A soldier comes up from Solitude. He tells him to get to the Markarth Hall of the Dead.
Decimus says he has not the time to travel. The soldier says it is an emergency, that there has been a murder.
He feels a strange chill. It is Loredas. Gaius was in Markarth yesterday. Fredas.
With one foot out the door, he remembers to shout for Arcturus to take over. Then he bolts for the stables.
It is still dark when he arrives at Markarth, but he does not feel any fatigue. He heads at once for Understone Keep.
He is greeted inside by several guards. They take him into the area outside the entrance to Nchuand-Zel, and then further on to the Hall of the Dead. They are silent and grim.
In the Hall of the Dead, Decimus sees another pair of guards at the end of a corridor. He and the ones with him proceed down towards them. Not a word is spoken.
A small flight of steps leads up to the pair of guards. They both move to the side when he gets to the top, allowing him an unobstructed view of the body.
There is but a brief moment of disbelief and denial.
Then he screams, and the silence breaks.
He falls to his knees, and though he may see the floor, in his mind's eye, the image of his son, his dead son, his murdered son, persists.
One of the guards hands a letter to him with a quiet, "We found this on him." He says it as though he were trying not to provoke a wild animal.
He is still holding Gaius in his arms. He will not let go of him. Gaius is cold and limp, no life to be found in a face that ought to be so full of it. His armour is covered in blood. There is a hole over his sternum.
He flicks the letter open, reads it.
There is another moment of disbelief and denial.
Not a moment—this one stretches out, longer, longer. This cannot be. Gaius would never do such a thing.
This is not even his handwriting. He says as much. This is a forgery.
"I hope so," the unfortunate guard says.
"The Dark Brotherhood? Can you be sure?" he asks, quietly and with unnerving calm. This information must not prove false.
The guard nods. "It's unmistakable, sir."
Another guard adds, "We're worried they were also behind Vittoria Vici, and that… that this is part of a larger plot. That they were both stepping stones to something… something else. Something bigger."
It makes perfect sense. But what that bigger something is…
It will not matter.
The Dark Brotherhood did this?
The Dark Brotherhood will pay, every last one of them. It does not matter who did it. They are all guilty.
They will pay.
He returns to the outpost the next day and delivers the news to the men.
None of them know what to think. Disbelief is the reigning emotion among them. They knew Gaius well enough to know such things would never be in him.
And they knew him long enough to befriend him. He was in the ill favour of none at all. This will strike them hard.
But the worst of the loss is his own.
He goes to Solitude.
General Tullius and Legate Rikke already know what has happened. They are sympathetic, but so is everyone else, and what does sympathy matter? It can't restore Gaius to life.
He shows them the letter, fervently asserts Gaius' innocence, begs them to formally assert it for him. He himself cannot, as there are issues of personal bias, but they can, and so can Legate Caesennius and Arcturus. Their testimony should be enough.
It is enough.
Gaius' name is cleared, and the family name saved from disgrace. They all tell him to take some consolation in that.
Decimus thinks he would gladly consign his family name to the greatest infamy if it meant having Gaius back.
A week later, a cart arrives from Cyrodiil. The driver stays at the inn. Some of the soldiers come back from the inn that same night, and while they all rest in their quarters, waiting for sleep to claim them, they gossip that the innkeeper has been looking particularly disconsolate lately. None can know why.
In the early morning, the driver is ready to go again. Another cart arrives, this one from Markarth.
The only witnesses are the officers and a few guards. When the second cart arrives, four of the officers head out and carefully unload its burden. With a nod from Decimus, they place it on the ground and step back.
He comes forward, pushes the lid off. There is Gaius. Cleaned up, in a fresh set of armour, looking almost peaceful. Decimus' hand reaches out and brushes his arm. He is as cold as he was in Markarth.
He wills him to wake up. Open his eyes. Breathe. Do something that means Decimus doesn't have to bury his only child. But of course, that is impossible.
Best to get it over with, then, this final goodbye. His hand grasps Gaius' limp one firmly, and he leans forward and kisses his forehead. He pulls back, brings Gaius' hand up, and grasps it in both of his.
"They'll regret this," he tells him, hoarsely. "I promise you, son. They'll rue the day they came after you. I'll destroy them myself. You… you can rest easy, with your mother. How is it that you met the same fate as her—murdered by ones who need to be destroyed? How?"
He remembers Gaius' mother, his wife Caesennia, dead fourteen years, murdered by the Thalmor while Gaius watched in terror, only ten years old at the time. He remembers the moment he saw her blood-covered body in the family home three days later. He remembers the horrible days and weeks and months that came afterwards.
Now he will have to go through it all again.
He gets up eventually, slides the lid of the coffin back on top. The four officers duly pick it up again and silently head over to the first cart, where they carefully place it on. He speaks briefly to the driver, and then the man gets on his horse and is off.
He watches him out of sight because he will not even get to go to Gaius' funeral. This is the best he can do until he can go home, whenever that will be.
Then he goes back inside.
The days were long before, with all the preparations to make. They are longer now, with his grief—and the personal revenge he plans to enact.
He sends two more officers out to finish Gaius' job, with strict instructions to watch each other's backs at all times. He delegates innumerable jobs and assignments. Every day, he receives a visitor, wanting to talk about some detail or other. He is constantly writing letters.
Arcturus is a massive help. So are the others. He's never had a finer batch of officers, and somewhere he remembers to tell his superiors that.
In the quiet, unoccupied moments, his mind inevitably turns back to his son. Privately, he mourns. He finds himself getting used to the agonising emptiness in his soul, and he hates that he is getting used to it. There should be no emptiness.
He plans.
They all want some form of revenge, though some are more concerned with the safety of Skyrim than revenge. He sends a spy to find the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary and get the pass phrase and whatever other information she can. The woman's back within a week, with all the information they need. He and Arcturus begin to discuss how they are to go about doing this.
Soon, an opportunity will present itself.
The Emperor arrives with full pomp and circumstance. The people of Solitude turn out in droves to greet him upon his arrival. He, Arcturus, and the majority of the officers travel up to the capital and meet up with General Tullius and Legate Rikke just prior to the event. Stress is high, and it is well everything is going to plan.
