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

Bloodstained Smiles
Thick as Thieves

When Rune had been eight years old, his adoptive parents had warned him about staying out too late. There were creatures in the forest; devilish creatures that no human were supposed to see. Hell hounds, ghosts, giant spiders and demon horses that would chase him down. Rune had later dismissed the ideas of the supernatural – of course some of the warnings had been true, at least Rune had to acknowledge that the first time he came face to face with a too tall frostbite spider.

Rune had learned to shake the fear off himself, and it was quite ironic that so many years later, the darkness had become one of his best friends.

Right now, Rune had to face the fact that demon horses did exist.

He had left the town in the search for Babette, knowing she would head to the forest because Dagmar was there. He had even run into some Stormcloak soldiers that had been limping back into town, telling stories of clever assassins that acted like ghost, but comforted Rune with the fact that they had put a dragon on the case. Then they had seemed to notice the thief's strange outfit, and Rune had hurried along before they could realize he was a member of the Guild.

Rune had crouched by pure instincts when the dragon flew over him. He had heard the rumors as well, he knew who Dagmar was, he had heard her tales of her dragon. But still, when he saw the mighty beast, Rune's heart skipped a beat. Luckily, it landed nowhere near him, but as much as he would like to avoid a confrontation with the beast, he had been unsure whether he had the choice.

Noise of battle echoed between the trees, and Rune knew he had to follow them. It was his responsibility because… Rune was actually not quite sure. He had promised to keep Babette safe, but he was also doing this for Dagmar.

Actually, the only thing he was sure of was that something bad was going to happen soon. But he knew that he could stop it, and when that was the case, it meant that he was responsible.

He could hear the fighting, blades swinging, roars, and the sound of hooves against the ground. He had expected, well, a horse. Dagmar's horse. Or maybe Babette had stolen a horse again –that would not surprise him.

But he had not expected this.

The beast stopped right in front of him, and Rune almost felt like an eight-year-old again. The horse was huge. Its nostrils were widened, taking in deep breaths, but the first thing Rune really noticed were its eyes. They were red, like a vampire, and he wondered if it belonged to Babette.

But even though it seemed fitting, it also felt wrong. Babette was small and fragile.

This beast was enormous and obviously dangerous. Rune understood that when he saw the blood around its mouth and the splotches on its hooves.

Rune took a step back. The black horse reared, letting out a loud shriek, and then ran off into the shadows. Its speed was so great that Rune's hair moved as if it had been caught by the wind.

For a moment, Rune just stood still, listening to the forest. He could still hear the roars in the distance, but it was not as loud as they had been. But after meeting the devil horse, the dragon suddenly seemed a lot less dangerous.

Breathing heavily, Rune forced himself forward, following the horse's tracks, all of them matted with blood.

He was not sure of what he would find, he did not even dare to think of it, and therefore his brain felt like it was filled with fog.

When he almost stumbled upon Dagmar's broken body, he blinked before he realized just what had happened. "Dagmar?"

The Dragonborn was on the ground, her bow lying broken next to her. Her Stormcloak uniform was wet with blood, but actually hid the direst of her injuries. Rune understood that the demon horse had not stopped when Dagmar came in its way.

Still, Rune's mind literally refused to believe that this was Dagmar's end. Dagmar who had survived anything that had been thrown it her – let it be Mercer, assassins or Alduin. Dagmar who had lifted the Guild from the ground, made them bigger than ever, only to forget about them and let them crumble slowly. Dagmar who had accepted the responsibility of the Guild, but let it go when she realized that she held the responsibility of something bigger.

Rune tried to be mad it her but failed. He was bitter, yes, like most of the members in the Ratway, but he understood.

He kneeled down next her, hand unconsciously searching for his bottle of healing potion, when Dagmar coughed and her eyes flickered towards him. "Don't bother," she told him, blood spilling from her lips. "Damn imp poisoned me. Can't even feel this."

"Babette –"

"A cut. All it took." She coughed and twisted her broken limbs in something that was either pain or anger. "Damn whispering is still there, Rune. You have to burn it."

Her hand, fingers bend in impossible directions, reached for her dagger and tried to nudge it toward Rune. "You have to kill it. It's close."

"I can't kill Babette," he answered honestly, deciding that he could not give her empty promises on her deathbed.

