This one-shot I've been thinking about writing for a while, so finally decided to do it. Consider it a tribute to the only person who faced the Dark Brotherhood without begging for his life.
Note that this contains spoilers for Skyrim, specifically the Dark Brotherhood story line, but it may contain others as well.
Titus Mede II, the Emperor of Tamriel glanced up as the door opened, and his Penitus Oculatus bodyguard peered in on him. "Everything is fine, Jeriel. No need to keep peeking in on me like this," he said, slightly exasperated.
"Just making sure, Your Majesty," the bodyguard said, saluting him. The guard took one more glance around the room, making sure nothing was amiss, before he made to close the door.
"Jeriel, I will be retiring to bed soon. I want to get some rest before the Katriah begins her voyage. Kindly see that I am not disturbed by any ... 'checks', Titus said, somewhat testily.
"As you wish, Your Majesty," the guard answered. The door closed behind him, and Titus could just barely make out the silken whisper of a sword being drawn, and the slight thunk as its tip hit the wooden floor.
"Must be annoying, having them check in on you like that all the time," a voice mused from behind him.
Titus started and spun around. His eyes found a slim figure leaning relaxed against the wall, toying with a wickedly curved dagger held loosely in its hand. It was dressed completely in a black leather bodysuit, worked with elaborate designs. A cloak was draped about its shoulders, clasped at its chest with a curious bird-like design. A hood and mask completed the outfit, and obscured his or her features so that only their eyes were available. "So, you have come," Titus said. Curiously, he found himself unafraid; rather he felt at peace.
The figure drew itself up. "You seem remarkably unafraid," it said. The assassin was unmistakably male, and he had a Bosmer accent. It stepped closer, the dagger steady in his hand.
"I told him. I told Maro that he was merely delaying the inevitable, and that no one would be able to stop the Dark Brotherhood," Titus said, reaching for his goblet for a sip of wine. Finding it empty, he rose to get more, but the assassin motioned him to stay seated. The assassin took the goblet and crossed to the side of the room, where he refilled the goblet, and filled himself one. Returning to the Emperor, he set one down in front of him, who nodded his thanks, and took a sip. Looking up at the assassin, he said, "I must say, you are not what I expected."
"What did you expect then?" Titus could almost visualize the raised eyebrow under the mask. "A raving fanatic screaming devotions to Sithis?"
"Well ... yes," he admitted.
The assassin huffed. "I should remind you, Your Majesty, we are assassins, not common murderers. When we ply our trade, only the marked dies; anything else is just plain messy. Efficiency, I believe, is paramount." The assassin seated himself in front of the Emperor, setting the goblet down. "The fact that no one knows I am here should only reinforce that fact."
"That is true," Titus said. He looked at the figure seated before him, sipping the wine. Idly, the Emperor wondered how the wine got through the mask that covered his mouth. "I wonder if ... I don't suppose I could prevail upon you to tell me who ... ?"
The assassin shook his head before he was finished. "No, I'm afraid not, Your Majesty. Client confidentiality; unless the client wishes it. He or she ... or it ... did not in this case." He hesitated, then shrugged. "You do know the client, though. Or so I believe."
Titus nodded. "I thought as much." Then it was his turn to hesitate. "Might I be so bold as to ask to see your face?"
The assassin froze, then pondered. "I don't see why not." Putting the goblet down, he reached up and pulled down the hood and mask, revealing the face of a Bosmer. "My name is Shaco, just in case you were wondering."
"Thank you. I know it is rare for your ... targets ... to see the face of their killer."
"Perhaps. Though it must be said that we never fail, so those who do see their face, or know their name, for that matter, take the knowledge with them to the grave," Shaco replied. "I do apologize, though, Your Majesty. Truly, I respect you and your military prowess. The Battle of the Red Ring was ... impressive."
Titus blinked in surprise, hearing genuine respect and admiration in the Bosmer's voice. "Then I feel I must apologize as well. For the White-Gold Concordat. If I had known what it would cause ..." his words drifted off, as he thought about the ongoing Stormcloak rebellion.
"No need to apologize, Your Majesty. It was necessary; that much I can understand."
The two of them lapsed into silence, finishing off their wine. Shaco rose to get more, but Titus raised a hand to stop him. Reaching for his bottom drawer, he opened it and pulled out a bottle of Colovian Brandy. "Might as well finish it," Titus said, breaking the seal, and pouring himself and Shaco a generous measure. The Bosmer chuckled, shaking his head slightly.
The two clinked their glasses together and took a long draught. "Ahhh. I do love Colovian Brandy," Shaco smacked his lips in appreciation. "You can have the rest of mine," Titus said, gesturing to a cupboard off to the side. Shaco inclined his head in thanks.
"Did you kill my sister and her fiancée?" Titus asked suddenly.
Shaco hesitated. "Yes. The contract called for it. Said it was the only way to bring you here; away from the safety of the White City." He took another drink, but the brandy had lost its taste. "That was ... distasteful. To say the least. To take her at the height of her joy." Shaco stared into the distance, replaying the kill in his mind. It was painless, at least. He had ensured that. His arrow had struck true, spearing her between the eyes, and moments later, his second arrow had found her soon-to-be husband.
Titus stared at the assassin, trying to summon the anger that he had felt when he had first heard the news. Somehow he couldn't. "At least they will be together in death. And I'm told she died painlessly." He paused. "Thank you."
Shaco laughed. "Morbid of you; thanking me for killing your sister painlessly."
