Middas 7 Last Seed 203 4E 11:00 PM

The last two weeks in the Imperial City had been spent finding out about our target and slowly scouting the secret entrance Motierre gave us. It looked like Motierre had kept his word about not alerting the guards about the Brotherhood's intent because we had not seen hide or hair of the Imperial Legion near the secret door that lead out near the southern side of the lake.

The Imperial capital was located on a large island in the middle of Lake Rumare. There was only one bridge that connected it to the main land. Its primary landmark is the White Gold Tower, a tower that can be seen for miles away and was originally built by the Ayleid, the Heartland high elves. Its original intent was for the Temple of the Ten Ancestors, but since Alessia's time has been used as the Imperial Palace.

The city itself was divided up into six districts. Starting northeast and going clockwise they are Market, Arena, Arboretum, Temple, Plaza, and Elven Gardens District. The city also hosted an arcane university and the waterfront harbors. There was very little that was not either provided or could be made available in the capital.

Nazir and I had been staying in the Tiber Septim Inn located in the Plaza District. A long time ago the Plaza district had been called the Talos Plaza District, but the name was changed with the signing of the White-Gold Concordat. The Plaza District was for only the wealthiest families and the Tiber Septim was a high quality inn with rates four times higher than your average inn. Nazir had been outraged at the cost, but I convinced him it was worth the extra rate.

I prefer high class accommodations over poorer ones. For one thing, guards tended to have a better eye on the lowlife part of towns. They noticed when strangers came into town and started talking to all the usual contacts. You also had to deal with your standard cutthroats and thieves. Everyone was suspicious of everyone else and on the guard for someone to backstab them. In better parts of town, the staff had learned that money meant eccentricity so if you wanted to run around all hours of the night everyone turned their head the other way. If no one acknowledged your poor behavior, then it does not reflect poorly on others.

The wealthy have cultivated the skill of being blind to an art.

Nazir couldn't find out much about our prisoner. The man had been in there for over a decade. He had no apparent friends or family for he never received visitors. Except for Motierre who had made some discrete visits last year in the spring. That explained why Motierre with no prompting knew who I had wanted.

Several prisoners, all lifers, were going to be executed on the anniversary of the Emperor's death as a protest and to rally the people's support. Hopefully it would help raise morale so the Empire could finally put together the support to take Skyrim back under its control and end this drawn out rebellion. The Elder Council was ready to show that a group of elected men could lead better than one hereditary leader.

As far as I was concerned, the Civil War was going exactly how I had hoped. When spring came, Ulfric had returned to Windhelm so he could focus on the political aspect of the war. He was much too high ranked and important to be on the battlefield and had only joined his men against Whiterun as a symbol of his dedication. Ulfric was a big fan of symbolism.

That wasn't strange. It also was not odd that Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric's eternal right hand man, had returned with Ulfric to the Eastmarch. However, it was odd that the "Dragonborn" had returned with them. She should have been Ulfric's general on the battlefield leading the charge with her thu'um. Instead she was safely sequestered behind the stone wall of the Palace of Kings. There had been no reports of her using her Shouts during her time on the battlefield for Whiterun.

There were rumors that Ulfric's Dragonborn might be a fake. Not that the noble, honorable Ulfric would ever knowingly support such a thing, but maybe whoever it was had killed the real Dragonborn and stolen her identity. There wasn't much information about her. She was of average height, with dark shoulder-length hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. Nothing physically made her stand out.

The biggest conflict was that this Dragonborn was a Nord while early rumors had said the Dragonborn was an Imperial proving her lineage to the old Septim bloodline. One could prove that the Dragonborn was a "true daughter" of Skyrim by either being born Nord or sharing the blood of Tiber Septim and many drunken brawls had erupted from the debating.

I was pleased with the rumors and confident that by next year the fake Dragonborn would be gone. I didn't care if she just disappeared one day or if Ulfric decided to be assertive and display her head on a spike before his castle for her treachery. To be done with the matter was all that mattered to me.

