WARNING for graphic violence, coarse language, homosexuality, sexual content and possible character death. Regrettably, I do not own Skyrim. Bethesda does.
Wulf is the protagonist of the Blacktyde Chronicles, though as an AU this work is a standalone and falls outside of the series.
The old leather recliner creaked softly as the man in it leaned back. It was the only sound to break the silence apart from the harsh breathing of the figure sitting on the other side of the massive bocote desk. 'The other side' being where no person ever wanted to end up, because it meant having to perch on a very uncomfortable chair, all the while getting a crick in the neck from having to look up at the Imperial City's most influential magnate.
Because it also meant they had fucked up.
The unfortunate woman to currently find herself under the scrutiny of her erstwhile employer's icy blue gaze was in her mid to late thirties. Her shoulder long ash brown hair stuck to her damp face in curly tresses. Sweat beaded a brow yet unmarred by wrinkles and her dark skin had a waxen pallor to it. She was shaking, and not because of the temperature of the room.
But then being apprehended on one's way home, trussed up and tossed in the cargo area of van would do that to any person.
"I am very disappointed, Saadia."
The Redguard jerked at the mention of her name, eyes wide, and shook her head, lips forming soundless words.
Wulfryk Blacktyde studied her in the dimmed light of his desk lamp. The Nord had his right ankle drawn up to rest atop his left knee, one arm casually draped over his seat's backrest. His head was cocked just a fraction to the side in a parody of honest curiosity.
His charcoal suit was freshly pressed, his pose relaxed, but just like the setup was carefully chosen for intimidation, he had studied it in great detail and on many a occasion.
"I received a report today. Somebody's leaked the schedules for our latest shipment to Skyrim."
When he did not receive an answer, Wulfryk gestured lazily with one hand and a tall, wiry woman stepped out of the deep shadows in the room's corner. Saadia flinched with every click of heels against stone. She struggled to turn around, pitching forward in the chair, but it was in vain. Then a slim but strong hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her head back.
"Well?"
Some who were brought before him babbled as soon as their gag was removed, a veritable fountain gushing apologies and pleas in equal measure. The Redguard was of the defiant, sullen kind.
The Nord met his enforcer's eyes and inclined his head. Sometimes, a little motivation was needed to get an unwilling tongue to wag.
If the bonds had not held her in place Saadia would have doubled over as the fist crashed into her abdomen. When, after she had caught her breath, the Redguard still did not talk, Jenassa cracked her knuckles and slapped her soundly across the face, whipping the bound woman's head around.
That's why Wulf liked her. Talos knew he did not keep the Dunmer around for her looks. She had a harsh, bony face and a too pointy chin to be ever called beautiful, but she was efficient.
Saadia sobbed, blood and spit running from a split lip. Wulf gave her a moment to rethink her dedication to obstinacy before he feigned a sigh.
"Break her knees."
Jenassa moved without hesitation.
"Wait!" the Redguard shrieked suddenly and Wulfryk held up his hand to signal Jenassa to do just that. "I didn't do it!"
The Nord shook his head, the tips of his black bangs shading his eyes. It was the wrong answer and they both knew it. Saadia just had not realized it yet.
"Is that so?" he asked.
"It wasn't me," Saadia cried, voice too shrill. "I didn't do it!"
"Hmm," Wulfryk hummed and picked up his as of yet untouched glass of water, swirling the liquid inside once before he raised it to his lips and took a measured sip. "Are you sure?" He wiped his upper lip with his fore and middle finger, the short hairs of his well-trimmed beard making a soft scratching sound against the calloused pads of his fingers.
"It wasn't me."
It came out in an almost petulant whisper and was probably wishful thinking on the prisoner's part. Why did it always have to be like this? Wulf's hands opened briefly before coming together again, the woman's eyes following every studied movement. "So you said." He pointed an accusing finger right at Saadia's face with the hand that still held the glass. "Which is funny because I have witnesses that saw you talk to some friends of yours behind the loading docks two nights ago."
"They're lying! I swear it wasn't me!" A pink tongue appeared between her cracked lips, dabbing at the corner. "It was that Nazeem!"
A hopeless case, he should have known from the start. Wulf could play this game all night but, frankly, he had better things to do. He reached into his desk's right hand drawer and pulled out a manila envelope, letting it fall open in his palm. He thumbed through the papers inside until he pulled out a glossy print that showed Saadia and two men in the traditional garb of the Alik'r.
