A/N: I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Bloodstained Smiles
Decay

Veezara laughed. "Again! Again! Do the part where he tries to buy you some candy."

Babette blinked, knowing what story he was talking about, but when she opened her mouth she hesitated. That had happened a long time ago. Of that she was sure.

Was she supposed to laugh as well?

But her comrades were looking at her, as if they were expecting a joke, and while Babette usually enjoyed standing in the spotlight, she found herself stumbling under the weight of the stares. Her smile faltered. "I… I cannot recall that event."

"Come on now, my girl," Nazir huffed at her. "Don't drag out the attention. Or has your age finally caught up with you? It is not like you to forget what you uttered just seconds ago."

"Oh, but if you don't want to bore us with another tale of your latest hunt, feel free to find your coffin," Arnbjorn muttered. "You can spare us the details – we know the drill by now, alright. Innocent lie, a dirty bastard, then a bite and bloodsucking."

"Because your tales are less macabre, Arnbjorn."

The werewolf raised an eyebrow at Gabriella who had crossed her arms. "You ain't the one to talk either, are you?"

That would usually start another pointless argument. Because, truth to be told, all the killers liked to be original, which most often would end up with some pretty grim murders. But now Babette was confused, and cut them off what a faint question. "But my last hunt was with Trond. And he never allows me to do the candy store trick. Irilane kept breathing down his neck so she could make sure that there wouldn't be another Falkreath incident. Even though I am a vampire again now."

She was used to newcomers staring to her like she had grown a second head – she was, after all, quite special. Seeing the comrades she had known for years glaring at her like she had gone crazy, well, that was rather strange.

"I'll pretend that what you said did not make you sound like a madman, if you would slow down and explain your nonsense," Nazir rumbled. One of his eyebrows was raised in a watchful manner. While he tried his best to hide it, Babette could easily spot the worry in his eyes – they knew each other too well.

Babette blinked as she realized her mistake. "Oh, that is right – you do not know them."

"So this Trond is a fellow vampire?" Gabriella asked without expecting an answer. "Babette, you know what Astrid thinks of such company on your trips."

Oh, that was right. There had been an argument (no, wrong word. A discussion that had been caused by the fact that Astrid cared about her. The last time Astrid had truly shouted at her, she had been a young woman, years from her position as leader. That had been decades ago.) whether Babette was desperate to be surrounded by vampires instead of mortals, and whether this would end with her leaving the Sanctuary or turning them all. Babette had found it unfair – it was only natural to miss some company on her hunts. Besides, it would save her the pain that would come when her friends died.

Death… That had played a big role back then. But it had not truly prepared her, had it?

Babette wondered, but was never allowed to finish her thoughts, as Astrid (speaking of the Devil…) strolled into the hall to stand next to her husband. "I do not doubt Babette's loyalty. And perhaps this Trond is worthy enough to join us?"

That question caused the vampire to smile from ear to ear. "Oh, you'd be surprised to how productive he can be. He just need some time to warm up. That said, I don't understand why you have not met him…"

"Because you are messing it all up," Trond sternly told her, strolling into the room as if they had all been waiting for him. He put his hands on his hips like a mother scolding a child. "Your skill of forgetting is quite impressive. Do you not understand that I cannot be here if they are here?"

"And no one invited you, blood-sucker," Festus grumbled. He had his hand to his neck where he rubbed a small red mark that Babette could spot even from her distance. "No offence, Babette – you know I tolerate you."

"You're all heart, Festus," Babette gave back, knowing this was just the old man's way of having friendships. She was about to grin when she noticed that Trond was waving his hand rapidly to gain her attention.

When she looked in his direction, he snapped his fingers. "Focus. Do you truly not see that this is messed up?"

"I… No. Not really."

Trond frowned before sighing. "For Talos' sake, Babette. They're dead and this is creepy and quite frankly wrong."

Oh right.

That was what she had forgotten.

Babette dropped her jaw as she noticed the red line Festus' neck grow bigger and bigger. "Festus?" she asked in concern as it became clear that this was a serious injury. It was now an open wound with blood streaming from it as if it was a waterfall.

The vampire stepped back, but the crimson liquid still managed to stain her skin. Festus blinked, seemingly not aware of his condition. His head tilted to the left as the wound grew to show the bone – soon the head would no longer be connected to the rest of the body.

"No, no, no," Babette muttered, knowing very well what was going on. The decay spread across the sanctuary and she noticed with horror how her comrades' bodies were starting to fall apart. Veezara's torso was now a bloody mess but he kept up his smile. The same could be said about Nazir who had a great, bloody circle on his shirt that showed where his heart was. Gabriella's hand reached for her neck and when she drew it back, she licked her own blood of her fingers. Astrid had wrapped her arms around Arnbjorn, and so they both became stuck in a tight embrace while their blood mixed.

The sight was enough to shock Babette to her core, and she stumbled forward, only to be grabbed by Trond's steady arms. He lifted her upwards so she could regain her footing, but Babette noticed to bleeding bite mark on his neck and fell again.

With horror she became of the blood that was sliding down her own neck, and she reached up her hand to touch the sore spot. She had almost forgotten where she had been bitten back then, so many years ago… The dead bodies in the room started to smell as the decay grew worse. "Oh, please make it stop."

"It's your dream!" Festus huffed at her, his head falling from his shoulders to land harshly on the ground. "Who do you expect to control it?"

Babette woke up with a gasp, heaving for air as she tried to shake off the nightmare. That did not take long as the sound of shouts in the distance awoke her curiosity. Why focus on the problems of the past when there were so many in the present? Still wearing her nightgown, she slipped out of her bed to walk barefoot towards the exit of the hall where the yelling was coming from.

She soon recognized the source of the noise. It was a distressed Trond who was complaining loudly to Dreia and Irilane, who both had their arms crossed, clearly disagreeing with her. When Babette came into view, the vampire pointed at her. "See?! I would be doing this for her! And for myself, of course, but don't call me selfish!"