"Not her. Forget about her. They'll all burn when their mother burns."

"I don't understand."

"Burn it, Rune," she ordered, eyes shining with wild madness.

"I can't."

A roar cut through the air, and Rune scrambled backwards when the dragon forced its way towards them, knocking away the trees in its path. The thief took in the sight with horror – it was so big, so monstrous that he almost forgot about the horse.

"I returned when I sensed you were in Tahrovin, Dovahkiin," it spoke, and its ability of speech surprised Rune. "Though I see you have already dealt with the Paal."

"Burn it," Dagmar whispered, blood spilling from her lips. "Burn it all. The forest. The city. Let Riften go up in flames, if it will grant me silence."

"Are you insane?" Rune was unable to hold back the question, though he already knew the answer. "Dagmar, please, do not carry through with this."

"Burn them all," the dying Dragonborn told him, eyes glazed over with madness. "For silence."

Rune looked at the dagger in his shaking hand, and then moved his eyes towards Dagmar's pale face. After taking in a wet breath, he gently told her, "For silence."

Then he slit her throat.

When the action was done, he threw the bloody blade away. It landed among the leaves of the forest and was hidden almost immediately. Rune briefly remembered how he had been told so long ago, back when he had joined the Guild, that their blades were only the last resort, that a true thief needed no blades.

As he crawled away from the corpse, he lifted his head to stare at the dragon that remained on the ground. Its scaled head moved to focus on Rune, and it spoke with a deep voice, "A shame. To have death brought to you by a Tafiir – a thief."

Rune began to walk away, gaining more and more speed for each step between him and the beast.

The dragon seemed to crouch, as if about to take off. "I will not attack you, mortal. Midrot – loyalty misled us once, but I do not follow blindly again."

And then, so suddenly that Rune jerked in surprise, it shouted, "Yol Toor Shul!" and the Dragonborn's corpse was engulfed in flames. A last honor given by a fellow dragon.

Then it began to fly, and the trees seem to kneel from being in the near presence of its wing span. It did not disappear immediately, but circled the area above Dagmar's still body. "The sky is mourning today, joor. Do not stray."

Rune did not have to hear that twice. He ran as fast as he could, almost stumbling over his own leg, away from the clearing back towards the city.

In that moment of panic, he had forgotten just why he had left the safety of the sewers in the first place.

That was until he stumbled upon Babette.

Quite literally.

He was a second away from tripping over her legs, when he suddenly noticed the bloody body in the middle of the clearing. The pale chest was facing the sky, already turning slightly run due to the burning feeling.

"Shit," he said and wondered just how many bodies you could find n a forest in one day. Rune was pretty sure he was pushing the limit.

But as it turned out, as he kneeled down next to her, Babette was not quite dead yet. Her eyes were unseeing, her breathing was rattling and shallow, but her slim chest was moving up and down as she fought for life.

When Rune leaned over her, shielding her from the sunlight, he did not think further about his action. It was so easy to forget what Babette was, especially when she looked as young as she did now, and Rune was still not an expert when it came to the true consequences of being a creature of the night.

He did, however, quickly realize the connection between the sunlight and the dying vampire.

His hands first moved to her wound, keeping pressure on it, but realized how stupid it was. Bloody fingers reached inside the pocket for one of his small healing potions, and he pressed it against her lips, impatiently getting her to swallow.

It helped a little, but not much. The bleeding only slowed a little, and Rune gave her his second and last potion. Even unconscious, she whimpered when he accidently let the sunlight touch a part of her arm, and he cursed, leaning over the vampire again.

He had only one idea of what to do, and to be honest, he was not that proud of that idea. But he could not take her to the Ratway, they would not help, and he did not know where to find her fellow assassins, much less if they would let him live.

So Rune's mind settled on the one thing he knew – he was holding an injured girl that needed help now.

And with that thought he made a pretty illogical choice.

Rune wrapped his jacket around the motionless form, picked her up, holding her close to his chest, and then he ran back to the city, heading for the Temple of Mara.

"Come," Trond said, grabbing Dreia's hand. He had been covered by his cloak again, so that was one avoided disaster, and now when the dragon was gone, they finally had the chance to breathe.

Well, some of them. Irilane was still working on Bardie with Ma'der running back and forth to fetch the potions she needed.

