't gonna stand a chance 'gainst Thalmor soldiers an' wizards. Maybe Bryn and Karliah could sneak past 'em at first, but if Kajsa's not in a state to do that, you don't 'ave a prayer of gettin' out wi'out bein' noticed."

"When you put it like that... it is a bit of a stretch," Karliah admitted. "This endeavor will require careful planning and quite a bit of supplies; I imagine that some magicka poisons and resist magicka potions will come in handy. However, I am unsure of who else to recruit, as I feel strength in numbers would be a better decision in this case."

"I may 'ave a solution to one o' your problems." The fence twiddled his thumbs, pausing in uncertainty before continuing. "I know a rather talented girl that could, given the right ingredients, whip up a 'ole batch of them fancy potions an' poisons for you. Slightly unsettlin', mind you, but a very charmin' young lady – well, come to think o' it, she ain't exactly young –"

"Hang on a moment, Del," said Brynjolf suddenly. "Are you talking about Babette? Because I'm not sure that would be a good idea..." He glanced over at the jarl and his housecarl as his voice trailed off.

"Who's Babette?" Ulfric asked, frowning.

"Dark Brotherhood assassin, expert alchemist, an' a good friend o' Kajsa's," the Breton thief supplied. "Also a three-'undred-year-old vampire that don't look a day over ten. Like I said: real nice girl."

The jarl blinked in surprise, struggling for words. The company that Kajsa keeps is... is... Deciding to not finish the statement, he resolved to dwell on it another time. "Do you have a way to contact her?"

"Of course. I can 'ave a message sent out wi'in the day, and she can prob'ly get 'ere a day or two after that."

"Do that, then," Ulfric ordered. If what he and Karliah say is true, we'll likely need her aid.

Successfully hiding his surprise and grabbing for a sheet of fresh parchment, Delvin snatched a quill and began scribbling furiously.

Galmar cleared his throat loudly, catching everyone's attention. "If we're going to go with the 'strength in numbers' approach, then I vote that we call in some actual warriors as well as... you people."

Falling silent, the four thieves glanced at each other in trepidation and incredulity. Ulfric shot a look at the general, silently demanding for him to explain.

"The Companions," the housecarl said exasperatedly. "Red-Blade's the Harbinger; hopefully, they'll rush to her aid."

Vex gaped in consternation. "Is there anything that the Guildmaster isn't involved in? The Dark Brotherhood, the Companions, the Stormcloaks..." She huffed indignantly.

Brynjolf chewed on his lip in thought. "It's not a bad idea – Galmar, was it? – seeing as having professional warriors alongside us would boost our chances of survival, but there is one drawback."

"It's like havin' a tax collector an' a priest at the same party," Delvin supplied. "Whatever they lock 'orns over, the fact o' the matter is that it ain't goin' to end well for either side."

"If they come down here, they'll throw us in the Riften Jail – or worse – faster than you can blink," Vex sneered. "You know: upholding their precious honor, helping the people of Skyrim, and all that shit."

"And if they don't come here?" the jarl asked slowly, making sure to at least partially think through what he said this time. "And if everyone meets at a predetermined location that's effective neutral ground for all concerned?"

The Second stopped worriedly chewing his lip and fixed his attention on him, eyes keen. "What did you have in mind?"

Ulfric stood authoritatively. "We assemble at the Palace of the Kings, with the understanding that all involved – be they from the Guild, the Dark Brotherhood, the Companions, or anyone else that joins – will be working together towards a common goal. Your security isn't compromised, it will cut the distance traveled by the others, and we can amass some of my soldiers to aid us."

Karliah nodded approvingly.

"Well, it's not much," the Nord thief confessed, "but it's a start."

"Seconded." Delvin crossed out something on the letter he'd been drafting and replaced it with something else. Setting the parchment aside, he grabbed another sheet and started writing anew. "I'll 'ave these sent out this mornin'. If you don't mind me askin', when do you four plan to leave?"

"As soon as possible," the jarl answered.