"I ain't calling you selfish, I'm calling you stupid!" Dreia snapped at him.

Babette came closer, blinked, and asked, "Uhm, what is going on?"

"THEY HAVE BECOME OUR NEIGHBORS! Those imbecile, arrogant wanna-be soldiers! I'll stick their silver down their own throat!" Trond snarled, his right hand around the handle of his dagger.

"Obviously, Trond still has some ruffled feathers, and now he wants to attack the stronghold of the Dawnguard," Irilane explained, doing her best to keep herself from rolling her eyes.

Babette tilted her head. She knew that her fellow vampire had not forgotten the attack that had cost him the life of one of his friends. She also knew that he kept in contact with Brelsu and that he had kept that information hidden from Irilane. For a time, she had believed he would soon leave to join them in Cyrodiil. But he had stayed and she had never asked.

"Because it went that well the last time!" Dreia spat at him, taking one step closer to Irilane.

"I killed enough of them on my own!"

"Yeah, and then you needed Dagmar, of all freaking people, to save your hide!"

That comment did not soothe Trond's anger. He had taken Babette's side in the problem of Dagmar, and that episode was a sore spot. The vampire did not enjoy admitting weakness, and when Dagmar had been the one to save him, it only made the matter worse.

"Perhaps we can wait when it comes to the Dawnguard?" Babette suggested carefully. "We still need to get steady ground under the Dark Brotherhood."

"We cannot wait!" Trond snarled again. "You and I cannot wait! They have been tracking down vampire clans all over Skyrim. Movarth and his friends as well. Yes, cub, I know I didn't tell you that, but you had other matters to worry about. But things are getting out of hand, and what everyone if waiting for is the final battle between the Volkihar clan and the Dawnguard, and honestly, I do not know who I wish to win!"

"Can't we just let them destroy each other?"

"Don't be foolish, cub. At least one will walk away alive."

Irilane cleared her throat to gain his attention. "I know you do not want to hear my opinion, but I believe this matter can be a source of worry later."

"Imagine if the Penitus Oculatus were out neighbors. You don't even like the thought of them being in Solitude, which is in the other side of the land. The Dawnguard is right down the road. I don't ask for much, Irilane. I am just saying that some of us should use our talent and save Babette and I some trouble in the future."

"It won't be enough," Karliah said, emerging from the shadows.

Trond jumped a bit; he was still unused to Karlia's talent when it came to sneaking. "I am going to put a bell on you."

Karliah suppressed a chuckle and kept a serious tone, "This is not some random stronghold. It is a castle, with all the defenses that belong to such a thing. You will not be able to infiltrate it. Not even I will make the attempt."

"I am not asking you to do it, Nightingale."

"Trond, please," Babette begged, placing herself in front of him, tugging his sleeves. She understood - quite perfectly, actually, - but she did not want him to endanger himself. And strange as it was, her voice would be the only one he would be willing to listen to.

It took some seconds, where Trond would curse and pace back and forth, but finally he seemed to calm down, if only a little bit. "Fine," he snarled. "But I will be killing something tonight. Care to join me?"

Babette did not want to. She had satisfied her thirst for the moment, and Karliah had showed her a book that seemed worthy enough to spend a night on, but she knew she had to stick around in case he lost his temper again. But perhaps the night would be funny enough. It was not like she would refuse fresh dinner. "Alright. But let's be back before we get stuck in the sunlight this time."

"It won't take long. Picked up a scent of some hunters nearby." With a pale hand on her back, he guided her towards the exit. "Behave while we are gone, mortals," he called over his shoulder as left the sanctuary.

Dreia rolled her eyes. "Ain't he cheerful today. Just lovely. I'm just gonna say what we're all thinking: if they were just humans, we wouldn't be having these problems!"

"Oh, they would have found problems no matter what," Irilane said and ran a hand through her black hair. She wondered if grey hairs had begun to show – it would not surprise her. She turned her glance towards Karliah. "Shall we look over the routes again?"

"Why not? I received word from a merchant from the Imperial City. He has thought about making a trip to Skyrim soon to sell his wares, and we should be able to convince him."

Irilane had been working together with Karliah to find a way for the Brotherhood to leave Skyrim safely. Their group would surely not go unnoticed by guards and travelling soldiers – they sure did not look like an ordinary family. But under the disguise of working with a travelling merchant, they might make it.

But Irilane seemed to be the only one who thought that far. The others had settled down well and seemed to forget that this home was only temporarily. Karliah was risking enough as it was. And it did not go unnoticed that some members of the Brotherhood were willing to fight back to regain a foothold in Skyrim.

Irilane did not understand that. She wanted to move forward, to start anew. Of all the assassins, she knew how much you could gain with a fresh start. This was not a way to give up, it was a way to move on.

To move away from here.

The two Dunmers looked at the maps in front of them. "How long have you been in Skyrim, Irilane?"

"Not long, actually. By the time Dreia found me in Windhelm, I had been in the city for less than a month."

"May I ask why you journeyed here? Not many choose to visit a country where a civil war is raging."

"I'd like to say that fate chose to lead me back to the Brotherhood," Irilane mumbled, rather solemnly. "But the truth is rather that I had grown restless and burnt too many bridges. I had contacts that could get me to Skyrim, and as the old saying goes – beggars can't be choosers."

"It still surprises me that Dreia managed to convince you to rejoin the Brotherhood."

"Oh, it certainly wasn't her personality that spoke to me. And her explanation of the situation was rather poor. I was not aware that Babette – that seemingly little girl – was the mind behind it all. It was a surprise, to say at least."

"She does not strike one as the shape of a leader."

"She usually isn't," Irilane answered with a sigh. "Someone is behind her, pulling the strings."