"Where are we going?" she asked, but followed him with no further protest. In fact, she smiled brightly as she asked, "Ooh, are we going to chase the dragon? I still have some arrows left."

"No, I would rather not end up as Bardie," Trond replied sharply. "I still have needs for my hands."

"That sounds exciting."

"Why are you so happy?" he asked as they stumbled their way down from the tower, passing so many dead soldiers that Trond could not help but smile in pride. Oh, their work was indeed bloody. "We almost just died."

"And nothing makes you feel more alive," Dreia answered with a nod of her head.

"Oh." The vampire fell quiet for a moment. He could hear her heart racing, but his own chest was still as always. "I suppose you have a point."

"So what are we looking for, if not the dragon?"

"Well," Trond began, jumping over the corpse of a Stormcloak. "Before I arrived, you all had the glorious idea to hide the Night Mother. And since we apparently can't leave her behind, I say we pick her up before we get out of here."

Dreia turned his head to stare at them. "But don't forget Babette."

Trond breathed out through his nose, as it for a moment felt like he and Dreia were raising a kid whom Dreia now was keeping a careful eye on. "Yes, we won't forget the cub. Now let's move."

"Why is it you call her 'cub'?" the Bosmer suddenly asked, curiosity tinting her tone. "I mean, Ma'der does it all the time, but he's a Khajiit. Well, we once had a bet you've once been a part of a caravan, since you've said you've been everything, but you don't usually speak like a cat."

"I'm not referring to her as a little cat," Trond replied stiffly, raising his chin. "But she looked quite like a little, lost animal you can find in the woods."

"The kind that attacks you with claws or the ones you shoot with an arrow?"

Trond chuckled. "The kind that dies from starvation if you don't take them in."

"Oh. So does this mean that I can call you 'Fang'?"

"Can I call you 'Elf-ear'?"

"Now you're being racist. But I suppose you are a Nord after all."

"About to start the Civil War again, Dreia?" Trond asked. Though they were having a discussion, they were both still smiling – the harsh words were mostly to take their minds of the attack they had just survived.

The Bosmer laughed. "Wouldn't hurt to bring some fun into this place."

"You would burn all of Skyrim if we let you have that chance. It's almost terrifying."

They finally reached the forest where Trond told Dreia to take the lead, since she had actually been a part of the group that hid that Night Mother. For a moment she tilted her head, frowning as she tried to remember, and Trond was just about to curse at her when she suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled him along.

Perhaps it was not just luck that had saved the Night Mother from being found by the soldiers. The assassins had hid the coffin well, and Dreia and Trond almost walked past it the first time.

"Oh," Dreia said and pointed. Together, they pulled the leaves and branches off it, revealing the metal coffin. "It's pretty," she said, gesturing to how it was shaped like the Night Mother herself.

"It's heavy," Trond snorted, settling that matter. "We have to leave it behind."

"Wha – we can't do that!" Dreia placed herself in front of the coffin, as if trying to shield it with her own body.

"Have you forgotten just how much it slowed you down from when we had to flee from Dawnstar? Plus, if dragging along a weird, giant coffin doesn't raise suspicion, I don't know what will. We need to head to Cyrodiil as quickly as possible," Trond told her sternly. "We leave that thing behind, we'll get there much quicker."

"But the Night Mother?"

"-can get a new coffin," Trond concluded. "We just need the body."

As he opened the coffin to stare at the wrapped up corpse, they both wrinkled their nose. "Irilane won't like it," Dreia finally said. "She loves tradition and all that."

"We'll find a nicer coffin. Just remember to tell her that when you explains the plan."

"Why do I have to tell her about it? You know she'll be pissed."

"Because I have to fetch the cub. Unless you feel like heading down into the Ratway-" He did not even have to finish his sentence – just by mentioning the thieves' hideout, the Bosmer made a grimace. She had obviously not forgotten the time they had rejected her. "I thought so. Put her in a blanket or something," he said, pointing at the body beneath them. "And try to find something that can help on the smell."

"How's your shoulder?" Dreia called out before he could get too far away. When he lifted an eyebrow, she shrugged. "Wouldn't want you to get jumped now when we've just kicked their asses. We deserve our happy ending."

"Well, I appreciate if you could avoid shooting me in the future, but I should be fine."

