Silence.

Silence was what made Aurica comfortable, the knowledge nothing and no one could hear her, and no one could interrupt the serenity she felt within.

The target before her lay sleeping in a bed roll, completely unaware of her presence. From her rock perch, the bandit hadn't a chance. Without a sound, she pulled back the string of her bow and took aim at his thieving head. You do not take from my home without consequences. Releasing the arrow, there was a short moan before silence came once more. Blood dripped and moved, but the bandit was dead.

Crawling down from her hiding place, Aurica remained silent. It would be easy to run and claim her prize, but confrontation with any other creature was not in her plan. She would do what must be done and nothing else. Her blood burned at the sight of the man who stole from Dengeir. An iron arrow stuck though his skull, she had never felt so darkly pleased. It sickened her, but she also knew this taste for murder was a gift her parents had given her. One she should use to right the wrongs of this dark world.

Shaking her head and forgetting his filth, Aurica dug into the man's bag to retrieve what had cost this man's blood. Her fingers curled around the hilt of a sword and pulled. Out of the bag came a black sword with markings of old covering it, and she could not help but revel in its glory. No wonder Dengeir saw it as his most prized possession. The blade was something of legends.

Just then a twig cracked and she saw the outline of a bear a little ways off. He was hungry for meat, and the dead man's blood probably smelled delicious.

Skulking back into the shadows, Aurica headed back home to Falkreath to give the sword back to its rightful owner. The forests remained silent, even though a man was dead. It wouldn't be until hours later that guards would find the murdered thief on the side of the road, nothing left but a carcass and a broken arrow.

But by then Aurica would be back in town, home and quiet once more.

Beautiful silence.

XXX

Roan hated the smug look on the executioner's face as he put his head to the block. Years of training to gain his vengeance, and his life would end hands bound and on the ground, not a single damn Nord dead by his hands. He had done nothing and yet he already ruined any chance he had of making them pay. The fury that burned in his heart nearly caught him on fire, but he wouldn't get far anyway. There were dozens of guards. He was as good as dead the second he entered Helgen.

Just as he accepted his death, a roar sounded in the distance. Anxious looks passed between guards, and the flame within him smiled. A beast was coming? Just what he needed. Another monster of blood, just like him.

As the executioner raised the axe, a dragon appeared and bellowed, sending everyone into disarray. This was his chance at freedom and blood once more. And he would take it.

XXX

"Aurica, how did you ever get it back?" Dengeir had a grin on his face that would have been worth the deaths of a hundred bandits. Aurica felt her heart warm once more as he held his beloved sword to his chest. Shrugging nonchalantly, she refused to recollect and relay the events of last night that led to the retrieval. She was not proud of her abilities, but she used them well. In her silence, Dengeir nodded and understood the implications. "Regardless, this means the world to me, dear. This sword has been in my family for years." He pulled her into a quick embrace that she welcomed warmly. Other than her parents, Dengeir had been the only friend she had outside of home. It only felt right to do anything to protect him.

Pulling away, Aurica sat in a chair by the fire, her chair, and gave a small grin. "You deserve it after all those years I came barreling over to your house to beg you for stories." Placing her bow and arrows on the ground next to her, she allowed herself comfort that she never indulged in other than at home. Or with Dengeir. "I saw a crazy old man and always assumed some good tales would come."

He sat in a chair beside her, reminiscing her childhood as well. "And you were right. I spent hours telling you of heroic Nords and fearless Companions. You were the only one in this town that gave me a second thought."

Aurica sighed. As she aged, she only slowly realized the lack of trust Dengeir had. It had taken years for him to believe she was not an Imperial spy, and she was merely a child when he met her. Years later, she knew of no one but herself and a few key family members that he trusted. Everyone was out to get him, in his mind. "I loved every minute of it. Even if Father did not agree so much with the way the Companions worked, I always admired them." That little secret, her desire to be one of them, was one never uttered outside Dengeir's home. Her father would not appreciate his daughter admiring people he did not agree with.

Her mentor paused in thought and looked at her seriously. "Aurica, will I ever get to meet these parents of yours?'

Gulping, she shook her head. "No, they're not quite…" Picturing her mother jabbing a knife into a man's ribcage and her father shifting into a beast created conviction of her decision. "Social people." Standing, she brushed off her pant, grabbed her weapons, and headed for the door. She had been gone from home long enough, she did not care to make them worry. "I really must be going anyway."

Dengeir gave her a sad look and a disappointed sigh. "Goodbye, Aurica."

In her heart, she knew her mistrust hurt him. But she could not help it. How could you explain to a man who told of honor and legends that your family is the epitome of darkness? She gave him a sorrowful look and muttered, "Goodbye, Dengeir."

She knew it wasn't easy being the daughter of assassins, but sometimes she wished she it could be.

XXX

The blood had not been enough.

Throughout his trek through the bowels of Helgen, killing every damned Stormcloak he could find, Roan could not find any satisfaction. He thought any ounce of Nord blood on his hands would make his anger, his flame, feel a bit quenched, but if anything it grew stronger. Now as he followed the Imperial Nord, Hadvar, to his home in Riverwood, a dark part of him wanted nothing but to run his blade across his throat.

Half an hour ago he would have.

But he knew that it would lead him nowhere so he begrudgingly took this filth as his guide. At least he had enough sense to side with the Imperials, the friends of the elves. He deserved to die a little bit less than the rest of the Nordic scum.

Now they were headed to this small town for supplies and further instruction on where to go next. Roan knew where he desired to head, straight to Windhelm to murder the worst of the bastards, but without the gear he had in Marrowind he was far less prepared for such an attack. Maybe if he was more like an assassin, he could do it. But he was not known for his subtlety, and had no desire to make anything about his kills sneaky. All of Skyrim would watch Windhelm burn.

And he would do whatever it takes to make it happen.

XXX