I couldn't let that distract me right now. That was a world away and could wait until I returned to Sanctuary. I was just relieved that Mother hadn't reprimanded me for that. Or my bizarre relationship with Cicero. I wasn't sure exactly how literally she saw the Brotherhood as her children. I remembered that Astrid and Arnbjorn had been married and Gabriella had a very casual sexual relationship with Nazir and Veezara. But they hadn't exactly followed the Old Ways, had they?

Were we committing some sort of spiritual incest? Surely Mother would have said something before things had progressed too far, right? But Mother believed in letting her children make their mistakes and learn from them instead of constantly meddling in our affairs.

None of that mattered right now. Right now I had to focus on getting Mother's approval back by claiming this orc. I couldn't stand the thought of not hearing her voice full of motherly love for her daughter. I was the big sister that could be depended upon to take care of the little ones. If I couldn't, then I feared I would not hear her voice again.

I was full of curiosity about this orc too. Why would Mother request to save a soul instead of sending it to the Dread Lord? To have been in the prisons for so long, he must have done something atrocious, but not bad enough for immediate death. It was possible they suspected him of a larger crime, but had only arrested him for a smaller one which allowed them to hold him but not prosecute.

I wished we had more time to plan and study. As long as I feel like I'm busy, I'll take as much time as I think I need to do a job well. You usually get one chance to do your job in our line of work. Failure didn't always result in death, but loss of prestige and reputation was sometimes worse than failure. If you died it was easier for others to shrug their shoulders and say that the other guy was better. Living through a botched job carried more of a sense of incompetence.

"Are you ready?" Nazir asked. He had been checking the rowboat we had purchased almost three weeks ago that was hidden under some brush for any possible leaks. I nodded.

It was time.

The iron barred door was long rusted from disuse. I kicked it hating the ruckus it created, but I was confident that we were far enough from anything that no one else would hear. Nazir lit a torch and we proceeded inward.

Torches are a mixed blessing. They provided light and warmth, but they also make you easy targets for anything that is hiding in the darkness. Assassins have to develop excellent night vision to survive and the best often find artificial light to be more detrimental than the dark since it could blind you. Khajiit are natural thieves because of their inherent low-light vision. They can pull in more light from the moon or stars and see clearer than men and mer.

Normally I would just trust the light of the stars that dotted the void of the night sky. But we were going into a stone tunnel and there would be no light in there. Nazir and I had scouted this part of the route multiple times. It was completely unused. I hadn't even found the bones of rats down there.

Once we had reached the last stretch of the unused area, Nazir left the torch in an ancient wall sconce. We would leave it burning as a landmark for our return trip. It was time to get used to the dark again. Dark areas that were currently in use, even those underground, always have some source of light available. People were not meant to walk in the complete void of darkness. It was too scary and lonely.

It was another thing that set assassins apart.

I comfortably slid my booted feet along the smooth stone floor. I could feel Nazir behind me, but there was not a single sound from the Redguard. Ahead I could hear a man coughing while another paced his patrol. A third was sleeping by a small table that held platters of cold food.

The patroller was directly between us and the next section. I waited a few minutes watching his pattern. When he was hidden by a pillar, I quickly dashed so I was on the other side of him. Watching the shadows of his torch, I paced opposite of him until I could go down the next corridor. Nazir did the same thing and we were off to the next part.

This continued until we came to a false wall, another tidbit Motierre had included in his information. Nazir entered the proper sequence for the hidden puzzle lock while I watched with my bow drawn for guards. The wall slid silently away revealing a hidden corridor. The ancients sure did know how to build to last.

After we entered, Nazir closed the secret door. I put my bow away and drew another torch. We were in completely uncharted territory. It had been easy to scout the unused area and to even stalk the guards, but there had been no time to get into this last area and check it. The light threw shadows everywhere making my already on-edge nerves scream danger.

