"A child has prayed to his mother..."
"A child has prayed to his mother..."
"A child has prayed to his mother..."
I'm sick of it. I can't do it anymore. All of these people whose only crime is to anger someone with money to spare.
It started of so well, the Emperor had to die. His death was justified, the puppet emperor of the Thalmor.
But then the other contracts came.
"She cheated."
"He took my job."
"He slept with my wife."
"His daughter bullied my son and he didn't stop her."
"I don't like him."
Did they deserve to die?
No.
They do though. The Mother's keeper. The contractor. The vampire.
The recruits. All of them happy to kill for some money. Five hundred septims for a life, no matter the reason.
All this is going through my head as I answer the question.
"Silence, my brother."
The door opens.
"A child has prayed to his mother..." that accursed whisper welcomes me. Who does she want me to kill now? Another person whose life is to be ended over some petty slight?
'No more' I think, as I set the decrepit mummy on fire. 'Never again'.
"NO! Mother! Who did this? Who should poor Cicero kill?" the insane joker shouts hysterically.
I wonder what he was. Before this madness claimed him.
Was he a good man? Was he always a twisted soul?
Did he stumble into this life with good intentions, as I did? Or did he seek out this evil to satisfy what lurked within him all along?
Does it matter? He is what he is.
The 'Mother' does not answer. She never answers him. The most loyal of her servants, perpetually ignored, while I am eternally tormented by her demands.
While I was eternally tortured by her demands.
But no more.
"It's finished, joker." I tell him, "No Mother, No listener, No hand, No Brotherhood."
"You did this! You killed Cicero's mother! Cicero will avenge the Mother!" the crazed fool shouts as he draws his daggers.
He doesn't really shout of course. I do.
He slams against the wall and burns there, as his precious 'Mother' did.
Nazir is called by the noise of my Shout, far from as it was. Of course he is, you don't survive long in this line of 'work' without being cautious, aware of danger, perceptive of threats.
"What happened? Did the fool snap again?" he asks exasperated as he looks at the singed corpse.
Of course he assumes it was the insane joker that did this. I'm the Listener, who brought glory to the Brotherhood.
'Who would suspect the saviour of treason?'
The reason Skyrim never suspected me of murder, the same reason the murderer doesn't suspect me of turning against the brotherhood.
The thought sickens me.
"No." I say. "I finally regained my senses." I unsheathe Chillrend, cold air rolling off it, and for a moment I am reminded of where I found that blade.
'Am I really that different from Mercer? Is his betrayal of the Guild different from my betrayal of Skyrim? What right did I have to be so incensed at his actions, when mine are nigh indistinguishable?'
The Redguard draws his scimitars cautiously. "What do you mean? What are you doing?"
"The only thing this Brotherhood has done right was kill the Emperor. I should have destroyed you after that."
Yes I should have. Why didn't I see the evil I was helping, that I was becoming soon enough?
"You betrayed the Brotherhood." he says, crossing his curved blades before him.
"The only things I have betrayed are myself and Skyrim." I say.
Despite all he has done I still respect him in a way. He did what he did well, And even now he stands ready to defend himself against almost unassailable odds.
One man cannot defeat a Dragon, and what am I, if not that?
I will never forgive myself for aligning myself with these people. Paarthunax had warned me of this, the craving for power the Dragonblood brings, the irrationality it could drive them to. I should never have dismissed that warning.
A small cut to the man's arm is all it takes. The ice freezes his blood, and he can't move. Paralysed for but a few seconds, but a few seconds is all I need.
As I walk down the stairs I see a recruit wandering around. I remember him. He smiled during his first kill. Regaled us with tales of his murders as though this were Jorrvaskr and his targets giants, rather than innocents.
How quickly he dies when his opponent can fight back.
Babette is more of a challenge. She doesn't look it, but she is three hundred years old, very fast with a dagger and not afraid to bite.
But the Dawnguard does teach one thing very well.
Vampires can't handle fire.
The last recruit dies soon after, and then the 'sanctuary' burns.
It never was a sanctuary. Just a haven for murderers.
Murderers like me.