Karliah raised an eyebrow. "She did fool the Guild."

"Let that be the exception." Irilane smiled as she thought it through. "But yes; she did manages to pull things her way back then. Rather impressive. She is most comfortable when she has someone to make the guidelines."

"And that one would be Trond."

"Either him or me. A battle for power, at times. We both try to influence her, but what I lack what Trond has."

"Vampirism?"

She nodded. "I can never achieve their bond. I do not want to. But I give my advice, and Trond give his. But lately… I feel Astrid's influence is strong as well."

"I have met her. She did make an impression."

"Perhaps." Karliah pursed her lips. "But she is dead. It is quite frustrating to see a ghost in command." The Dunmer was quiet for some moments, before she started to laugh quietly. "But truthfully, the Brotherhood has always had ghost roaming around." Then came a sigh. "Not much did change in the time I was gone."

"Quite the opposite to the Guild. I remember how things were when Gallus…" She trailed off, eyes flickering to the ground. "Mercer changed things. So did Dagmar. Now it seemed that she has left to focus on the Stormcloaks. I wonder if Brynjolf will step up to the role now. I believe he could lead them in the right direction."

"Have you considered being the one to lead them? You do have the experience."

"I have been a thief for almost my entire life, yes. But I have not spent my entire life with the Guild. The gap was too big – I became disconnected. I was angry and bitter."

"Understandable."

"Perhaps. But I decided to let go – start over. Delvin, surprising as it might be, has been a support."

Irilane kept her eyes on the map in front of her. "I admit to being impressed. Like you, I had my period of time away from my guild – the Brotherhood. Different circumstances, of course. Your fate was tragic – my exile was my own fault. But I was bitter – and I am not certain if I truly let go of that feeling." She sighed, hesitated, but decided to continue, "I said earlier that the Brotherhood never changes. I was wrong. Some things never change, while other things change completely." Her voice trailed off and the Dunmer cleared her throat. "And now it seems we are leaving Skyrim. That, alongside other things, was not expected."

Karliah quietly muttered an agreement. When her fellow Dunmer focused on the papers on the desk again, she found herself staring at the assassin was a new fascination. As Irilane had commented on, they both had a lot in common. They were both Dark Elves, and now of them were exactly young. They had experienced life, and the joys and pains that follow along. But while Karliah had remained lonely in the Nightingale Hall, Irilane had risen to leadership. Or so it might seem. Karliah thought about Trond and Babette, of their strong friendship and hidden plans. She thought about Dreia and her arguments with Irilane. She thought about Ma'der and Bardie and how they had spent the last nights talking about alcohol instead of murders.

Whatever power Irilane might think she had, Karliah feared it would crumble beneath her. For a moment, she feared what would happen if they left Skyrim.

Then she remembered that the Brotherhood was not her responsibility.

But while Irilane and Karliah had made different choices, they certainly had something in common when it came to tragic love. Karliah thought about Gallus and how their relationship had changed their lives. She knew that Irilane had been kicked out of the Brotherhood for falling in love with a victim.

She briefly wondered if he had been anything like Gallus.

As Karliah watched Irilane work – she noticed the slightly raised eyebrow and the focused frown – she suddenly realized how surrealistic her situation was. She should be focusing on the Thieves Guild. It would make sense for her to try and regain her former position. She should be making new friendships in the Ratway, though she would be more likely to remain alone in the Hall.

But she was not alone. A whole group of assassins were living with her, strangers she barely knew, and if the Guild found out, it would ruin her already tense relationship with them.

It made absolutely no sense.

Karliah needed a drink.

"I will visit the Ratway."

Irilane did not hide her surprise, but did not ask her why or try to stop her. After all, Karliah was in charge of herself and her own business. "Alright. Do give Delvin my discreet greetings."

Karliah nodded.

Half an hour later and with a tankard filled with mead in her hand, she whispered to Delvin, "Irilane sends her thanks. Babette probably as well, but she was not home when I left."

Delvin twiddled his thumbs. He had already finished a bottle. "Ya know, she was spotted the other day. Niruin won't stop talkin' 'bout it."

Karliah cursed and asked, "What does he say?"

"That he saw a small vampire the last time he went huntin' in the woods. Doesn't leave many options, eh? Don't have any proofs, though. Some say it's just his nerves actin' up." He paused and corrected himself, "Well, Rune says that. The others aren't too sure. They would like for it to be true, ya know. Have someone to blame. Or punch. Probably punch."

"They wouldn't take it out on her. Not physically." Karliah was sure. They were thieves, after all.

"Eh, they wouldn't mind chasin' 'er out of Skyrim with pitchforks and torches. Rumors tend to find their way down 'ere." His eyes flickered towards the bar. "The guards are talkin' 'bout assassins circling the city. So the boys are lookin' for any proof supporting that. If they get a lead, they can get a deal with the top folks in the city. A deal is what we need right now. You can see what is happening."

"Do you miss Maven?"

Delvin cringed. "Ain't fan of her personality. But damn, her influence was convenient." There was a moment of silence where they both thought of possible solutions to the problem, only to find none, and then suddenly, Delvin decided to reveal, "Our dear Dagmar is marching on Solitude."

"What?" Of things to be discussed, that was not something Karliah had expected to be brought up. She quickly regained her composure, "With Ulfric?"

Delvin nodded. "A final battle it seems. I'd put my coin on Dagmar, even if she wasn't my darn boss. It's plain logic to know not to challenge the Dragonborn."

"You should tell that to the World-Eater."

Delvin laughed.

"Babette's companion wants to attack the Dawnguard," Karliah quietly added.

Delvin snorted. "They're damn self-destructive, that's what they are," he grumbled and put down his tankard with a bit more strength than he usually would have used. "I swear, I can't even remember why I decided to help them. Ain't worth it, I say."

"Babette was against the idea."