Even from Castle Dour, they can hear the cheers welcoming the Emperor—or, rather, his decoy. Decimus has met the decoy before, and what an insufferable man he is. His very voice sets his teeth on edge, but it is his personality, so far from the real Emperor's own, that most infuriates him. He does his best not to think of it.
The Emperor's decoy arrives in the courtyard, heading the procession. The three of them drop to their knees before him, rise when they are told, and greet him appropriately. Procedure is followed to the letter.
Inevitably, he thinks Gaius ought to be here to see this. He was hoping to be personally thanked by the Emperor—the real Emperor—for his work in inspecting security. The thought makes Decimus' face fall.
It is a long day, but when all is done, he returns to Dragon Bridge. It is only the beginning of a long month.
"There's a member of the Dark Brotherhood at the door, sir! Asking for you!" one of the officers cries. His eyes are wide with fright. Arcturus draws his sword.
Decimus makes a placating gesture. "Wait. If one of them has nerve enough to show up here, asking for me, then this could be an opportunity. Tell them I'll see them in my room." The others look doubtful, but the young man does as he says.
In his room, he sits at the table and drinks. After a few minutes, a Nord woman with dark blonde hair and light blue eyes, who wears the distinctive armour of the Dark Brotherhood, enters.
He offers her a cold, sardonic smile, but she keeps her nerve. She seems the type who could easily match him, and he can respect that, assassin or not. She sits down and gets straight to business.
What she has to say is… fascinating. Fascinating, and surprising. She explains there's a woman among the Dark Brotherhood, a Breton, who is becoming a threat to her position. This woman is the one who killed Vittoria and Gaius. She's also killed the Gourmet and Anton Virane and will be taking the Gourmet's place in an attempt to assassinate the Emperor. She wants the woman dead, and offers a deal: he can take the woman, and in the meantime, he leaves the rest of the Dark Brotherhood alone.
He considers. He sees the perfect opportunity.
He smiles that same cold smile and lies through his teeth.
The woman falls for it, and he almost laughs aloud. It is the first time he has come close to laughter in weeks.
"Oh, clever, sir, very clever," Arcturus says, shaking his head.
"I'm amazed she believed me," Decimus responds, tone dark, but also somewhat wry. "They call themselves a family, do they not? And yet they underestimate the family of one of their victims."
Several of the officers chuckle nervously.
"Well, now what?" Arcturus asks.
"The assassination attempt will be tomorrow," Decimus says. "I have to be in Solitude, so I can't come to attack the Sanctuary. Arcturus—you'll be in charge of that. Take as many as you need." He gestures to a group of three officers at the dining table, listening attentively. "You three will be coming with me. We'll be waiting at the end of the bridge leading from the upper levels of the Emperor's Tower. Try to apprehend the bitch if possible, but if you have to cut her down, so be it."
"Absolutely, sir," one of them says. There's a fire in his eyes. He wants revenge almost as much as Decimus does.
"Best we get going now," Arcturus says. He goes below to start picking out his officers.
They talk longer, make further preparations. Afterwards, Decimus goes to bed, with a comforting thought in his mind for the first time in simply too long. It'll all be over soon. It'll be over, and Gaius will be avenged. He cares about nothing else.
At the top of the tower, he waits, hidden from view but able to see the door to the Emperor's Tower from where he stands. His officers wait below.
He smiles sardonically, expectantly, and leans against the wall. He has never taken much pleasure in killing, but it will be a pleasure to kill this bitch. He knows her appearance: pale-skinned, with short brown hair, light blue eyes; thin and short of stature even by Breton standards; face rounded and plain. Not at all distinctive, maybe, but he will know her anywhere.
She made sure to dress for the occasion, and no doubt acted the part well enough when inside, but Decimus can act, too. His surprise at her appearance was merely a façade, a smokescreen disguising his awareness. When she emerges, her surprise will be genuine.
And emerge she does, and her surprise is so genuine that it becomes hilarious. Decimus grins and claps sarcastically, coming into view as his officers draw their swords and approach her. They know the signal for attack.
He speaks to her, revealing everything: that the man she just killed is a decoy, her betrayal by one of her fellow assassins, the deal he struck with that same assassin—and precisely what he thinks of that deal, and just what his officers are doing at the Sanctuary. As he speaks, his anger builds and then boils over.
"You killed my son!" he snarls, finally, far too furious to take much pleasure in the look of horror on the woman's face. "ALL OF YOU! And now you'll pay the price! Kill the bitch! And make sure there's nothing left to bury!"
He wants to stay, to see the job done. But he has the real Emperor to attend to, and so he heads off, the sounds of desperate fighting below him like music to his ears.
One of the officers stumbles into the war room of Castle Dour, where Decimus is conversing with General Tullius and Legate Rikke. He is badly wounded.
Decimus frowns. "What happened?" Already, he has the feeling things haven't gone quite according to plan.
The man whimpers. "I'm sorry. She—she leapt over the bridge. I don't know how she managed to do it without killing herself, but… We pursued her, but she must have taken an invisibility potion, and…" He shakes his head.
"Dammit," Decimus mutters. After some time, however, he reconsiders.
"Get to the healers," he tells the man. "And don't worry. No doubt she's headed for the Sanctuary. Once she's there… she'll have no way to escape."
The officer is visibly consoled. He even grins. "I hope so!"
"So do I. Get on now," Decimus says. The man obeys.
He exhales. They were so close. He was so close. But no matter. They have another chance—and they won't fail this time.
Because there won't be another time.
The next day, he is back at Dragon Bridge. The air in the outpost is thick with anticipation. This bloody business is so close to being finished, they all can almost taste it.
It is early evening when the door opens and Arcturus stumbles in, covered in blood and dirt, looking exhausted, and clearly wounded, but grinning widely. The officers who went to the Sanctuary with him appear just outside. Decimus leaps to his feet.
"Is it—is it done?"
"You should have been there to see it, sir! Yes, it is!" Arcturus laughs as he says it.