"If you would just start behaving yourself, I may or may not-"

He lifted her hand to cut her off. "You get the corpse, I get the cub."

"It sounds like we're on a murder spree," she chuckled cheerfully, and then Trond was too far away to hear more. He moved quickly through the forest, noticing the distant whooshes from above. The dragon was still in the forest somewhere, and at some point he looked up and saw the beast circling around in the sky.

It did not look like he was hunting, but Trond was no expert when it came to dragons and right now he just settled with the fact that it did not seem to be targeting him. That gave him the chance to get into the city.

He was still wearing the Stormcloak uniform under his cloak, which made it a lot easier to get past the guards. Keeping his head down, he still looked bloody and grim, but the city guard merely believed he was from the one of the remaining surviving soldier from the attack, and let him inside with the instruction of how to find the palace's healers.

Trond nodded, keeping his head tilted towards the ground, but out of the corner of his eyes, he watched all the citizens on the marketplace. When he saw the chance, he quickly slipped down the stairs and headed for the Ratway.

He could feel the exhaustion to his bones, and he desperately wished for the night to come so he would not have to deal with the sun. He dragged his body into The Ragged Flagon, slamming the door open with his shoulder, earning some surprised glances from the thieves.

To be honest, he had expected the cub to jump from the shadows and fling her arms around his neck, which was why the silence surprised him.

Eyes dancing around, he tried to spot her as he walked deeper into the thieves' den. One of the thieves, Delvin was his name, left his chair to go meet him. "Ain't here," he told him briefly.

"Where?" Trond snarled. "And why?"

"The kid's own fault. She ran out of 'ere, 'fore anyone could lay a hand on 'er. Rune followed 'er. Don't know where they went, they haven't returned."

The vampire cursed under his breath, grabbed the bottle of mead before the thief could protest, gulped it down in one go and prayed to Talos that the headache would help on his headache. It usually wouldn't. But this was a bad situation, and then alcohol was always a welcome drink.

"I despise this city," Trond snarled, turning around with a dramatic speed and promptly stormed out of the Ratway. He threw up his hands as he ran, unable to keep down his frustration. "I cannot wait 'till we get to Cyrodiil. The Imperial City has missed me, I'm sure. We have all the drama over here. Not fair, not fair at all."

Rune was surprised of how easy he had gotten into the city. All the guards were confused and panicking – they had to deal with a vampire-caused murder, the attack on the assassins' hideout, and now a dragon was soaring in the sky and Dagmar had not shown up to control it.

He had quickly claimed he was carrying an injured citizen, a child no less, and the guard had let them pass after telling them to go to the temple.

And that was Rune's plan. The temple had healers, though people mostly visited it to get married, and if there was something Babette needed right now, it was a healer. He had pressed the child close against his torso when facing the guard, though he could probably have explained her snow-white skin as a cause of blood loss.

He opened the temple's doors with his shoulder, startling the one priest who was inside the main hall. "Oh, another one? The others have headed to the guards' barracks in order to treat them there. Only a few soldiers made it back, but they will be taken care of. We are no Temple of Kynareth, I'm afraid, but I know Wylandriah is lending her hands as well. Is this a civilian?"

Rune placed Babette on one of the benches, glad to know that she at least was out of the sunlight's harm. "Can you help her?" he asked, revealing her injuries by pulling away his jacket from her body. "I've run out of potions."

The priest gasped, hands shaking slightly. "I'm not… I'm not very good with spells. You should take her to the others, they can-"

"I can't. You need to help her here."

"I think we may have some few potions left here. I'll be back soon," she promised before running into another room, and according to the sound, down some stairs.

Rune waited, it was his only option, and noticed how Babette stirred a little if his fingers touched the wound in order to investigate it. Her wrist was definitely broken too, along with a head-injury. But vampires were strong. Rune had heard that fires and sunlight were the only two quick ways to kill the undead, unless you were planning on slashing them to pieces.

When Rune heard footsteps, he realized more than one person were emerging from the rooms. He would have reached for his dagger, but then remembered he had thrown it away. There was still dried blood on his hand.

When the Dunmer returned with a fellow priestess, the newcomer immediately leaned over the child and placed her hands on the bleeding chest. For a moment she stood there, concentrating as the other healer poured a potion down her throat.