"A little bit of sense in 'er head, then." Delvin poured himself another beer. "In my opinion, they'd spend their time better by gettin' out of Skyrim. Once Dagmar is done with the Imperials, she will return her focus on them."

"On the Night Mother, you mean."

"Look, I don't know much 'bout that corpse. I just know it was unfair to pick Dagmar. She has the right to deal with it."

"The others are bound to protect it."

Delvin nodded. "That's why they should be hauled out of Skyrim."

"This is a bad idea," Babette muttered under her breath.

"We are spying, cub, not attacking."

"Well, I'm not going any closer. If you enjoy a silver bolt up your ass, feel free to go." The little vampire was in a bad mood. Trond had only told her half the truth – they had been feeding on the hunters, but afterwards, he had led them straight through here. There was a burning determination in Trond's eyes, and Babette just wished he would let it go and return home with her.

But no – she was a patient friend and here they were. There were only a few hours until sunrise, which did calm her nerves. Not even Trond was stupid enough to attack the Dawnguard and then get stuck in their castle.

Some of the vampire hunters could be seen from a distance. They were guarding their wall, holding torches that revealed their location. If Dreia had been with the vampires, she could easily have taken out two of the hunters before anyone could raise alarm.

Babette yawned. "Alright. We know where they are – here. We know what they are doing – pacing back and forth. There isn't much more to see. Can we go home now?"

But Trond was staring at the castle with a hungry look in his eyes.

"I'm telling Irilane."

That seemed to catch his attention. "Don't be childish." But the threat seemed to work and he relaxed his grip on the halt of his dagger.

"Let's just wait, alright? I need you with the others to ensure the Brotherhood's survival."

"Stop surviving, start living," Trond muttered an old saying. He sighed and glanced at the castle again. "It wouldn't take much," he mused. "We don't even have to lift a weapon."

"You can't set stone on fire, Trond."

"I know, cub," he hissed back. "Stone has saved me from a burned arse many times. I like stone. Stone is safe. Which is why we live in Sanctuaries made of stone."

"So what is your genius plan?"

"Simple. We carefully mention the situation to others, who will then take care of it all."

"Just who would do that for us?"

Trond smiled knowingly. "More than myself hate the Dawnguard. Let us make use of that hatred."

"…You aren't thinking about the Volkihar, are you?" Babette frowned. "You are. Well, I am not saying it's a stupid plan. I'm just saying that I don't want to be a part of it."

"They already know about our partnership. We did make quite the impression at Reiner's party."

"I believed they would forget. I mean, the place was on fire after all. More important things going on than little you and me."

"You might be little – I am not."

"Should we call it a night? I am tired and want to live." Babette yawned, opening her mouth a bit wider than usually to prove her point, and looked at him with pleading eyes. "Please, Trond."

"Saving your strength for another fight?" There was no bite in his voice, nor humor, but instead a flat tone.

It surprised Babette who was expecting another light argument. "What?"

"You talk in your sleep."

"Are you watching me sleep?" she accused him. Well, she was curious about his answer to that, but it also served as a way to avoid the subject. A clever move, according to herself.

Trond rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Dreia was worried. She wanted to check on you." A glance from Babette craved further explanation. "She said she had been told never to wake up a vampire. That left me for the job. I swear, if she starts wearing a necklace of garlic…"

"That would look funny."

"It would stink. Quite literally."

Babette watched how the glowing spot in the distance refused to move, and realized with concern that it must mean that the guard was standing still instead of pacing back and forth. Could he spot them from here? If so, had he already done it? "Whatever. Let's go home."

"You still did not answer my question. I noticed that. You cannot fool me."

"And if I answer, can we leave?"

Trond paused and placed a finger on his chin. "That does sound like I am keeping you hostage."

"You are, technically."

"Hmm… Is it effective?"

Babette threw up her hands. "Look, I'll kill Dagmar when she has saved the world. I thought you had agreed on that."

Trond fell oddly quiet.

"What? You want to spare her, too? Irilane would be proud."

"Why, no! I hate her with passion, etcetera, etcetera . But I've been thinking…"

"Oh dear."

"If Alduin can't kill her, how can we?"

That was a good question, actually. Babette bit her lip. "Well, we'll make a plan."

"You are making me laugh."

"Look, we're not alone in this. Astrid said she would help."

"Oh, so we are counting on ghosts now?"

It took a second before it clicked inside her head. Oh. She hoped that Lucien would forgive her forgetfulness.

"Well, actually we are."

Trond did not seem to like her answer, but at least he returned to the Nightingale Hall with her and only complained about it a few times.

Dagmar secured the helmet on her head. It felt heavy and unused and the metal touched her skin in an uncomfortable way. She wondered if she had picked another soldier's by mistake.

The air was heavy with smoke, but not the calming kind that only served as a reminder of the dinner being ready or the camp being set. This smoke was heavier, mixed with blood, and inside the walls people were fighting. Dying, too, but she hoped not too many of them would be her men.

Well, not her men. Ulfric's men. She was, after all, one of them. A soldier.

As much as she wished to stick her sword through Tullius, she could not help but feel that this was rushed. They needed the peace so that she could end another war. This blood only cleared her way to more blood.

At least what they were doing was justified. Finally the Imperials would be driven out, Talos' glory would be restored, and Skyrim would become strong again.

She was supposed to feel proud about this. This was the moment she had been waiting for. There should be a tiny bit of happiness inside of her, even if anxiety was growing.

But when Dagmar reached down to grab her bow, her arms felt as heavy and stiff as they had felt the last couple of weeks. By Talos, she was so tired. She closed her eyes and tried to find silence, but behind her, on the other side of the wall, battle was roaming, and if she tried to block out all noise, she would be left with the whispers.

She blamed the Night Mother for the pit inside her stomach. It had to be her who had taken away her happiness.