"And? The Dark Brotherhood? Are they all—?"
"Yes! Every last one of them!"
The other officers cheer and pump their fists, and when their battered comrades enter, they are thumped on the back and embraced. For his part, Decimus only feels a kind of release. It is done. Gaius is avenged. He can rest.
The officers sober a little when it is found not everyone has returned. There are about five missing, including Kori, the youngest and newest officer, but even that cannot put a damper on their celebrations. Somebody grabs a bottle of Black-Briar mead.
"Sir, can we please?" he almost begs, like a child. Decimus smiles, somewhat indulgently, but it is his first genuine smile since Gaius died. Why not?
"All right, but one bottle only," he says, firmly. His officers grin, and somebody takes on the responsibility of passing out the bottles. The officers who were at the Sanctuary get the first pick.
They talk, drink, and laugh into the night. Decimus swears to them that he'll tell the Emperor himself of what they've done when next he sees him, and they imagine the accolades they'll get—and the ones he'll get, too.
He wants no accolades. He only wants his son back. Only wants this never to have happened. But that's impossible.
It is the morning of the next day, and they are all talking over breakfast. The officers' high has not yet deflated. Decimus imagines they will be almost insufferably pleased with themselves for a good month.
Who can blame them? He is almost insufferably pleased with them, too.
The plates are being put away when the door opens and in stumbles a severely burned and battered-looking officer, with short black hair and light grey eyes. He looks frantic.
It's Kori.
There are general sounds of surprise, and talk immediately erupts, and Decimus gets up and heads over to the young man. He looks awful, but they are all relieved to see him, nonetheless.
"Kori?" Arcturus gasps. "It can't be. You're dead! I saw you!"
Kori shakes his head, unable to get a word in edgewise with all the talk, and Decimus holds up his hand for silence.
When silence comes, the young man explains with a shaking voice, "I faked it. I came up with the idea on my own. But… I thought someone needed to stay back, just make sure everyone was dead. So I faked being dead. It was stupidly easy. Nobody thought to check in all the chaos. I'm… I'm really glad I did. Because…" He sucks in his breath.
"Because?" Decimus prompts.
Kori looks up at him, eyes wide with fear. "Sir? They're not all dead. The Redguard. The vampire child. The Breton. They survived."
Decimus sucks in his breath, and from around the table come multiple curses and cries of horror. He quickly collects himself and gestures for Kori to go on.
"What's worse," Kori whispers, looking from him to the table with his fellow officers, "is… the Breton woman. She's the Listener. I was in the room with the Night Mother's coffin. I saw her head into the coffin. The coffin was then pushed into the pond. Around the same time, most of the Sanctuary collapsed. While that was happening, I crawled out into the main room, through the smashed stain glass window. A long while later, the coffin was pulled out, and the woman emerged, and she spoke to the Redguard. They disappeared somewhere, but eventually came back, and the woman approached the Night Mother again. She and the Redguard then spoke of heading to a new Sanctuary, near Dawnstar, but worse…" He swallows.
"Worse?" Decimus repeats.
"The contract on the Emperor. The Breton woman said the Night Mother had spoken to her, and… the contract. It's still on."
A spy is at once sent to Dawnstar to determine the passphrase of the Dawnstar Sanctuary. He rides to Solitude with all haste and nearly drives his horse to exhaustion in the process.
He tells General Tullius and Legate Rikke first. He gives them all the information Kori gave him: that the contract is still on, that the Dawnstar Sanctuary is now in use or will soon be in use, that Amaund Motierre performed the Black Sacrament, that they must be ready.
No need to ask the General to lend some of his soldiers; he immediately promises his best and only asks that he tell him where they should be stationed.
He asks they be stationed on the Katariah. The Emperor is due to leave Skyrim very soon. No doubt Motierre knows this, and no doubt that is where he will direct the Dark Brotherhood.
This the General acknowledges. He then tells Legate Rikke to get to the ship. Until the threat has been dealt with, she and Decimus must remain on board. The orders are acknowledged; the General departs to get the soldiers requested, and they follow shortly after him, bound for the docks.
They will not fail now. They must not fail now.
"You cannot stop the Dark Brotherhood," Mede says. "You never could."
Decimus remains respectfully silent, but Legate Rikke responds, "Then let this be a first, Your Majesty. We will not break our oath just because one ancient and seemingly unstoppable guild of assassins is trying to kill you."
"Good words," Mede agrees. "I do pray it turns out that way." He gazes out the window of his quarters, thoughtfully, and then speaks again.
"Commander Maro."
"Your Majesty?"
The Emperor turns his gaze on him. There is genuine sympathy, genuine sorrow, in his eyes. "I know that in this case words mean nothing, but I am sorry for your son. This should have been a proud moment in his life. Instead, he rests in your family crypt. He was too young."
Decimus nods, throat tight. "My thanks. But if only all the sympathy in the world could bring him back."
"What a better world it would be if that was the case for every untimely death," Mede says. Decimus can only nod again.
"What should we do if we see her?" Lieutenant Salvarus asks.
Decimus already has made up his mind.
"I doubt she'll be stupid enough to try killing every single one of you," he says. "No, let her reach His Majesty's quarters. Legate Rikke and I will be waiting there." He smirks. "We'll give her… a very nasty surprise."
Lieutenant Salvarus chuckles. "I like your way of thinking, sir. I presume she won't be leaving the ship alive?"
"Absolutely not," Decimus replies darkly. "I'll be killing her myself."
"Of course." Salvarus has a son of his own and no doubt would do as Decimus has done were he in his position. Any halfway decent parent would. "And Amaund Motierre?"
"Will be arrested as soon as she's been dealt with. The General's soldiers are already in Whiterun. They'll seize him and Rexus the instant they get word."
Salvarus grins. "May Mara have mercy; let this business be done with."
The waiting is just starting to become unbearable when they first hear a lockpick break.
Legate Rikke smiles, but the smile is as friendly as a serpent's. "Here it comes…" Mede sits patiently at his desk, brow quirked. What he has in mind, Decimus cannot guess.