Brynjolf clapped his hands together. "Then that's settled. Karliah and I will prepare for the departure. Vex: once Delvin's done with those letters, give them to Garthar and Thrynn and have them delivered. Jarl Ulfric, Galmar: wait here for the time being." That being said, he strode off in the direction of the Flagon's back rooms, Karliah following him close behind.

Galmar gripped Ulfric's shoulder. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have a word with you." He steered him off towards a poorly lit far corner of the bar, away from any potential eavesdroppers.

The jarl removed his housecarl's hand from his shoulder. "What is it, Galmar?" His question came out more exasperated than he had intended.

He was met with a surprisingly fierce glare. "First, you drag me down into the Ratway on the basis of a largely unfounded suspicion. Next, you make deals with the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood. Then, you say you'll be going into battle again after gods know how many months it's been since you've fought. And now, you bring these cutthroats into the Palace of the Kings!" The general threw up his hands. "Have you taken leave of your senses? The Ulfric Stormcloak that I know would never even think of doing such things!"

"Galmar, I – I – times have changed. Everything has changed." Ulfric struggled for words, but tightened his face and regained his composure, speaking in a lowered voice. "The Thalmor have gone even farther than they ever have done before. If we don't oppose them, if we don't deal with them before our final assault on Haafingar and Solitude, then all we have worked for all this time is lost... and we will not get another chance to do that again."

Galmar scrutinized him for a moment, his bushy eyebrows slowly rising. "Dear Talos... you really are in love with the Dragonborn."

Averting his eyes from his friend's face, the jarl nodded.

"No need for words, my friend. I've suspected it for quite a bit." The housecarl's voice sounded just a tiny bit smug.

Ulfric smiled, but without real humor. "Really."

The general snorted. "Don't you remember when you dragged your sorry arse into the Palace of the Kings with a passel of wounded soldiers behind you and told me all about what happened at Helgen? You recounted every last detail of the attack and your surroundings – including this girl that was on the cart with you."

"I remember now." Gods, that seems so long ago...

"You said something about how you wondered if she had escaped alive or not, and that it would be a pity if she didn't, because she would have made a fine Stormcloak. Bravery in the face of death and all that."

"And she did." The jarl's ghost of a smile turned sad.

Galmar frowned at him thoughtfully. "What makes her so special, Ulfric? Why does she stand apart from other women? Rikke, all the wenches you tumbled in your younger days, the beauties offered to you for alliances through marriage..." He snorted. "I don't blame you if it's because you'd rather have her fighting with you than against you."

"There are many reasons," Ulfric said quietly, "but now is not the time for them. There are more pressing things at hand."

His housecarl nodded in understanding, all business now. "What would you have me do?"

"Ride to Windhelm ahead of myself, Brynjolf, and Karliah, and tell Jorleif to prepare for quite a few guests." Now, his small smile was genuine. "I think it's only prudent to warn him."

"All right, but don't get into any trouble while I'm gone," the general warned.

The jarl laughed. "Galmar, there's no need to mother me. I am more than capable of taking care of myself."

Peering into the dimly-lit corridor, Ulfric glanced around beyond the stacks of barrels and crates, towards the few doors lining the hallway. Where could Brynjolf and Karliah be? Surely they're ready by now.

"What were you thinking, Bryn?" Karliah's voice wasn't so much angry as it was desperate and alarmed. "Why did you volunteer yourself?"

At the sound of the arguing voices within the back room, the jarl paused in his tracks. As quietly as he could, he moved to the wall outside of the door and listened.

"Kajsa is important to me," Brynjolf said firmly, simply. "She's like a sister to me. She's my friend, my Guildmaster, my sister Nightingale –"

"That's the problem, Bryn. If we both go to rescue her and we all die, there is no one left. No one – not even one – to pass the mantle of the Nightingales to three newcomers. No one." Now her voice was clearly panicked. "That has never happened in the history of the Nightingales. Never. And I do not intend for it to happen now."

Nightingales? Ulfric frowned at the unfamiliar name. And Kajsa's one...