Dagmar's fingers shook slightly as they curled around her weapon. In the distance, Ulfric was talking with Galmar. She did not care for strategies, not now when her head hurt so badly. She was there to kill – something she had become quite good at.

Some days, it felt like that was all she was doing. She would let go of arrows, they would die, and she would not even take the time to look at their faces.

Tonight would be no different, except that she would stare into Tullius eyes when she killed him, and when she was done, she would share a bed with Ulfric and stare into his eyes as well.

At points, it almost felt like he could keep the nightmares at bay. They found comfort in each other similarities; their strength, their shouts and their loyalty to Talos. But there was a distance between them. Not that she minded; by Talos, a marriage was the last thing she needed now. They both had their respected secret and their titles, and those created space between them that would not disappear no matter how many times he would touch her.

In the back of her head, she missed Brynjolf. She missed his careful touch and the way he called her "Lass". He had never once called her Dragonborn to her face. But he had minded her secrets. He had kept talking about honesty and trust – two things that she could never completely give him.

Now, later, she realized that she did not mind that he had minded.

But Ulfric needed her, just like she needed him, and so this strange relationship turned out to be a benefit for the both of them.

With a sigh, she lowered her bow. It was not because she was not ready to fight – indeed, she looked forward to get this over with – but her nerves were strained to the breaking point.

Dagmar had kept three bottles with her, just in case. Ever since the incident back in Dawnstar, she would hear that annoying, shrieking children voice mocking her. That only caused her to grip the bottle tighter and empty it in one gulp.

It kept her hands steady and her throat from gagging on the smoke. Her mind was clear when she focused on the targets, and they fell, one after one. She did not need to worry about anyone getting too close; Ulfric had ordered a quartet of men to stay near her to keep the enemies off her, while she would shoot down those in the distance. Occasionally, she would shout; leaving a path of fire or ice to spread fear into the hearts of their enemies. Her – their – army would cheer.

She did not need to take the city by herself. She needed to inspire, so they all could force their way towards the Castle Dour. Once they reached the door, it would be over.

It did not take too long. Their soldiers had won over most of the city by the time she joined them.

Ulfric yelled something to his soldiers. Their faces were tired and tense, their weapons covered in blood, but their eyes held a fire that had left Dagmar's so long ago. She wondered, briefly, if they felt the cold wind that blew through the locked up city, too.

He slowed down his speed so she could walk next to her. The castle was in front of them, seemingly growing larger for each step she took.

Their soldiers cheered, watching their heroes step inside the claim the General's head.

When Ulfric pushed the door open, Dagmar thought about heroes and thieves and assassins, and she wondered what differences told them apart.

It seemed so unfair that tonight Ulfric would celebrate a victory, while she merely survived another stepping stone towards her silence.

"So much blood you spill, child, but none in my name."

Ulfric gave Dagmar a sword to cut off Tulluis' head.

"This one cannot wait to tell you what he has heard from the guards!"

Dreia raised an eyebrow as the Khajiit came barging into the room. She was sitting on the desk (much the Irilane's annoyance) and crossed her legs to lean forward in curiosity. "Then tell it already!"

"The Dragonborn came to Whiterun, yes, and she-" he made a dramatic pause, whiskers twitching, "flew off on a dragon!"

"Not true," Trond grunted from the corner of the hall. When everyone turned to stare at him, he crossed his arms in defiance. "It cannot be. She's supposed to kill dragons, not ride them."

"And you would know about such things, how?" Irilane asked, barely managing to keep herself from rolling her eyes.

"I survived a dragon attack."

"Well, so did I!" Babette reminded him. She craned her head upwards in pride as she marched into the room, taking part of the discussion.

"Then you should have realized that you do not take off on one of those things."

"Dagmar has done things less sane," Karliah told him with a knowing smile. While she may not be the best of friends with the Dragonborn, she had gotten to knew her when they had chased down Mercer together. The best tales about Dagmar had been told by Delvin who was always talkative after some bottles of mead. While Dagmar had impressed her, Karliah had always been worried about her vivid behavior.

"In an attempt to convince you, I admit I heard the guards as well – it must be true," Bardie rhymed, turning his hooded face towards the vampire.

Trond threw up his hands as he gave up. "Alright, fine, but why would she do that? Too much Skooma?" he snorted, and then had to add, "Don't even try to look offended, Ma'der. Even you know that there are limits."

"This one has tasted much Skooma, yes, but never tried to ride a dragon…"

"Well, hopefully you haven't set a comrade on fire."

Ma'der did not answer to that.

Trond groaned and looked at the ceiling. "I do not want to know that story."

"You shouldn't be the one to judge, Trond," Babette reminded him with a mean smile. "You bite people when you have sex with them."

Dreia suddenly looked very pale, while, if he would have been able to do so, Trond was blushing. "And you seduce sick old men," came his weak come-back.

"We're all twisted persons," Irilane finally concluded, though with a smile.

"Your words!" Trond noted. Then he frowned, "Does that mean that Dagmar actually fits down here with us? Horrifying thought…"

"If the rumors are correct, then it should be her attempt to fight Alduin," Irilane said, putting away her papers on her desk. It seemed that she, for once, was done working.

A deep silence fell upon the group.

"So," Ma'der finally spoke up, "how should this one react to that?"

"Please do not run around screaming like a girl," Trond snorted, but there was a serious tone in his remark. He meant it.

Dreia jumped off the table. "Well, he may or may not have a point. Like, do we all die if she fails? Immediately? Or should we just get used to the thought of our doom? 'cause I really don't like the thought of that, you know."

"We can't really do anything, can we?" Babette asked, glancing at Irilane as if she knew the answer to that. "It's Dagmar's fight, after all."

"But our fate depends on her."

Babette resisted the urge to cover her ears. "I really do not like that sentence. It seems unfair that we cannot fight for ourselves. If we could all face Alduin-"

"You would do what, cub? Throw frost-bite poison at him?"