Rune was about to let out a relieved breath and had almost allowed himself to lean against the wall, but then the priest suddenly lifted her head, glaring at him with eyes widened in shock. "The child is dead," she said breathlessly, but before any of the others had the chance to mourn, she continued, "And not."

Her eyes then narrowed in suspicion, and Rune's eyes unconsciously moved towards the nearest exit. The situation reminded him of the numerous times he had accidently made a guard suspicious, and he was fairly uncertain if he would be able to talk himself out of this one.

"It's the undead child the tales once told about," the priestess concluded, and then the two civilians began to back away. Rune noticed how the one in the background was reaching for a dagger secured inside her robes while glancing towards the door, as if wondering if she could make a run for it.

"Please," he tried, gently, knowing that if they screamed for help he would be in real trouble. "She won't harm you, I promise."

"I do not heal night-spawns," the priestess told her sternly. "They are not our Mother's children."

Rune reached inside his pocket. Both of the women jerked, believing he was trying to arm himself, but he pulled out his purse before they could react further. "I will pay you," he tried again. "Please, she does not deserve to die."

"I will not interfere with this," was her reply, and he was about to plead again, when a shadow emerged from the shadows.

The vampire must have come through the passage between the Hall of the Dead and the Temple, and he had arrived so quietly, that none of them noticed him before now.

Rune had met Trond before, and he had been surprised with how civilized the vampire had behaved. Of course he knew from Babette that vampires were not exactly beast, but Trond had carried himself around as if he was a noble.

But right now, he barely looked human. He had pursed his lips, revealing his sharp fangs that were ready for a bite. His torn clothes were bloody, and his dark red eyes were set upon the priestess. They almost looked like they were glowing. "Let me show you how it is done, thief," he growled without taking his eyes of the healers. "You will heal her, and you will do it now, and you will not scream, because I am very annoyed and very hungry, and you do not want to go against my words right now. So for your own sake, fix her, and do it quietly."

With their expressions turning fearful, the priestess began to work. Trond moved in closer to them, his teeth barred, and watched Babette over their shoulders. Rune remained where he stood, afraid that any comments coming from him would only worsen the situation.

The vampire suddenly turned his redeyes on him, gaining eye-contact. "I'd recommend you to leave, thief," Trond told him in a hiss. "Your work is done here."

And Rune believed him. His legs led him the quickest way out of the temple, towards the secret entrance of the Cistern, and he somehow made his way down the ladder.

He earned a lot of concerned glance and frowns as he slowly stumbled into The Ragged Flagon where he would have to deliver the news to Delvin and Brynjolf. But when he finally arrived at the bar, his mouth felt too dry to speak the words, and instead he slowly crumbled onto a chair.

The others were closing in on him, obviously wondered what had happened in the city above them, and Rune waved them off with the comment, "I really need a drink."

Immediately, a bottle was placed in front of him.

"It's on the house," Vekel told him, and Rune was very grateful.

"You got letters."

Rune snapped out of his thoughts when Brynjolf suddenly placed a folded paper on the table he had been resting his head on. The new Guild Master moved to Delvin next, handing him one as well. "Karliah delivered them," he explained in a low voice. "But she's not the sender."

"Of course," Delvin grunted as he began to read. "Don't ya tell me she's havin' guests again? 'cause this time, it won't be my fault."

"No, one of them just dropped by to make sure we gained this information. From what the Nightingale could tell me, they all left this morning."

Rune moved his chair closer to where Delvin was sitting so he could join the conversation. According to the guards, the assassins all died when the Dagmar had called the dragon to help the Stormcloaks in the forest. But the battle that had taken place at Dawnguard had reached the news as well, and people had somehow created the theory that a crazed vampire had escaped and slipped into the city, causing all the ripped open jaws. Three guards had been killed, along with two priests of the Temple of Mara. Such a tragedy.

And then there was the question about the missing Dragonborn. Like she had once showed up from seemingly out of nowhere to save them all, she had disappeared just as quickly. It left a lot of loose ends. The Skyrim was missing its Dragonborn, the Stormcloaks their General, the Companions their Harbinger and the Thieves Guild their Guild Master.

Of course Rune knew the truth, which he had shared with his fellow thieves. While most of them had understood – Dagmar had been dying even before Rune found her – some did question the part with the demon horse. But Rune could not tell them anything else than what he had seen, and finally people settled with the fact that Dagmar had lost to her madness.