About fifty feet in, the corridor opened into a large room. I looked down and found a long-dead skeleton at my feet. His armor reminded me of Delphine's Blades armor, the mark of the ancient protectors of the Emperor—until they had failed to protect Uriel Septim from the Mythic Dawn cult two hundred years ago. It was said Uriel had been slain while trying to flee the Imperial City. Had this been one of his men who had fallen in vain trying to protect his lord?

At the far end, up a short flight of stairs was our exit. I pulled on a chain and the wall slid away to reveal a jail cell. I left the torch in the secret tunnel and stepped out. Nazir followed once again closing the wall behind us. We didn't want to risk a guard noticing the light.

I was ready to kill however many people necessary to complete this mission. The problem is that guards are very good at yelling for reinforcements and once you alerted one guard then you've alerted all of them. In the middle of the Imperial city, I feared there could be literally hundreds of guards breathing down our necks. I didn't like those odds.

I picked the lock to our cell. There were no guards down here. They would be up the stairs in their barracks talking, laughing, drinking and all the little things people do when they have to pass the time over and over again without anything ever happening. All of their eyes were turned outward for danger. Why would they need to fear from the inside?

The thing I always thought was interesting about night time security is that it's where you find your green recruits. Young and eager to prove themselves recruits with no field experience are given the dullest shift. The leaders are burnt out gruff men who are thinking of how they would like to spend the rest of their days before a fire drinking mead and wine but not quite ready to lose their status as men by retiring.

It always felt foolish to me. If there is going to be a jailbreak or theft or assassination, it is going to come in the middle of the night. You don't plan those jobs during the middle of the day when everyone is awake and aware. You wait until the witching hour when all good souls are tucked away in their beds dreaming of better days. So why does every country time and time again put their worst men on these shifts? If you really care about your charge, then you put reliable, tested men on that duty and leave the incompetents for a shift where they can get back up easily.

Still, it worked in my favor so I doubt I'll lobby a complaint.

I looked into the first cell and saw a bosmer. Not my concern, so I went down the line until I could see the back of an orc. His head was in shadow. I rattled the door to wake him. When he sat up, the empty socket where his right eye used to be glared back at me. It was like someone had carved away part of his face and left the Void behind. Prison life had not been kind; the orc looked ancient.

"What is the color of the night?" I asked quietly.

"Sanguine, my sister," he rasped. "By Sithis, she heard me. After all this time, the Night Mother answered my prayers." The orc stood slowly; his mobility hampered by the heavy chains securing his hands and feet.

"Nazir, this is the one we want," I said nodding at the door. The Redguard was on watch for any movement from above. I bent to work on the lock. I lost several lockpicks, but I've always found the puzzle of the tumbler fascinating. Whenever I felt rushed or frustrated, I would stop, breathe until my heartbeat calmed, and slowly continue again. In time, I beat the puzzle and opened the door.

"Who are you?" the orc asked candidly.

"Hecate," I said simply. "We'll talk more once I get you out of these."

"It's been so long since I talked to anyone. The guards leave me alone mostly now, but there are a few young pups who think they can get away with tormenting an old orsimer. Last real conversation I had was with that asshole Motierre. He wanted to know more about the Black Sacrament. I told him what he wanted to know. I figured it was the least I could do to help the Brotherhood by directing a client who wanted the Emperor dead. He didn't say directly, but I figured it out. I haven't been out of the game so long I can't tell when a person isn't saying something."

I smiled to myself as I listened to the old mer ramble. Why was it I was drawn time and time again to people who hadn't been able to talk freely for a long, long time? The Graybeards, Paarthurnax, the Night Mother, and Cicero to name a few. Now this orc.

"Cheydinhal Sanctuary fell a few years ago, so I knew only the Sanctuary left was in Skyrim. I made sure to suggest to Motierre that he perform the Black Sacrament up there and to wait however long he had to. Without the Night Mother to inform us of the Black Sacrament, we used to go to the streets for contracts. I could only guess our Skyrim cousins were doing the same thing. I remember when we figured it would be only for a few months, but when the years stretched…." he trailed off in thought.