Titus chuckled himself. "Perhaps. But it is also true. I'm told some of your others are less ... restrained in their methods."
Idly, Shaco's mind turned to Arnbjorn. He wondered if his Brother was like that. The wolf bound in him stirred at the thought of wanton slaughter, but Shaco easily suppressed it with a force of will. "I can't say for certain, but I was told once that a previous assassin from the Dark Brotherhood instigated the occupants of an entire mansion to commit mutual slaughter, then killed the surviving individual." He paused, marvelling at his ancient Brother's cunning and skilful words. "You must admit that is worthy of respect."
"In a morbid way," Titus said, eliciting a smile from the assassin.
They fell into silence once more. "Will it be painless?" The emperor asked, without the slightest hint of fear in his voice.
"Yes. I guarantee it," Shaco replied. "To be honest, I have already killed you." He met the Emperor's eyes levelly. "Poison, with a powerful soporific effect. I will spare you the grisly details, but it will be just like falling asleep."
The Emperor blinked in surprise, glancing down at the goblet. "Thank you."
"Morbid." Shaco said, and they both grinned.
The Emperor got up unsteadily. Shaco silently rose to help him, and together, they crossed over to his bed. Shaco helped the Emperor lie down, then sat on the floor next to him, holding his hand. "Shaco ... a favour ... if you please. A dying man's last wish," Titus said, fighting to stay awake.
"Of course, Your Majesty," Shaco answered.
"The ... person responsible ... kill ... him ..." Titus' eyelids fluttered unsteadily.
"Of course, Your Majesty."
"The ... Empire ... fight for ... it ..." he added, barely audible.
"Of course, Your Majesty."
"... sorry ... the Con ... cordat ... sorry ..."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
"Ta...los ... protect... you ..."
Titus Mede II close his eyes, and exhaled, his last breath rising into the air.
"And you, Your Majesty."
Captain Avidius knocked lightly on the door.
"Your Majesty? The Katariah is about to weigh anchor and sail for Cyrodil. Perhaps you would like to come to the deck?"
Silence answered him. He exchanged a worried glance with Lieutenant Salvarus, then glance at Jeriel, the Penitus Oculatus on duty outside his door. "The Emperor may still be asleep, sirs. I did inform you previously."
Avidius nodded. "I remember." He looked at the door again, and shrugged, and turned to go, but stopped when he heard shouting from below. "Who is making that racket?" he wondered angrily. "They risk waking the Emperor!"
"Captain Avidius!" One of his own Penitus Oculatus rushed up the stairway, several distraught crewmembers at his heels. "Captain Avidius! Commander Maro has been murdered! Killed in broad daylight by an individual wearing all black, such that his face was not seen." He paused to catch his breath. "Upon the killing blow, witnesses heard him say this was payment for the Sanctuary!"
Avidius reeled in shock. Surely that meant the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary! But that could only mean ... He whirled around, and smashed the door open, drawing his sword as he did so.
Avidius and his fellow Penitus Oculatus flooded into the room, only to find it empty ... save for Emperor Titus Mede II, lying on the bed, eyes closed, expression peaceful. He appeared asleep. But Avidius realised something was amiss. And that something was that the Emperor was wearing his crown. In bed. He rushed over and placed his finger under the Emperor's nose, and recoiled. He was dead.
Horror flooded him. The Emperor, dead on his watch!
"Captain!"
Avidius snapped his head around to glare at Salvarus, who was pointing at the foot of the bed. Avidius turned, and saw a most curious sight.
A small carved ivory statue sat at the foot of the bed. Scattered around it were some flowers, a goblet full of some cream-colored liquid, and a single black and red dagger, wickedly curved. His shock subsiding momentarily, he picked up the idol. It was an idol of Talos.
Watching from behind, in plain sight, yet out of sight, Shaco slipped out of the room.
Amaund Motierre sipped his drink impatiently. It had been a week since the assassin had contacted him. He came here daily, hoping for news, yet received nothing as of yet. "I hope they hurry up," he muttered under his breath.
"We choose the most opportune moment to strike, Amaund Motierre. Not before, not after."
Amaund yelped in shock and fell out of his chair. His eyes turned to find the same black clad figure he had seen a week earlier. Yet ... it seemed even more menacing, if that were even possible.
"You're back! But ... does that mean ... ?" Amaund barely dared finish the sentence.
"Yes. The deed is done. The mark lies dead."
Amaund laughed. "Excellent. Excellent, now I can proceed with my plans," he chuckled. He rubbed his hands in anticipation, then paused, realising the assassin had not moved. "W...what is it? Is there something else you want?"
The assassin titled his head wordlessly.
"Oh! Oh. The ... the uh, payment. Yes. Uhm. It's ... it's in Volunruud. In ... in the same room we ... met ... for the first time." Amaund stammered.
The assassin nodded, then bowed slightly. "Sithis watch over you, Amaund Motierre."
"Thanks ..." Inwardly, Amaund heave a sigh of relief, as the sinister figure turned to leave.
"Oh. Amaund Motierre. I almost forgot. I require your help with a contract I recently accepted," the assassin said suddenly.
Amaund froze. "W-what kind of help?"
"This."
Amaund's last image was a finely jewelled dagger flying towards his face.
Three hours later, a scream drew the attention of everyone in the Bannered Mare.
They rushed to the source, and found a richly dressed and appointed Breton, an exquisite dagger buried up to its hilt in its face. The dagger itself had initials carved into the hilt; T.M II.