While she had been a rare sight in the Cistern the last year, some took her death harder in particular. This was mostly Brynjolf who not only had to grieve but also had to get comfortable in his new position. But in the year Dagmar had been absent, he had been running the show with the help of Delvin. Not much would change.

"So is it true?" Rune asked, referring to the rumor which had been the cause of why the thieves had been advised to stay underneath the city today. Brynjolf had only managed to slip in and out of the city due to his many years being a master thief.

"The killers keep their promises," Brynjolf said, his tone slightly surprised. "Laila's dead."

"Let's see how long it'll take Anuriel to find a comfortable position in the throne," Delvin muttered, swallowing the rest of his beer.

Brynjolf sat down as well. "You mean how long it'll take for her to contact us. If my suspicion is correct, we'll hear from her soon."

"Huh." Delvin wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Turned out well enough then. They say anythin' 'bout where they're goin' now?" he asked, turning his head towards Rune who was busy reading his letter. His forehead was wrinkled by a concentrated frown.

Rune blinked when he realized he'd been spoken to. "Uhm, I think they mentioned Cyrodiil? But that's a big place."

"You don't say," Delvin snorted. He tried to lean closer to try and read the letter, but Rune pulled away before he could do so. "Any details you want to share?" the older thief asked him when he realized he was not going to read the message himself.

"She says thanks," Rune answered after a while, folding his letter as he finished reading it.

"Oh," Delvin said and waved for Vekel to bring him some more to drink. "'least we taught 'er some manners."

Rune lifted his head and grinned, though his smile was slightly distant. "Yeah… She says she won't forget."

Babette spent a lot of time in darkness. There was silence in the beginning, but then came the whispers.

It was all very poetic.

To be honest, she preferred the time where she had met her friends in death. It had been more fun.

Though, this was all very enlightening.

She listened to the whispers until she was able to open her eyes, and when she did, the first thing she saw was Trond.

Well, that brought back memories.

"Oh, good," he said. "I wanted to say goodbye."

"Why so gloomy?" Babette muttered bitterly. As she tried to turn over to lie on her side, she found out that it was a very bad idea. She was still sore. "How did I survive this time?"

"The thief gave you some potions, I forced some priests to heal you and when they were done, I killed them and let you drink their blood," he said casually, brushing some dust of his coat.

She frowned. "Well, that sounds like a mess."

"You do create a lot of those. Nasty habit, actually. You can't always count on us to clean up afterwards."

Babette looked around, trying to figure out where they were. They were sheltered by stone walls, so they must be inside some home. Maybe Karliah had taken them in again?

"We found some watchtower. And killed some Vigilants. They won't be missed," Trond explained seeing her confused eyes. While she was lying on a bedroll, Trond was sitting on a chair next to her. "Dagmar is dead."

"I know."

He raised an eyebrow. "We are still lacking the details of just how it happened."

"I told you; I know."

Trond narrowed her eyes when he noticed her bride smile. "What?"

"Oh, you'll love to be the first to know." She then leaned her head back and laughed. Her body was sore and more scarred than ever, but she was alive – well, as alive as a vampire could be.

She gestured for him to come closer, and when he leaned over her, she whispered her little secret into his ear.

He pulled back, first frowning but then it turned into a smile. "Well, it does make sense." Trond then laughed loudly, almost causing the other assassins to come inside and investigate. "Oh, Irilane is going to love this."

"It's practical," she chuckled with him. "The Dark Brotherhood forever, Trond."

Dear Rune

I only find it appropriate to thank you for all your help. Thanks to the effort of you and Trond, I survived my meeting with Dagmar, and that has secured the future of the Brotherhood in more ways than you realize.

I know what you have done. Don't ask me how – well, that plead is rather unnecessary since we will have left Skyrim once you receive this letter. But I know what you did, and I know that it was the right thing to do. You are aware that I have no respect of Dagmar, but even so, I know she would have preferred this over her mind slipping away.

Send my thanks to Delvin as well. How funny to think back and see how much have changed since I stumbled into the Ratway. Maybe you all regret the choices you made, but I remain grateful. I know I should probably apologize for all the problems I've caused, but I hold onto the belief that it all worked out in the end.