For his part, Decimus leans casually against the wall, as he did at the tower in Solitude, hand on his sword. He plans as he has done for so long. When the bitch falls into his hands, he will not make any ceremony out of it. He will run her through; stab her in the sternum. It is most efficient, and it is what she did to Gaius.
She will remember that before she dies.
Several more lockpicks break before the woman finally unlocks the door. Legate Rikke and he stiffen where they stand, in the shadows, behind the Emperor. With any luck, when the woman enters, she will not see them.
The door is slowly pushed open and in enters the woman. Most of her face is hidden by a cowl, but he recognises those eyes. She hesitates at the sight of Mede.
"And here you are," he says, conversationally. "Come now. Don't be shy. You haven't come this far just to stand there gawking."
"You… you were expecting me?" the woman whispers.
"But of course," Mede says, cool as you please. "You and I have a date with destiny. But so it is with assassins and emperors, hmm?" The woman takes a step forward, then another, then another, falling into the trap with every step.
Mede abruptly stands up. He smiles. "You know, I once thought you never could stop the Dark Brotherhood. But recent events have made me… reconsider that view. Commander Maro. Legate Rikke."
Decimus has to fight to keep from bursting out laughing at the expression of utter horror on the woman's face. She stumbles backwards, but Rikke is too quick, reaching the door, shutting it, and blocking it with her own body before the woman can get anywhere near it. He, meanwhile, draws his sword and steps forward.
The woman stares at him, eyes almost comically wide. "How…?" The way she whimpers that single word gives him a great deal of satisfaction.
He finally can no longer restrain himself. A terrible laugh escapes him. "You assassins of all people should know to check a body to make sure it's actually dead," he says, triumphantly. "One of the oldest tricks in the book, and you all fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker."
She backs away, though she must know it's useless. He approaches her, slowly.
"It was Amaund Motierre, wasn't it? And the rest of you—aren't the rest of you now at the Dawnstar Sanctuary?" Her eyes can only get wider.
"It doesn't matter. I know. And I'll be doing the exact same thing to that Sanctuary I did to the one near Falkreath! But as for you…"
The woman turns to run, and all but slams into Rikke, who laughs in her face as she grapples with her. "After all you've done? Do you think us all fools?" With that, she shoves the woman towards Decimus, who grabs her and spins her around.
He smiles dangerously at her, but says nothing, and thinks only of Gaius. Gaius, the last time he saw him alive, smiling and eager to go off on his job. Gaius, when he saw him in Markarth, cold, dead, and covered in his own blood. Gaius, who was the greatest joy of his life. Gaius, the infant, the child, the young man, the adult—the Legionnaire, then the Penitus Oculatus agent. Gaius, his son. Gaius, who can now finally be avenged.
With that thought in his mind, he slams his sword into the woman's sternum.
And when the life fades from her eyes, he lets her drop to the floor.
The body is dumped overboard, and Legate Rikke and Decimus return to Solitude in triumph.
General Tullius is pleased, greatly pleased, but cautions them against becoming too proud of themselves. There is still the rest of the Dark Brotherhood to contend with. When that is done—then they can celebrate.
They heed his words, and a plan is laid out. General Tullius has a regiment of men at the ready near Dawnstar; he has also sent the new Legate, Steinarr, freshly returned from Solstheim, out to meet them and provide extra backup. His Voice will certainly come in handy. Decimus promises he and his men will join them as soon as they can. Much the same thing will be done to this Sanctuary as was done at the other—but this time, the Night Mother's body will be destroyed. That will make all the difference.
There's not much to discuss; the job is relatively simple, and they all know what they are doing. General Tullius sits down to write to his men in Whiterun; Decimus departs for Dragon Bridge. An end is in sight.
There is great celebration among the officers at the news Decimus has to impart, but he gives them the same warning the General gave him. He fears he will have to wait for the spy to come back, but such is not the case: he has already returned.
Returned, and he has all the information they need. He gives them the passphrase, warns them that there is a psychotic jester roaming the halls of the Sanctuary, and says that the two remaining assassins have remained put since they got there. Now could not be a better time to strike.
Arcturus and Kori are eager to come along, but Decimus prefers to have men with him who will not be recognised. The force he picks is smaller than the previous was, but with the Legion's assistance, that's hardly a problem. They're all bloody talented and will have no problem with three assassins.
The next day, they depart. They have reached Dawnstar by mid-evening. They join the soldiers' camp just outside the town and prepare for the morning and the day of reckoning.
Legate Steinarr is a quiet, wry man, a Nord to the bone, who has seen a great deal in the past year. "Putting down a guild of assassins, or what remains of them," he says in the morning. "Here I thought Skyrim would be quiet when I got back from Solstheim."
Decimus snorts. "Is it ever?"
The tall blond man shakes his head. "I guess not. But by doing this, we'll be making things quieter. I can handle this."
"From what the General's told me, you've stopped no fewer than three apocalypses. I think you can handle anything."
"The First Dragonborn was not an apocalypse," Legate Steinarr protests. "He… might have been. But was not."
"I still count that as an apocalypse."
"Whatever you say. Let's get this done." The Legate gestures to his group of men to fall in behind him, and they do. Decimus leads them and his men to the door, the Black Door.
The noises it makes are unnerving, as is the voice that hisses, "What is life's greatest illusion?" and if they were not here for their purpose, he would be disturbed. But he is immune to fear now.
"Happiness, my brother."
He chuckles at what the Door has to say in response, and as it opens, he draws his sword—as do they all.
"Well. Let's finish this!" With that, he charges inside.
Smoke fills the hallways of the Sanctuary. From somewhere comes the sound of crumbling masonry. Decimus coughs as the smoke reaches his nose.
"Is that all of it?" he asks.
"I don't think we can go any further!" one of the officers practically shouts over the noise. He wipes his streaming eyes and groans.
"Then we should get back and see how they're progressing with the assassins," Decimus responds instantly. His officers and the soldiers nod eagerly, and they head back the way they came, swords drawn.