"You could pull the same trick you did last time! I know we probably wouldn't win, but if everyone would…" Babette groaned, trying to find the right words to express her thoughts. "I just think that it is not right to depend on one person. Especially if you hate that person. It is like our will have been taken away from us."

"Oh, I have lot of will."

"We know, Dreia."

"This one thinks we should do something fun while waiting. If we cannot fight – and this one is actually quite pleased that he does not have to face a dragon – we can get drunk, yes."

Irilane put a finger on her lip. "That is actually a good idea."

"You just agreed to get drunk. You do realize that, right?"

She sent the vampire a glance. "What I mean, Trond, is that tonight should be one of celebration. Either Alduin dies-"

"Or the world ends. I do not want to celebrate that."

"But if it is the end of the world, Trond, we should at least be together," Babette said, thinking back at her old family. If she knew they would die the day after, she would have spent all the time with them the night before. "I could bake a cake."

"And I am sure Bardie can entertain us."

"I promise to keep you entertained while you hear the tale of the bloodstained smiles."

"That one's bound to be about you, cub," Trond snickered as they moved their furniture closer to the cooking area so they could sit around the fire. "I hope you do not know how insane you look when you put up your adorable act while drinking the blood of your enemy."

Babette shrugged, happy that their conversation had moved on from Dagmar. If this was the last night of her life, she did not want her thoughts to be about that murderer. "Well, it could be about you to. You seduce women only to bite them the moment after. Your smiles are the cause concern."

"Better to be a happy vampire than a sad vampire."

"That might be the truest sentence you've ever said."

Now it was Trond's turn to shrug. "When we met near Markarth, I told you I superior to you."

"You really know how to create the mood for tonight."

"It's been a journey, cub. No adjectives needed."

"Do you, do you have the time
to sit and listen and think for a while
the song is not brief when it is about grief
about death and pain and bloodstained smiles."

Dreia suddenly stood up, shaking her head. "Nah-ah. If this is a celebration, we ain't playing sad songs. Happy songs, Bardie, happy songs. You can do that. I'll pay ya."

"Sometimes I wonder if you are my friend – is this just rudeness or are you trying to offend?"

Dreia waved him off. "I'm sure it's a good song, Bardie. But let's save for tomorrow. If we're alive."

"I hate when I'm bound to side with Dreia, but for once she is right. Something we can dance to, Bardie, if you mind."

Ma'der raised a paw. "This one does not want to see the vampire dance."

"I do."

"Of course you do, Dreia."

"I want to see you dance, too, Irilane!" the Bosmer gave back, smirking.

Trond leaned forward, laughing while clapping his thighs. "Then this truly will be the end of the world!"

"Can this one drink Skooma for the occasion? Only one bottle? Ma'der asks so very nively." The big cat was staring at Irilane, his paws clasped together in a plea.

Irilane looked at her fellow Dunmer. "If Karliah allows it. It is her home, after all."

Karliah thought of her distaste against the drug, but decided that if this truly was the end of the world, it was too late to stop the Khajiit's bad habit after all. "I trust you can control it."

"This one has some bottles of wine hidden as well. He would like the share it with his friends."

"Got any Nord mead?" Dreia asked. "I'll help carry it here."

The two of them disappeared to find the bottles. Trond looked down at Babette who was sitting next to him. "Should we open our stash as well?"

"Dreia would hate us."

"Well, your choice is between blood and milk. I am not giving you alcohol."

Irilane raised an eyebrow as she watched the two vampires bicker. "Are you trying to act responsible, Trond?"

"Please," the vampire snorted. "My reason is even better. Seeing her drunk would damage my mental health. I am, in fact, taking care of myself."

"And here I thought you would surprise me tonight."

Somewhere in the corner, Bardie was preparing his lute. Soft tones filled the air, but were broken before they could become a complete melody.

"I bet we're having a better night than Dagmar," Babette said out loud as Ma'der and Dreia returned, their arms filled with bottles. Oh, it would be a good night.

"I think clearing the Ratway for skeevers would still be a better alternative than fighting a dragon. Because dragons are big and scary."

"I don't know, Dreia," Babette pondered. "At least dragons don't stink. And they don't carry diseases."

"You're right!" Trond chuckled. "If a dragon bites you, you die immediately. A quick death is better than a slow death."

"This one objects! Ma'der likes to make his victims cry in pain before killing them. That is why Khajiits have claws, no?"

Dreia had opened her first bottle of wine. "Nah-ah. Head-shot. Quick and flawless. Nothing can boost your confidence better than that."

"I am still torn between poison and a bite. Of course it feels good to know that your poison worked perfectly, but, well, a bite does taste better. And it satisfies your hunger. Work and dinner in one," Babette added to conversation.

Karliah allowed herself to groan out loud, causing all the assassins to stare at her. "Please, do not start this argument again."

"Why? Are we making you uncomfortable, thief?" There was laughter in Trond's eyes and a bottle in his hand. His question was friendly.

"I'd rather postpone that argument as well," she answered peacefully, her hands folded. After sipping to her wine, the warmth of the drink got to her as well and she said, "Though, we know who ends up rich and who ends up dead."

Trond tilted his head, trying to figure out if she was criticizing. When he realized it was meant as a teasing banter, he corrected her, "We all end up dead in the end."

"Some later than others," Babette added.

"I thought we all died tonight!" Dreia exclaimed. "Wasn't that the purpose of this party? Which hasn't started yet, so, Bardie, get to it!"

"Playing is not a difficult task. The Bosmer only had to ask."

"You see, Ma'der? Even the rhyming bard knows how the say 'Bosmer'!"

"What rhymes with 'Bosmer'?" Babette wondered out loud.

Trond automatically reached for his amulet of Talos. "Prayer."

