A/N: I wanted to have another Skyrim story. I'm working on others, but I play as a master assassin a lot, who happens to be very quiet. Go figure. Trying a new style out, and I hope it works for this.
Silence. That was all there was. The tongue was intact, but unused. She turned, simply staring accusingly at the man who dared as her why she was silent. She said nothing, of course, moving on away from him.
She was a shadow. A flicker of shape in the corner of the eye. She was the morphed shape on the wall. The phantom behind the trees. The forest was home, and these were her hunting grounds.
When the man stopped, staring back at her, she was in the trees. Her poisoned arrow had hit his arm, and he could feel his muscles seizing up.
No words, and the only part of her face that wasn't concealed by shadow were her eyes— red, glowing, and a bit of ashen skin surrounding them. Dark elf.
His coins were gone, and so was she. The arrow was left, perhaps as a gift, perhaps as a taunt. Perhaps she was mocking the man, as he was a tall, muscular Nord, armed with shield and sword. And yet, he had been shot by an elf in a tree.
She was not short. She was tall for her species, and stocky. She appeared more suited to a war hammer than a bow, but she used it anyway.
A dagger in the back. A fleeting shadow. The same elf stared him down once more, but this time from a cell.
"Who are you?" No response. Her red eyes kept his, not wavering, not moving. Her mouth twitched.
"Answer me." She ignored the question.
For hours on end he would yell at her, ordering her to answer, but she simply stared back at him blankly.
"You're not dumb. You know how to talk. So by the Divines, why don't you?" He shouted this time, shaking the bars. She stood slowly, almost a predator in her stance, and glided up to the bars. She took his hand in hers, which was surprisingly rough for a woman. She drew shapes in his palm slowly, and then locked eyes again. Pushing his hand back she leaned forward, her lips ghosting over his ear.
"I do not speak. Because there is nothing to say." It was barely a croak, surely from years of disuse. Her accent was thick, and her words slurred. He looked shocked as her mouth closed again, and she retreated back into the corner.
"If I bring you parchment, might you speak?" She nodded.
I am… She paused, quill hovering over the parchment thoughtfully. Daria.
She was released in a short time, her only crime being that she stole some of the meat hanging in the market.
Like a ghost she appeared, and like a ghost she disappeared. If he hadn't spoken to her he'd have believed she wasn't real. If she hadn't touched him he'd have thought she was an illusion.
And then the killing started.
From across Skyrim, word came of death. Criminals in their cells were killed, corrupt officials had their throats slit in their sleep. Death was a ringing bell, heralding a shadowed assassin's reign of bloody justice. And he knew who it was.
She came in the night, standing over his bed as he opened tired eyes. She wore the armour of the Dark Brotherhood, and the cowl covered her face. Her eyes were more dead than when she first met him.
"Are you going to kill me as well?" He barely had the strength to gasp. His breath was caught in his throat, and his mind went over the hundred crimes he had committed, the thousand people he murdered. She shook her head, blinking slowly.
She sat down on the bed, turning and draping herself across him. He did nothing, holding as still as he could. He heard the scratch of quill on parchment, and looked over at her quick hands.
"Death is to life what the moon is to the sun. I am simply speeding up the process. What is your name." It was not a question, it was an order. Share your identity.
"Argis. Argis the Bulwark." She nodded.
"Fascinating. Do you believe in gods?"
"No. They don't care for us."
"My god does."
"And who would that be?"
"Follow." And she was up, striding away, out of the small room and down the hall where other soldiers slept. Argis took his weapons and followed.
The silent assassin took her blade and sliced one of the guards' throats. Her hand pressed to his neck, and then to the wall, where a bloody handprint was left.
Hail Sithis
Words of red on the wall, heralding a deathless thing. She looked back at him, stepping onto the low wall.
She crossed her arm over her heart, bowing, and then fell off. Argis ran to the ledge, looking down.
There was nothing. No body, no blood. Just a shadow by the gates. He breathed in and out shakily, the cold night air biting his skin.
The Emperor was dead. Throat sliced open, in the safety of his own ship. The bodies of men laid a trail to his quarters, each with an arrow in their neck.
No one knew who did it. Except Argis. The elf that had shot him, had come into his room, and had shown him her god. She was the killer. But he didn't speak. Silence became her, and so it became him. She was death, and he awaited her return.