Things have been easier than they apparently were at the Pine Forest Sanctuary, certainly because there have been far fewer assassins to fight, though this Sanctuary is considerably bigger. Most of the soldiers and officers have been focused on destroying the place, while several more are working on burning the Night Mother. It would seem like a one-person job, but the Night Mother is the Night Mother—extra work must be done.
The rest of them, the best fighters, are handling the assassins. They will certainly be injured in the process and it is more than likely someone will be killed, but he is confident they can handle them. They must. They must.
Decimus and the ones with him soon emerge into the main hall, which is also about to crumble down. The assassins continue to put up a terrible fight. With battle-cries in their mouths, the soldiers and officers leap into the fight. Decimus runs to take on the psychotic jester.
The man is a whirlwind with his dagger, jabbering incessantly as he goes from one attacker to the next. Decimus finds it extremely difficult to land even a single blow, never mind strike a fatal one, but the jester is capable of landing several (albeit shallow and not at all dangerous) ones on him and then moving on without losing breath. He thinks, panting, that they need a distraction.
A distraction is provided.
The girl, the vampire, taunts Legate Steinarr, mockingly saying he wouldn't dare kill a child. The Legate responds, snarling, "No. But I would dare kill a vampire! And I haven't killed enough vampires to last me a lifetime!" With that, he steps into the girl, and at the first opportunity, he drags his dragonbone sword across her throat.
The Redguard roars with anger and charges the Legate as the body drops to the floor; Legate Steinarr responds by turning around and Shouting. His Shout blows the Redguard into the opposite wall, along with several others, and calls a halt to the jester's fight with the remaining soldiers and officers by staggering them.
Distracted, the jester turns his attention to the Legate, turning his back on his previous attackers. Decimus is closest to him and the first to recover; Legate Steinarr sees this and yells, "Commander Maro!"
He needs no other prompting. His hand reaches out and just manages to catch the jester and drag him back. Even now, the man continues to babble.
But his babbling does not last for long. Decimus knows exactly where to hit him, and he wastes no time. While the jester struggles in vain, he slams his sword into his back, driving it up, and up, and up, until he damn near runs him through.
When he withdraws it, there is silence from the man at last. Smiling in satisfaction, he lets the body drop to the floor.
As he does so, the Redguard recovers himself and staggers to his feet, seemingly determined to fight to the end. He engages the young officer waiting for him in furious combat, while nearly everyone else, seeing that it is almost over, busy themselves with tearing what remains of the place down.
The Redguard deals the young officer, whose name is Valerianus, a nasty blow to his abdomen, and the man staggers back, bleeding quite badly. Decimus quickly moves to intervene.
Legate Steinarr is faster. He interposes himself between Valerianus and the Redguard and Shouts once more. The Shout he uses, this time, rips the Redguard's scimitar out of his hands, leaving him helpless. Then he steps back, out of Valerianus' way.
Valerianus sees his chance, but is in too much pain to seize it; nevertheless, he raises his sword and shield and prepares to go again. The Redguard recovers his scimitar, and once more, they square off.
But this time, Valerianus is at a distinct disadvantage. His wound is not fatal, but it is troubling. He finds it difficult to block the Redguard's blows, and his own blows are weak. He will be killed soon, if—
"The shield! Use your shield!" Legate Steinarr yells.
Valerianus smiles in delight, realising what he means, and Decimus grins, too. The Redguard delivers another blow; Valerianus blocks it, and then, snarling, he brings the shield up with as much speed and force as he can muster—right into the Redguard's neck and jaw.
There is an ugly crack, and the Redguard slumps to the floor.
Decimus is just beginning to realise the full extent of what they've accomplished when there is an ominous crumbling sound. Ever in the present, he shouts, "Is that everyone? Get out, now! Have we left anyone behind?"
As the soldiers and officers set off at a desperate sprint, somebody calls back, "No, sir! We all made it! Here, Valerianus, I'll help you—"
Decimus and the Legate stay behind the others to help them by, to direct them, and to make absolutely sure that there really isn't anyone left behind. When they've all apparently passed by, they set off after them. Adrenaline courses through Decimus' veins and when the full realisation hits him, he feels a victorious grin spread across his face, but Legate Steinarr merely looks intently focused. He'd question it if he hadn't heard of all the Legate's ludicrous accomplishments.
As they go, the soldiers and officers continue to tear down the corridors and set yet more fires. If they can leave the place as much a ruin as the Pine Forest Sanctuary now is, then so much the better.
It doesn't seem like long before they've reached the Black Door again, with the Sanctuary burning down behind them. Someone opens it, and they all come stumbling out into the light.
"I don't think anyone can possibly overstate how much of an accomplishment this is," Mede says. "You have all done the Empire—and all of Tamriel—a service that will not soon be forgotten."
Decimus nods quietly. The officers with him—Arcturus, Kori, Valerianus, and others—are also silent. The younger ones, who have never met the Emperor before and never expected to meet him in such a context as this, are fidgety, but trying to remain still.
Mede smiles and turns to him. "Commander Maro. There are few of your rank in the Penitus Oculatus, if any, who can claim such a victory. You must be aware of this."
He exhales, and says, "If I may speak, Your Majesty?"
Mede gestures for him to go on.
"With due respect, most of the credit belongs to my officers. I may have planned it, but they did all the work. Kori, in particular, deserves the highest honour for his actions. If he had not done what he did at the Pine Forest Sanctuary, things would not have turned out as they have done. In any case, Your Majesty, I am very proud of all of them, and I would not see all the glory go to me just because I am their commanding officer."
"Believe me, Commander, I intend to reward each of them appropriately," Mede says, tone reassuring. "And I believe your superiors will want to honour you all as they see fit, as well."
The younger officers can't help but smile and look excited. Decimus just nods.
He wants no accolades, though he will receive them with good grace. He does not care that whatever dirt that remained on his family name has been completely blown away, or that he has given it more glory than he ever could have thought possible.
The only thing he wants is the one thing he can't have. An impossible dream, so far out of reach. It will only become possible with his own death.
And who knows when that will be?
In Whiterun, Amaund Motierre is arrested. He and Rexus are dragged to Solitude, where they will stand trial. There's no use taking them all the way back to the Imperial City.