As I mentioned earlier, we will now finally do as promised and leave Skyrim. What the future holds next, no one knows, but I've found my role now. I hope you can find peace as well, although I did find the thief-life rather boring. Too little blood, if you ask me. But you and I are also very different.

I made a lot of promises, and you should soon hear the rumors that will end the business the Guild and the Brotherhood had together. I hope this final kill will turn out the way you wanted. Riften is a rotten place, but I'm sure you guys can make it livable. If anything, enjoyable.

But as you might remember, we made one final promise to you. Irilane told you have she suspected the rune to be a name? Well, Karliah was kind enough to lend us some books, and we might have traced it back to old family of Coles. It died it some decades ago, but we will try and look further into it when we have settled in Cyrodiil. Expect more letters.

Take care of yourself, Rune. I have my family, and you have yours, but I was glad to have you as my Brother for a time.

Stay out of trouble, for your own sake. You deserve a rest.

-Babette

Bardie had lost an arm. When Babette finally left her bed, it was the first thing she noticed when she was greeted by her friends.

"Oh, Bardie," she wailed for him. "I am so sorry."

"It's okay," Ma'der answered for his friend. "This one will learn how to play, and then Bardie can continue to sing."

"Though putting down the lute was never my choice, I settle with the fact that I still have my voice."

Luckily, Irilane had managed to stop most of the bleeding and save the stump of the arm. She had almost collapsed from exhaustion once she was done, which was probably the reason why she had just waved Dreia off when she came and told her about the plan to move the Night Mother.

When the Bosmer had returned with the corpse wrapped in a blanket, Irilane had almost had a heart-attack. It became even worse when Dreia had explained she had started a fire in the empty coffin, since it "may or may not take care of loose ends".

Now when both Bardie and Babette had healed enough to travel, Dreia and Trond had stolen a wagon and Shadowmere had been tied in front of it. The animal was stamping the ground impatiently.

Babette was sitting on the wagon, pulling at the bandages that were still covering her torso. She knew she was lucky to be alive, and that she had was more lucky than she was allowed to be. At least now she knew the reason to her luck.

"Ooh, I just heard another one," she exclaimed suddenly, causing Irilane's body to jerk in surprise. "An indebted alchemist in Chorrol. It seems we have to make a small stop on the road."

"Another delay?" Trond groaned. "You better get paid well for this one."

"I thought you did not want to wait for us, Trond," the smaller vampire said, slightly offended. Though she understood her fellow vampire's reasons, it did not mean she would not miss him.

"Oh, I'm not planning to," he said as he sat down next to her. "The moment you get this heavy thing moving, I'm heading back to steal a horse. Lead the guards in another direction, just in case."

"Yeah, and then you ride ahead," Babette pouted. She had taken the news even worse than Dreia.

Trond shrugged and stretched out his arms. "I'm faster than the rest of you. 'sides, I need some alone time. Settle some things."

"Dreia is still going to hang around, you know."

"I know. As I said, I need to gather some thoughts on all this. And it wouldn't hurt if I could find you a proper Sanctuary somewhere in Cyrodiil, so you have somewhere to settle when you catch up with me." Tilting his head, he looked up at the dark sky. "I'm thinking about trying to locate Brelsu and Val. They might have some contacts. No reason to ignore my old partnerships."

"As long as you don't forget your new ones," Babette reminded him. "You better return, or I'll hunt you down. I'll find the time."

"I doubt that. With your new responsibilities… You're going to be a busy lady – busy child."

"Oh shut up," she said and slapped him lightly. "All I have to do is hang around and tell the others when I hear voices inside my head. How hard my life is. I could definitely take the break to track you down."

"No need. Killing people and earning money while I do so? You stole my heart, cub."

"You know," Babette said, turning her head to stare at Dreia who was walking towards them. "I don't think I did."

Trond followed her glance and snorted. "Always clever, cub."

"You and I need to talk," Dreia announced when she placed herself in front of them. She was pointing at Trond, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Are you going to slap me again?" the vampire asked and crossed his arms.

Babette's red eyes bounced from Dreia to Trond to Dreia again, and she asked, "Do I want to watch it? If not, you're the ones who have to move. Irilane says I should refrain from walking too much."

"Oh, fine," Dreia said, grabbing Trond's wrist and pulling him along. The vampire sent Babette one last smile before letting himself be dragged away.