Bardie took his cue and stared to play. His friends gathered around, a drink in their hand, and tried to stay quiet. For a moment, it seemed possible to forget that somewhere else, Dagmar was fighting against a dragon of evil.

"Play a tune below the moon
and listen to a wise man's words
Death's your friend and in the end
you do let go and thank him so
with a smile although it hurts.

Share a glass, enjoy your last
taste of freedom that is given.
Life is brief and full of grief
Death is numb without the dumb
short hope among the living.

Give a kiss and make a wish
that never death will kill the spark.
Friendship lasts and so your lass
will be there and you will stare
together into the dark."

Irilane was confused when it knocked on the door. Not that possible company surprised her – by now, she had gotten used to the constant noise that followed the Brotherhood. The other day she had caught herself thinking how lonely it would be when they left. It would take time to get used to the quiet again. She had even considered taking up Delvin's offer and live in the Ratway. It was a backup plan, but if the loneliness crept up on her, it was nice to know there was somewhere else she was welcome.

Months ago she would have dismissed the idea without seconds thought, but now the life around her seemed like a good change. She felt younger, truly. The years on the run had more her more weary than she had realized.

But the knocking caused her to frown. The assassins did not knock. None of them were polite enough to do so. Irilane might, but she never left the hall. She mostly excused herself with maps and letters to ensure that the travel to Cyrodiil would cause the least attention and that their destination would actually be ready for them. Apparently, most of the old sanctuaries had been ruined and you never knew of old forts and castles had been taken by bandits.

Karliah was not sure if the travel was as complicated as Irilane described it or if the Dunmer in reality was dragging out the time. Not that Karliah minded. She was the host – she did not interfere with the plans.

The assassins were asleep, except Trond and Babette who were out hunting. Karliah had for some reason found herself sentimental and had pulled out some old letters Gallus had written for so long ago. Old habits kicking in, she picked up her bow before heading to the door, even though she doubted that guards would knock on the door before kicking it in.

It was not a guard, but a tired-looking Brynjolf who was shifting his feet outside her home. She lowered an arrow, her eyebrow lifted in confusion. "Brynjolf? To what do I owe the honor?"

"I apologize for ruining your sleep, lass, but I got to ask you something. It's not exactly pleasant, but it kept me up. I have to ask."

Karliah wanted to tell him to go on. He was her friend. He had helped her find Mercer and he had, along with Delvin, invited her into the Guild with open arms. Most importantly; he was a Nightingale.

But so was Dagmar.

The Dunmer bit the inside of her cheek, carefully considering her options. She could lie. Or she could ask him if it could wait until the morning. Then she could have the assassins gone, but the furniture would still be there and… and in the end it did not matter.

Brynjolf already knew. The fact that he was here was only an attempt to find evidence against what he hoped was not the truth. Karliah did not lie. Instead, she only spoke his name. "Brynjolf." There was a plea in it, but the Guild leader had to ignore it.

He put his hand on the door so she could not force him out. "Let me in, Karliah."

The Dunmer wondered what would happen if she gave in to his wish. If she let him walk inside and see what he already knew what there. She wondered if he would attack them and or give them the time to leave- not just the hall, but Skyrim entirely. That would be fair, she realized. The assassins had been here much longer than expected and promised. But they had never left. No one had truly spoken out a desire to rush the process.

Karliah had little faith that Brynjolf would let them stay. While he was not as passionate about it was some of his fellow thieves, he too had suffered from the Brotherhood's decision and he knew who to blame. Perhaps he would not bring them to the sword, but he had the right to crave some sort of justice. Seeing them out of Skyrim would allow the Guild to rebuild.

But perhaps he would not be the one to attack. Perhaps the Brotherhood, in their own defense, would rush forward to greet him with weapons. She doubted that as well. They were depending on her – attacking a fellow Nightingale could only secure the situation for a brief time.

So they would leave. And soon. Karliah's thoughts rushed to Babette and Trond who were on a hunt once again. They had been going out more since Dagmar was announced the savior of Skyrim. She truly hoped they had only been hunting just as they said.

Karliah blinked. Brynjolf was still standing there, a remorseful expression across his face. Her thoughts had changed nothing. She tried with one word. "Please."

The red-haired thief sighed, looking as tired as she felt. She understood; after Dagmar had left, he had been the one to keep the Guild above water. Barely. "Karliah. As a fellow Nighingale, you promised the hall was open for me."

"I cannot."

"It should not be open for them!" Anger spread from his eyes to across his face. Karliah flinched by instinct; it was unusual to see Brynjolf with such a temper. "Lass, I'd understood – probably – if Delvin convinced you to hide them. His fault, he'll deal with it. But here? We've once dealt with a pissed-off Nocturnal. I won't let that happen again, lass. The Guild is my responsibility – even more so now. This temple is my business as well. Let me in."

"And if I deny you entrance?"

"I will not fight you, Karliah. You don't deserve that. I can leave, but you must know this – the Guild knows. I can't control my boys much longer, lass. They ain't stupid, and they've kept an eye on the certain busyness in these woods. When I left, they were discussing involving Dagmar. And the guards. They'll burn this place to the ground, and I won't have you burn with it. I said I'm not a person for religion, but that initiation was more than just the armor. Don't give up this place for them."

Karliah had almost forgotten how convincing Brynjolf's eyes could be. The worst thing was that he was right. This solution may have gained her some friends, but her loyalty to Nocturnal meant more. If the guards were closing up on this place, she had to lead them elsewhere.

"We will leave." Both of the thieves jumped when Irilane revealed her presence. Brynjolf's hand flew to the halt of his dagger. Irilane took a step closer. "I understand. I had a Sanctuary once, too."

Irilane then turned around without another glance. The rest of the assassins were standing close to the entrance of the hall, listening carefully for any signs of trouble. Even Ma'der tried to look awake, despite only having left his bed recently.