The trial is mercifully quick. The evidence is overwhelming. Decimus and General Tullius nevertheless watch the proceedings grimly. That a member of the Elder Council should conspire to have the Emperor assassinated, and nearly succeed…
After a few weeks, it is all over. Amaund Motierre is found guilty of high treason, conspiracy to murder, forgery, committing a frame-up, and numerous other crimes. Rexus is found guilty of merely being the accessory. He is jailed for life.
Amaund Motierre is executed, and his head is sent back to Cyrodiil to adorn a spike.
The outpost is closed down, and the men are packing their bags. They talk eagerly with one another; hoping they'll see each other again, boasting of their accomplishments. Jokes are exchanged. Fond memories shared.
Decimus has already packed his bags. His possessions are few. Most of what he has is back at home. It's Gaius' possessions he's packing now.
A spare set of armour. A spare dagger. Potions of healing and stamina, invisibility and light feet. An Imperial bow. A quiver of steel arrows. Clothing. The basics.
More personal things, now. His amulets of all the Nine Divines, including a battered one of Talos his mother bought for him on the down-low sixteen years ago. A medal he earned during his two years in the Legion, and not an insignificant one, at that. The letters they exchanged while they were separated from each other. Innumerable books, mostly biographies and histories; Gaius was always interested in history. His diary.
He picks up the diary, opens it to the last page.
"12th of Sun's Dawn, 4E 202. Set off tomorrow. Can't wait! Somebody was grumbling about nepotism earlier, but Kori told him to shut up and he did. Father's not that biased. I don't think. It's only one job—even if it's a big one—so what's the harm? Anyway, I'm going to enjoy this. I'd love to see Markarth again. Beautiful city, even if it is rotten to the core. And now that the war's over, I'm curious about Windhelm. Still, better tread lightly, and be careful. When the Emperor arrives… I hope he thanks me. Will he? Gods, that would be something to tell people about. And now Aetius is telling me to get to sleep, so I shall do so. I'll have a lot to report on next time."
He can feel the tears in his eyes already. His breath comes heavily as he turns back a few pages, and he blinks rapidly.
"5th of Hearthfire, 4E 201. Dear gods. So much to report. A dragon attacked Dragon Bridge today. I'll be honest, I was wondering when that would happen. Civilians had the good sense to stay inside, while the guards and us officers took care of it. By sheer luck, we had the Dragonborn—Steinarr, his name is—with us. He was invaluable. It was quite a sight to see. At any rate, no one died, and I can now boast that I'm one of the few men alive who helped kill a dragon! Father was so proud. I got a bit too close to the dragon and it nearly ripped my guts out at one point, but Father braved a blast of frost to get me away. He's the best father a man can ask for, truly. I hear the stories of people like Kori and Valerianus, who had either no parents at all or truly terrible parents, and I feel all the more grateful for him. Anyway. He sent me to Faida for treatment—she's the town healer as well as the innkeeper—and gods, she was worried. She's worse than Father is at times, and that really is saying something. I made arrangements with her once she'd healed me to meet with her tomorrow night. Looking forward to it."
To meet with the innkeeper…? That jumps out at him so badly that he ignores the tears running down his face. He'd suspected Gaius was up to something in private, but… His eyes flick to the next page.
"6th of Hearthfire, 4E 201. She kissed me. She actually kissed me! Several times, as a matter of fact! If you'll excuse the cliché—she tells me I need to stop thinking like a romance story, and I think she's right—I feel like I've died and gone to Aetherius. I'm so fucking dizzy, I'm not sure how I'm writing. It was just the best thing. Gods. If I sound like a giddy young adult with his first infatuation, well, I never had an infatuation when I was a young adult! But I think, I know, this is more than an infatuation. I truly think so. I could have kissed her forever, and more besides, but of course I had to get back to the outpost. I'm amazed I was able to conceal how over the two moons I was from Father and the others. She tells me I need to tell him, and of course, I do, but I don't know when to bring it up. I have to admit, I'm afraid of what his response will be. I don't want him to be angry. Does he have a reason to be angry? I hope not. But it's late, and I'm too giddy to think. I really need to get to bed. This has been a good day!"
He stares at the words a long time and then makes his decision. He closes the diary, puts it in his bag, wipes his eyes and his face, and stands up. He tells Arcturus he'll just be heading over briefly to the inn, and then he leaves. He has to settle this before he departs from Dragon Bridge.
"You were with him, weren't you? My son? He was courting you?"
They're alone, the pair of them. It's too early in the day for people to be coming to the inn.
Faida stares unhappily at the table, raw grief plain in her face. Now he understands why she was so disconsolate the night the cart came up from Cyrodiil.
"Yes," she whispers.
Decimus exhales and sits down at the counter. He puts his hand on her wrist and makes her look up.
"For how long?"
She looks away from him. "Since Last Seed. Four months after he came to Dragon Bridge."
That long? Divines. "He never told me. Why?"
"He was afraid you'd be upset with him. I tried to tell him the only way he could find out was if he asked, but he… he never…" Her voice cracks.
Decimus considers. His own voice is hollow when he says, "He never had any reason to be afraid. I only would have objected if it interfered with his duties in any way. But it didn't."
"Oh, now I find out!" Faida cries. Tears start running down her face. "It doesn't matter anymore, now, does it? He's gone, and I'll never see him again."
"It matters," he says, very quietly. She looks back at him, questioning.
"It matters," he repeats. "What happened to him doesn't invalidate what you had with him, nor does it invalidate the fears he had, even though you only found out what I would have thought when it was too late. If his death invalidated your relationship, then it would have invalidated ours, too. And that's… that's not right. He might have met an untimely end, but… the years I spent raising him, loving him, were not for nothing. By the same token, the months he spent with you were not for nothing. You should not think they were. He would not want you to."
Faida gazes at him a long time, and then nods. She says nothing, but he can tell she understands.
Finally, gently, he asks, "Gaius. Did he love you?"
Her breath catches. "Yes."
More gently still, "Did you love him?"