There were more, but he needed only the one.
Wulf spun the picture so that Saadia could look at herself as she handed over a sealed envelope to the shorter of her countrymen. If they'd only done something harmless such as refreshing an old penpalship or trading appallingly syrupy love poems there would have been no reason for her to lie about it.
"Lydia's got quite the talent, wouldn't you say?" Wulfryk remarked lightly, half to his prisoner and half to the woman at his side. "Maybe she should consider branching out."
Janassa snorted dryly and proceeded to pick something from between her teeth.
It was impossible for a person of Saadia's complexion to turn green, but she did manage a wonderful shade of raw umber.
Wulf dropped the envelope and leaned forward, immaculately manicured nails clicking over the polished granite inlayed into his desk's tabletop. "Now. How about you tell me the truth?"
"They made me! Said they were going to take me back if I didn't give them what they wanted! Kematu-"
"You should have taken your chances with Kematu."
Wulfryk did not need to tell Saadia what happened to double-crossing bitches, nor how serious the situation was. The damage had already been done. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them up slowly. When he was done he pulled the other object from the already open drawer and put it down where the lamp's light caught the black of the metal. Saadia began to sob when she saw him assemble the gun. She did not know that he had a perfectly serviceable one on him, but this was his game and he played it to the end.
When word got out and despite the limited amount of participants in this little get-together – soon to be reduced further – it would, Wulfryk wanted people to fall on their knees and beg for forgiveness for harbouring thoughts about crossing him.
"I was going to let you live," the Nord began conversationally as he screwed on the silencer on the pistol. "But I don't like it when people lie to me."
"You bastard!" Saadia screeched, rocking her chair and yelled more obscenities, her face a blotchy red in colour and wet with tears.
"Hush," Wulf told her kindly. "You will upset mother." It didn't matter. She wouldn't hear the gun, and she wouldn't hear any screams. He slid magazine in with a firm tap, like slapping the butt of one of the Lucky Strike's serving girls. It clicked into place and Wulf stood up and stretched, grimacing when a vertebra popped in his lower back. He released the safety and racked the gun.
He aimed it at her heart and squeezed the trigger.
Two cracks echoed in the empty space and Saadia slumped forward, held up only by the rope that bound her to the chair, her string of profanities cut short. Wulfryk put down the gun and flicked the switch on the desk lamp.
The show was over.
Wulf knew his way around his bureau even in the dark. When he turned on the ceiling light on his way out it was only for his remaining employee's sake.
"Jenassa, take out the trash."
He did not usually carry out executions at the family estate, but this had come up rather unexpectedly and at this hour he wanted to make the trip to a suitable location even less than he wanted to ruin his carpet. At least once she was done bagging the body, Janessa didn't have to haul it far. Not that Wulf planned to lend a hand. He did his own dirty work, but he did not clean up.
"Take the chair too," he tossed over his shoulder, nose wrinkling in disgust. "It's got piss all over it."
Saadia had no family and nobody would miss her. Overall Wulf's favourite type of employee. Like most of the others she had come to him from Whiterun. When the city had been burned to the ground – by dragons of all things – many of its former residents had ventured south. Those that were caught in the Imperial City's web of intrigue or Wulfryk's own nets never left again.
oooo
From the second basement level an elevator took Wulf past the garage and the main hall, and to the upper floor. The ride was short and he used the time to check his appearance in the mirror to make sure there were no stray droplets of blood on his suit. He wanted to spare his delicate mother the sight. And besides, they would be impossible to get out once they set in.
Wulf was glad to step out of the elevator and into the dark corridor of the mansion. The muted lights inside gave his skin a sallow look. He rounded the corner only to be beset by two ash-coloured greyhounds that crowded around his legs, yelping and licking his hands.
The guard that followed on their heels did neither, but he inclined his head respectfully.
"All's quiet. Lady Aemilia has retired to her private quarters," he responded to an unasked question.
Wulf resisted the sudden urge to scratch the other man's ear as well. If he didn't get permanently stuck to the gel, then the grumpy Nord's pride wouldn't take it well, though somehow he did stomach both bad poetry and foreign foodstuff and in remarkable quantities at that. He also had a twin, big hairy and dumb, and far better company. Wulf hired their like by the pounds, but somewhere along the way these two had become family.