The Second sighed. "Lass, I don't want that to happen either –"

"Don't 'lass' me, Bryn!" the Dunmer snapped. "And you're the Second! If Kajsa dies, you'll need to step up and take over her duties as Guildmaster –"

"Calm down, Karliah, and don't interrupt me," the Nord thief rejoined. "Guildmasters are easier to replace than Nightingales. I'm leaving Delvin in charge in our absence; he may be loitering around and drinking all the time, but he's sharp as a tack. That's one problem taken care of."

Karliah was quiet for a moment. Then: "And that of the Nightingales?"

"Then we pray to Nocturnal that nothing befalls us or Kajsa," Brynjolf said grimly.

The Dunmer gasped. "That's it, Bryn! Nocturnal!"

"What about Nocturnal?" The Second sounded a bit confused.

What indeed, Ulfric thought. Who is this 'Nocturnal?'

"We ask Nocturnal for aid." Karliah was speaking more and more rapidly now. "Kajsa was the one who returned the Key to the Sepulcher and gained our Lady's favor. Unless they've ordered the death themselves, Daedra don't take too kindly to having others go after their champions. We can go to Nightingale Hall, summon Nocturnal, and ask Her where Kajsa is. Then, when we're planning the mission..." Her voice trailed off. "It'll all fall together. We don't have to put Cynric or Ravyn in harm's way by sending them out to scout the locations that the housecarl suggested."

"It could work," the Nord thief said slowly after a few moments of consideration. "But if there's one thing I've learned from my time as a Nightingale, it's that there's no free lunch when it comes to the Daedra. Nocturnal will want something in return."

Daedra. The jarl gritted his teeth. Now that's something I understand.

"We'll have to worry about that when the time comes." The Dunmer was resolute in her response. "Our Lady is inscrutable in Her desires."

Straightening up from the wall, Ulfric stormed into the room without knocking. He barely paid any attention to the drab surroundings, his eyes snapping to the startled faces of Brynjolf and Karliah.

"How about we worry about that now?" he snarled.

Unexpectedly, the Second chuckled. "For someone who holds such scorn for thieves, you're not half-bad at eavesdropping."

Karliah raised one hand, as if to bring silence to the room. "Jarl Ulfric, let me explain –"

"Good, because you have a lot of it to do," the jarl growled. "What are the Nightingales? Who is Nocturnal? And what does all this have to do with Kajsa?"

The Nord thief looked a little uneasy now. "Lass, are you sure you should be telling him about all this? It is secret, after all."

"If it was supposed to be a complete secret, then the first Nightingales did a terrible job of keeping it that way," the Dunmer said wryly before turning back to Ulfric, her face grave. "To put it simply, the Nightingales are the three agents of Nocturnal, highly skilled thieves. Nocturnal is the Daedric Prince of darkness, night, and luck, and She is the patron of thieves. Brynjolf, Kajsa, and I are all Nightingales; Kajsa is also the Champion of Nocturnal."

For the first time, Ulfric noticed the armor that both of the thieves wore. It was not the usual Thieves Guild garb, but something entirely different: ornate armor of overlapping scales of black leather, with a hooded cape that seemed to be made of shadow itself and a mask hanging freely from it.

The last time I saw Kajsa... she was wearing that.

"Now you realize," Karliah said softly. "Understand that the Nightingales cannot be destroyed and reformed again. This is why we must go to Nocturnal."

"'We'?" Brynjolf and Ulfric said in unison.

"Both of you are coming along," the Dunmer said firmly. "I'm not facing Nocturnal alone again, Bryn. Jarl Ulfric... something tells me that Nocturnal is very much intrigued by you and your relationship with Her champion."

"Why should I go with you?" the jarl snapped.

"I know you hate my kind and likely hold no belief in the Daedra, but please... trust me." Karliah's violet eyes were pleading. "If not for the trust you've placed in me and the Guild, then for your love of Kajsa."

Ulfric sighed irritably. Conniving Dunmer, wielding my feelings and words against me. "Fine. But you'd best be honest with me."

"I promise you, I will explain everything once we arrive," the Dunmer said.

"Arrive where?"

"Nightingale Hall."

[A/N] Review, everyone! Only six more reviews until I reach *drum roll* two hundred reviews. And I will try my hardest to write another chapter this coming week, because I'm positively itching to transform my outline into something amazing.