"Did you hear me?" the Dunmer asked them as she place herself in the middle, though her eyes wandered to the corner of the room where her knapsack had been placed. They would need to gather their items in a hurry.

"Yeah." Dreia looked genuine confused. "But we didn't get it."

"Our time here is up. Quite fair, considering the chance we have been given. Pack up your gear, only what you can carry, and we will move to the tower that Babette and Trond cleared out."

"Ah, the Dunmer means the tower that the dragon cleared out, no?"

A stern glance from Irilane was enough for Ma'der to keep his comments to himself. "We will remain there for the night, until we can meet up with Trond and Babette. Then we must try to cross the border to Cyrodiil-"

"Aren't you forgetting our heavy package?" Dreia asked, pointing over her shoulder with her thumb. The Night Mother's coffin was waiting in the corner. "No way I am carrying that up a mountain."

Irilane bit her lip. "Fair point."

"So what do we do? You are our leader and the decision is up to you."

"We'll have to carry it to the safe house," Irilane muttered but loud enough for her comrades to hear. "Then, we must try to steal a wagon…" And what then? It was not easy for a group like them to go unnoticed on the road. They could take care of those they met, but that would only lead a trail of blood behind them. The mountain path was preferable, but she could not leave the Night Mother behind. "Perhaps we must split up."

"We must regroup 'fore we can do that, right?" Dreia's eyes were flickering around nervously. "We can't leave behind the blood-suckers."

"I will send them in the right direction when they return," Karliah told them calmly as she walked down towards them. Brynjolf was just behind her. "But you must leave."

"Now," Brynjolf added, his hand still on the dagger.

"Calm down, red-head," Dreia bit at him. "I still remember you, you know. Kicked me out of the Guild."

Brynjolf blinked. It took some seconds before he remembered the Bosmer who had tried to enter his group of thieves. "You're the one who tried to set Maven's house on fire."

"Yeah, didn't work. An arrow to the head did the trick though."

"Dreia!" Irilane snarled, noticing how Brynjolf's lip had become a thin line. Reminding him of who had caused the downfall of the Guild was not a good idea right now. "Pack your things and shut your mouth."

"Well, aren't we all in a great mood," the Bosmer muttered, resisting the urge to flip them the finger. She then walked over to her bed, Ma'der and Bardie following her.

Brynjolf sighed loudly when he looked across the room. He saw the extra beds and the mess the assassins had brought along. They had made themselves comfortable here. "I am going to have a very long conversation with Delvin," he sighed deeply.

"I consider dropping out, you know," Dreia asked while sending Irilane a sour glance. She huffed and let go of the weight she was carrying for a moment to prove her point. "I didn't sign up for this. I may or may not send people to their graves, but no way am I carrying them!"

Ma'der rolled his eyes. "If the little Elf would shut up, this would be over much faster."

"Trond should be here. He should carry the deadweight."

"He must come soon as he only travels at night. He must have realized he cannot find more souls to bite."

"They're late," Irilane concluded. The four assassins was walking at each corner of the coffin, carrying the weight with their shoulders. A filled knapsack was placed on each of their backs, and everyone, besides Iriane, was visibly armed. What they did not need, they had left in the hall.

Dreia grunted, shifting her shoulder to spare a sore spot. "They just gotta walk in the sunlight to get to us. Or wear a damn hood. We're always waiting for them."

"Is that the tower I see? It seems, for the moment, we do not have to flee."

"Bardie is right. We're here."

The dragon attack had visibly damaged the old structure. The lower entrance was ruined, holes decorated the walls and there were tracks from the dragon's claws. The assassins were forced to use the mountain road to use the upper entrance. To do that, they had to leave the coffin behind near the foot of the tower.

"No way I'm carrying that any further! In half a day, we just have to get it down again!"

They left it behind a big rock and covered it with leaves. To anyone else, it would be almost impossible to find.

They were all tired and sore when they finally reached the top of the tower. "That could've done better," Ma'der proclaimed, stretching out a sore back.

"They better be here soon," Dreia muttered. She carelessly dropped her bag to the ground, and placed herself on the stone railing to relax her feet. "I hate saving their asses."

"This one thinks it might be a bit different this time," Ma'der said quietly, his voice very thin. With a claw, he pointed towards Riften in the distance. On the road and near the edge of the forest, fires could be seen from their position. Flames, obviously, coming from a lot of torches.

Irilane swore and moved closer, crossing her fingers that Karliah was safe. She breathed out when she realized that the soldiers had passed the dirt road that led to the hall.

Then she regretted her relief.

If they passed the Nightingale Hall, that only meant they were moving towards here.

"Grab your weapons," she commanded her friends.

"Can't we just run?" Dreia asked, but picked up her bow as she was ordered.

"By the time we reach the bottom of the cliff, they will already be here. They must have sent out rangers. And we cannot leave the Night Mother."

"And Trond and Babette," Dreia reminded her. "Can't leave them, too."

Irilane sighed as she watched the flames come closer. This was not a question about them leaving the vampires.

If anyone had the chance to leave the soon-to-be-burning mess, it was Trond and Babette.

And that cold knot that had been in her stomach for the last few weeks told her that the vampires might be a part of greater troubles elsewhere.

A/N: I am terribly sorry. Truly. I have no idea of time can fly so quickly. I feel like I just updated this story and then, suddenly, it's been months. Truly sorry. I hope you will keep sticking around there.

This turned out longer than expected… Hmmm… A lot of fillers… But these are just the things leading up to the next chapter.

Next time… Soldiers try to take down the Brotherhood, the Brotherhood tries to survive, members of the Guild try not to look so guilty, Trond tries to be responsible, Babette tries to be irresponsible enough to cut bonds, Rune tries to ignore Delvin, Lucien tries to make an appearance and Dagmar tries to burn the Night Mother.

Bardie's songs are written by me. Can't sing for my love of my life, but I can scratch down some lyrics, haha.