She bursts into tears. His grip on her wrist tightens, and he strokes it comfortingly.
"… Yes."
He straps his bags to his horse's back and adjusts them carefully. When he is satisfied, he turns to face Arcturus.
Arcturus offers him a slightly weary smile. "Where will you go now, sir?"
Decimus exhales sharply through his nose. "A good question. I was considering resigning my position, but the Emperor persuaded me to stay on. It's not like I have much left, anyway. So I'm going back home, to the Imperial City. I'm taking some leave, just to… just to sort myself out." His voice shakes a little. "But I'll get another assignment eventually."
His former second-in-command nods. "I'm glad you're staying on with us, sir. Do you have any family—any remaining family—back in Cyrodiil?"
He sighs. "I've got some relatives in Anvil and Leyawiin, and my wife's family are in Skingrad. I guess I'll spend some time with them while I'm on leave. But no more in the Imperial City. My old home will be empty. It'll be…" He trails off, but Arcturus understands.
"It's been an honour serving with you, Commander Maro," he says. "I hope I get the chance to work with you again someday."
Decimus nods. "The honour has been mine. You ought to be proud of what we've accomplished here. The Dark Brotherhood is destroyed and the Emperor is safe. As safe as he will ever be, at any rate."
Arcturus smiles more widely this time, but it quickly falters. "I believe we all are. But… the price? For you, sir?"
He looks away, biting his lip. "I know… I know Gaius would have given up his life if it meant the destruction of the Dark Brotherhood, but for my part…" He shakes his head. "I don't know. Maybe it's selfish of me, but I just want him back, and if it meant restoring the Dark Brotherhood, too…"
"I don't think that's selfish, sir. Divines guard his soul."
"Aye."
They talk some more, and then finally bid each other farewell. Releasing a deep breath, Decimus mounts his horse and guides it out of the stables.
Then he begins the long journey home.
The family crypt is a plain building, entirely undecorated. He has only been there a handful of times before, and he hates the place. It is too grim for his liking.
Still, he cannot help but think he will come here much more frequently from now on. With a sigh, Decimus heads down the steps to the door, pushes it open, and steps inside.
The interior of the crypt is well lit, which means he thankfully didn't have to bring a torch. A short corridor veers off to the right, and just around the corner are the most recently buried. They go on and on until they reach the oldest tombs, near the back.
Much like the outside, the crypt's interior is quite plain. Most of the decoration is reserved for the sarcophagi, and even that's rather simple. A single plaque, made of gold, adorns one side of the sarcophagus, which is faced in white marble. The plaque bears the deceased's name, the names of their parents, their dates of birth and death, their age at their death, and to one side of the text, the birth sign they were born under. There is not much variation.
Taking a deep breath, Decimus heads down the corridor and to the right, where he is confronted by two rows of the most recent burials. To the left, his parents and his eldest sister, who all died in the Great War. To the right, the place where he will be buried one day, and Caesennia's, and…
Gaius' is the most recent of all, and the unchipped marble shines brightly. He makes his way over to it, feeling a sort of numbness in his chest. He reaches it, gazes on it, reads the plaque.
Gaius Maro
Son of Decimus Maro and Caesennia Opimius
Born 28th of Frostfall, 4E 177
Died 18th of Sun's Dawn, 4E 202
Aged 24 years
To the right of the text, the Tower, the birth sign he ought to have had. But to the left, the Serpent, the birth sign he did have.
Decimus bitterly supposes that that explains everything.
He staggers, and sinks to his knees before the sarcophagus. His hands reach out and just touch the top. He bows his head in mourning. For a long time, he has no idea what to do or say. But then—then—he does.
He looks up at the sarcophagus, takes another deep breath, and begins to speak. "Well, Gaius," he whispers, "Here I am. I'm back. I'm home. I'm sorry I couldn't see you buried. If this had to be, then at least I should have watched you into the grave, as I watched you all… all your life. But… the circumstances…" He swallows thickly.
Then continues. "But I can tell you, my son, I did exactly what I promised you I would. I destroyed them. We—we destroyed them. Your fellow officers and I. Both their Sanctuaries were put to the sword, the body of the Night Mother was burned, and every last one of the murdering bastards were put down. I killed… I myself killed the one who killed you. I now know why they wanted you dead… It was all part of a plan to… to assassinate the Emperor. But they failed. They failed. I only wish they failed before they ever laid a hand on you."
His anger is gone. The vengeance he took has expiated it; it is utterly spent. Now there is only grief, the heart-wrenching misery of having lost one he loved and the additional pain of having outlived his son and his only child. It is Gaius who should have buried him, not the other way round.
The tears start slipping down his face again, and he does nothing to stop them. When he speaks again, his voice breaks. "They give me accolades, endless accolades and honours; the family name has more glory attached to it now than I could ever have believed. But I want none of that! I just want you, Gaius, my son, and if it means bringing the Dark Brotherhood back, too—well, so be it! So be it! I don't care anymore! I don't… I don't care. I know—I know you would tell me to not say that, to not think that, but son, if you had lived to have children of your own, you would understand. You gave me and your mother both more joy than anything else; there's nothing I love in the world more than you, and now? Now you are gone, and there is nothing left to give me joy in my middle and my old age. Nothing. Not even the rest of our family, or the Penitus Oculatus, or the thought of defeating the Thalmor… not even that. What does it matter if you are not here to see it? What does it matter… for me? Now that you are no longer there? Now that our house is silent, and never again will I hear your voice or your laughter, see your face, put my arms around you when you have need of comfort?
"What does it matter, now that I will never see what you would have made of yourself? Now that you will never rise any higher in the Penitus Oculatus? Now that you will never have the chance to prove yourself and win your own glory, your own prestige? To forge your own path in life? Now that you will never get married, or have children? Now that you will never live? What does it matter to me? What does it matter?"