He continued on, past the main staircase and taking a turn to the right. Light was spilling from under a door at the end of the hallway and Wulf rapped his knuckles against the wood before he entered. The marble bathroom was flooded in soft light from the crystal chandeliers overhead and a woman in a pastel salmon evening gown turned when she heard him knock. Her greying hair was artfully done up, a collier of pearls gracing her pale neck. She smiled when she saw him.
"Hello, mother." Wulfryk kissed her soft, powdered cheek. She smelled of something flowery and fresh that he remembered from his childhood. "You look gorgeous today."
"Good evening, darling." One of her hands came to rest on his bearded cheek, her dark, expressive eyes crinkling at the corners.
Eleanora Catalina Aemilia was a woman whose beauty had only increased over the years.
Wulf washed his hands at one of the sinks, and tried to dry them off with one of the plush towels that he suspected were purely decorative and true to his prediction proved water-repellent. "How was the Tullia's party?"
"Delightful. I am ever grateful your father rescued me from a life of being married to Brutus. Did you know he is being dispatched to Skyrim?"
Wulf grunted in answer. "Let's hope snow agrees with him." He checked his watch and bit his tongue before an inopportune curse could slip out.
His mother picked up on her son's distraction, a single line forming on her forehead. "Are you leaving again?"
"Just going out with some friends. It's pool night," he reminded her. And thanks to Saadia he no longer had time to change clothes. "I'm running late."
"Did anything... happen?" Her voice carried worry, but also a hint of knowing that made Wulf duck his head in order to escape the gaze of the only person who could read him like an open book.
He cleared his throat before answering. "Business."
His mother's mouth went flat, the fine lines around it hardening. She acknowledged his answer in the same way she always did when he mentioned his other work, the one he had taken over after his father had stepped down. It was an unspoken agreement between them. She did not ask and he did not talk about it.
"I met Lady Maeve," Leanora radically changed the subject with a flurry of activity as she disappeared into her evening bag right up to her elbows. "They have a surname now, thanks to her grandson. An Daingneach."
"Hm?" Wulf didn't look up from the assortment of cologne bottles that he was sniffing, trying to choose the right scent for the night. "Doesn't sound Nord."
"That's because it is isn't," his mother replied. "Her family comes from the Reach, remember?"
Wulf didn't and neither could he say that he cared. He did not see where this was going or what it had to do with him when his mother suddenly handed him a folded card.
"Here. This is for you."
"A gift? For me? You shouldn't have." Although he knew that she would remain unmoved by it, Wulfryk turned the full force of his smile on his lady mother. He did not open the card, holding the creamy slip of paper between his fingers like it might bite him.
Eleanora chuckled; a rich throaty sound. "It's your date."
Wulf managed to keep up his smile through sheer force of habit. It was not the first such appointment his mother had arranged for him and it probably would not be the last. Secretly he believed that she took a twisted sort of pleasure whenever he turned down one of her friend's daughters and in knowing that she was the only woman in his life.
Apart from Lydia, though Wulf wasn't sure whether Lydia counted. She was rude, drank beer and got into belching contests with her boyfriends.
"I'm not interested," he pointed out like he did every time.
And just like every time, she ignored him. "Don't be silly, darling. It's just dinner."
Wulfryk sighed and pocketed the card without sparing it another glance. "Let me guess," he said in a tone both honeyed and scathing; a trademark of all wealthy and influential sons who did not dare to cuss in their mothers' faces. "She studied law in Shornhelm? Or the arts in Alinor?"
Being the city's most eligible bachelor wasn't nearly half as fun as it sounded. Even less so when everybody expected him to do something about it.
"Oh, nothing of the kind, I assure you."
Wulf did not trust the sparkle that suddenly flared to life in his mother's black eyes. It could have been just a reflection from the candelabras. It could also have been a sign of possession or another gate to Oblivion opening. Wulf checked his pockets for his wallet and turned smartly, knowing a lost cause and when it was prudent to beat a retreat. "I've got to go."
"I do expect you to attend." All merriment was gone and Lady Aemilia had taken Leanora's place.
"I always do," Wulf grumbled, feeling sufficiently chastened despite the lack of an actual reprimand. He did not check his stride or look back, only waved on his way out with the hand that was clutched around his car keys.
Now it was his mother's turn to make a small 'hm' sound. Unlike his own unrefined, caveman-like grunts however, hers carried an air of disapproval tipped off with a ton of implication about the lecture he'd receive if he did not make good on that assurance. "Be punctual."
AN: So, this is an idea that's taken hold of me during the holidays. Updates sporadically.