When they stopped behind some trees at a safe distance away from the others, Trond asked, "Are you going to kiss me? For as far as I'm concerned-"

"Shut up," Dreia snapped, reaching into one of her pockets. Her slim hand was holding onto a dark necklace. "Since you gave me your jewelry, I figured I should give you something as well. Your old was kinda worn."

She slipped it into his hands, and when he held it up in front of his face, he saw that it was an Amulet of Talos. It looked like it was made out of ebony, the material was very dark.

"It's so that in a couple of hundred years you can sit with Babette and remember back to the times were Imperials and Nords were busy killing each other, all while we lived in our own little Sanctuary. You know, the good old days."

Trond's hand closed around the amulet. "Good old days, indeed. Thank you." He put it around his neck, but did not find the strength to remove his old one.

"Or you could return while I'm still alive. Exchange some stories, yeah?"

He returned her smile. "That's an interesting idea."

When they returned to the wagon, Bardie had joined Babette on the wagon, the Night Mother's small, more practical coffin behind them. Ma'der was standing in front of them, trying to play on the lute Bardie had given him, since he longer had use for it.

A Khajiit's claws were not exactly the best thing to handle the instrument, and the sound was not exactly joyful.

"Well," Babette said with a cringe as Ma'der awaited praise. "It's not exactly perfect."

"It's a good thing that our travel is long – you will have more than enough time to practice this song," Bardie nodded.

"And once again – I am so grateful I am heading off on my own," Trond said slyly.

Irilane raised an eyebrow. "It's good to know that you will miss us, Trond."

"Oh, your joyful mood? I'll dream about it when I sleep." He grinned, but it changed into a frown. "Take care of them, Iri."

The Dunmer's smile was strained. "I still haven't agreed on that nickname, Trond."

"I know. That's why I use it." He held up a hand in goodbye. "Good travel to you. Try not to kill the horse – I've grown quite attached to it since it killed Dagmar."

"He'd just return," Babette snorted. "Try not to get killed, Trond Night-Stalker."

"Me? I'm immortal, as you recall. Lead them well, Babette Still-Heart."

Then he took a step backwards, waiting for the wagon to begin its journey.

"Are you ready to head on, Listener?" Irilane asked as she climbed into the driver's seat. Her tone was formal as always.

"Of course," Babette chirped happily. "Our new home awaits." When she leaned backwards, she could feel the edge of the Night Mother's coffin against her back, but she knew deep inside that their mother was much more closer to her than just physically.

It was a weird thought, of course, but Babette had grown used to weird by now.

And she had settled with the idea.

She understood.

"Hey, Bardie," Dreia called out as she began to walk next to them as the wagon rolled forward. "Make the mood, would ya?"

Behind them, Trond remained where he stood, slowly disappearing into the darkness as the rest of his Family began their travel.

Babette closed her eyes as Bardie began to sing.

"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.

They claim, they claim life is sacred
and they are proven wrong when we take it
and so they will shrill when we come for the kill
At night's end we're the ones who made it.

They pray, they pray and we hear cries
of desperate souls and then somebody dies
They cannot flee so the last thing they see
is the glistening stare of blood-red eyes."

A/N: Let's appreciate the fact that I am currently studying a poem called "The Death of Queen Dagmar" at the university. Very fitting.

Ever since the first time I joined the Brotherhood, I always thought Babette should have been the Listener. I mean, immortal vampire would be a practical solution.

And phew. Three years working on this fic. I'll miss it. I'll miss my characters. I've grown more attached to them than I thought I would be. I had originally planned a sort of sequel where you through long one-shots would see what each character would be up to, but I am not quite sure if I will find the time. I doubt it. Perhaps one day.

Thank you so much for all your support. It's been an amazing trip! 100 favs – I never thought I would get so many readers! I hoped you have enjoyed this adventure as much as I have. Thank you for three lovely years.

WE DID IT GUYS! We finished this way too long story! And maybe some new readers came along here in the end due to the remastered version of Skyrim! Skyrim lives again, as strong as always!

Thank you for everything! And sorry if any of you have been around since the beginning. Like, seriously, finding a story and then go "Ooh, I wonder how it will end!" – well, three years later we get the answers. We're old now! I'm an adult! Holy crap!

Thank you so much! You're all awesome!