At this point, he has to stop. He breaks down finally, sobbing, resting his head just on the edge of his child's sarcophagus. The world falls away until all there is is the sarcophagus, the floor, and himself and his own anguish. He has not known such horrific agony since Caesennia's death, cannot possibly know it again after all this. His chest feels like it is being torn open from the inside, inch by inch, and there is nothing he can do to stop it. He is drowning, being suffocated; the tidal wave, held back before by anger and high duty, now crashes over him. He all but howls with raw grief, and it echoes in the empty halls. Time loses all meaning, and he forgets more and more of himself until he only remembers and only knows that he is a father—was a father—and his child, his only child, is dead, and dear gods above but there can't be anything worse in the world than this.
They may have destroyed the Dark Brotherhood. But the Dark Brotherhood still won.
They took his son, and with him… they took everything. Even his life. He may still draw breath, but his life is empty and pointless. There is no cause for joy in it anymore that he can see, and there never will be again.
But eventually, he begins to feel the pain lessening—if that is the right phrase. His sobs gradually weaken and then die away, though the tears continue to run down his cheeks. He finds himself able to look up from the floor. His hands cling tightly to the top of the sarcophagus.
"What do I do now, Gaius, my son?" he asks hollowly. "What do I do, now that you are dead?"
He can find no answer. Perhaps there is no answer to be found.
Thirty-five years later
He is 84 years old. His nephews and nieces are visiting him in the Imperial City. He is conscious of them all being asleep one night, while he lies awake in his bed—weak, but awake. His health has been failing for months. The end is soon to come. There is no avoiding it now.
He gazes out the window at the clear night sky. It is Sun's Dusk. He can just make out the sign of the Atronach in the sky, though his vision is not as it once was. He gazes at the other stars, the other Magna Ge, the holes to Aetherius. He feels sure he will pass through them soon enough.
He feels no fear. Only peace, maybe even some anticipation. He has lived a long life, he is a respectable age, he has seen the Empire vanquish the Dominion and return to its old glory. His nephews and nieces have children of their own, and those children have children too: the next generation, the next hope for Tamriel and the future. They serve, too, in the Imperial Legion and the Penitus Oculatus. Those are traditions they are proud to carry on.
In life, he has found some peace and a few fragments of joy, though he felt for so many years he never would again. But he is quite ready to go on. To see what lies beyond, and hopefully to behold his wife and son once more.
It is late in the night when he falls asleep. He is alone.
When he wakes up, he's sitting up in a garden. A quiet garden, a beautiful garden, much like the ones to be found in the wealthier parts of the Imperial City. He gazes around, suitably impressed, but the first thing he truly notices is how young he feels. He looks down at himself, sees mostly unwrinkled skin, and thinks he must have been returned to his 30s or his 40s.
With that, he realises what has happened. He has died; his long life has come to an end.
He feels some grief for his nephews and nieces, who truly loved him. But for the most part, he feels true peace. He has long since accepted his own mortality, and so he has no desire to go back, nor does he feel any shock or denial. He simply understands it and has already accepted it.
Rolling his shoulders, enjoying the feeling of strength and vitality that he has not felt in a good two decades, he stands up from the bench and begins to move around, exploring the garden. He does not know where he is, exactly, but he is sure he will know soon enough.
He is gazing at a fruit-bearing plant and considering taking one of the ripe fruits from it when he hears footsteps. He does not look in their direction. After some seconds, they stop, somewhere nearby, and his hand reaches out for the nearest fruit.
"Father! Father!"
His head snaps up, looking instantly in the direction of the voice. He feels a stab of disbelief, though he ought not to. He turns away from the fruit tree, smiling, and he faces in the direction the voice came from. He opens his arms by instinct and takes a step forward—
And he sees his son all but hurtling towards him, and staggers back when he throws himself into his arms.
"Gaius!"
If he feels any discomfort, it goes ignored. He's half laughing, half crying as he wraps his arms around his son in turn, holding him as close to his body as is physically possible, while Gaius clings to him like a small child and rests his head on his shoulder, gasping in a way that suggests he's half laughing and half crying, too. No words are spoken—they're too overwhelmed for words. He can only think that at last, at last, after so many long and lonely years, his child is back in his arms once more, and they will never be parted again. The gods themselves will be hard pressed to try.
He takes as good a look at him as he can. Even in death, Gaius is still wearing his Penitus Oculatus armour, but he's discarded his helmet. Sighing happily, he moves his hand up into his hair and strokes it, and then kisses Gaius' temple. Gaius, for his part, is just happy to keep clinging to him.
"It's good to see you again, Father," his son whispers, and just hearing his voice again makes Decimus want to shout with joy. "I'm sorry—I—I'm so sorry—"
"Don't," he tells him firmly. "Please. I've missed you so terribly, that isn't the first thing I want to talk about with you. We have all the time in the world for that. It's good to see you, too, my son. But that's an understatement." He holds him a little closer, if that is even possible.
Gaius soon pulls back to look at him, nodding and smiling weakly. They gaze at each other for some time in silence, just allowing the sheer joy of seeing one another again to wash over them. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks that it should be him greeting Gaius, and after more time than this, and not Gaius greeting him, and while he has never made his peace with that, it does not dominate his mind now.
Eventually, they disengage entirely, but Decimus keeps his hand on his son's shoulder. He's aware of the wetness on his cheeks and just under his eyes, but that's the last thing he cares about at the moment. He has no idea what to say.
A slow grin spreads across Gaius' face. The sight of it makes his own grin widen. "I've missed you too. Gods," he says, "I have—so much—to tell you. We have so much to talk about. I don't even know where to begin."
"You're not the only one, if that's any comfort," Decimus says wryly, and Gaius laughs—another long-missed sound that to hear again makes him feel like he's going to explode with happiness.
"Not yet, though. I know where Mother is. She'll be glad to see you, Father," Gaius continues, and Decimus smiles.
"Lead the way, son. I'll be very glad to see her, too." Gaius nods, still smiling, turns, and starts heading back the way he must have come. Decimus follows after him.
They can talk about the past later—whenever they please. For now, though, all he cares about is seeing his family together again. All he wants to see are his son and his wife, who he loved so much. His old dream is finally fulfilled, now that he has died.
But the past, truly, does not matter. He has them now, and they will have each other for all eternity.