"Wait. Us?" I stopped working on the manacles. "Who are you?"

"My name is Garnag," the orc smiled broadly, "and I'm a Dark Brotherhood assassin."

Dear gods, this was the one Cicero had mentioned who had disappeared one day. A brother from the old days when they not only followed the Tenets, but they honestly believed in them. The Night Mother had answered more than just Garnag's prayers.

"My name is Hecate," I said standing. I offered my brother my hand. Garnag took it readily and allowed me to help him up. "And I am the Listener."

"Dear Sithis," Garnag gasped. He knelt with his head bowed. "You managed to save the Night Mother's body? She speaks again?"

"This is all very moving, but can't we do it some place more secure?" Nazir interrupted. "Shift change is going to happen soon and it's standard procedure to check the inmates at that time."

"Change in plan, Nazir," I said coming to a decision. Motierre had said they were going to execute the prisoners as a protest to the Emperor's death. If they came in and discovered Garnag gone, they would launch an investigation to find him. They knew he was a Brotherhood assassin and would be sure to parade that fact to its utmost effect. "Are there any other older male orcs here?" I asked Garnag. He nodded and pointed to a cell.

"Nazir, open all of the cells. Release all of the prisoners. Encourage them to riot," I commanded as I strode to the cell Garnag indicated. Both of my brothers went to work to follow my command. I got past the lock for the orc prisoner. He looked up at me with gratitude. It didn't last long when I sank my blade into his gut. I followed with cutting his face to destroy the right eye. It wouldn't pass at close inspection, but if the body was trampled in the stampede and the guards were only aware of a one-eyed orc then no one would know the difference.

I dragged the body out into the hallway. I added my voice to the others, "Down with the oppressors! For freedom! Down with the Thalmor! Down with the Elder Council!" The prisoners were weak from lack of fresh air and exercise, but hope is a terrible weapon in the hands of the desperate. Many of these men were Nords and they would rather die in battle than on their knees. Garnag and Nazir waited in the cell with the secret exit while the other prisoners surged forth for revenge and freedom.

"Now we leave," I said calmly. I gestured for the other two to help me kick in the head of the dead orc to help cover up his identity better. There would be no guards to avoid on the way out now. We were going home.


Middas 28 Last Seed 203 4E 5:00 PM

The last three weeks had been spent aboard a cargo ship headed to Solitude. I had been forced to pay extra for the fact we were living cargo, but coin is the best diplomacy and we were given privacy.

I pondered about how it seemed I constantly left chaos in my wake. How much did my dragon soul dominate my life and choices? Was it choice or fate that decided I would create havoc wherever I went? The Imperial City had taken a lot of damage from the riot. The prisoners had managed to swarm over the unprepared guards and take the Imperials' weapons for their own. Once on the streets they had destroyed street carts and décor in their wake. Some of the downtrodden in the waterfront had joined in. For centuries the poor and destitute had lived there in the shadow of luxury and they had had enough too.

I had spent most of my days interviewing Garnag. He told me much about his time as an assassin. I had felt sheepish to find out that the traditional method of recruiting was very simple. Wait for a rumor of a ruthless killer, find him, and offer the chance to join after doing a job. Probably the only thing Astrid had not changed in her bid for power.

"How did you ever get the Night Mother from Bravil by yourself?" I asked.

"Telekinesis, sister," Garnag laughed. He made some mystical gestures and a book from across the room flew into his hands. "The Night Mother was heavy, so I couldn't do it for very long. But all I needed was to move her to the wagon and that only took a few seconds."

A spellcaster too. By the gods, the Night Mother had been merciful in sending us on this mission. The orc's specialization was alteration, but he was also trained in illusion. Two schools much better suited to the life of the assassin than dear, old Festus Krex's love of destruction magic.

As we entered Sanctuary, Garnag asked, "However did you find the Night Mother? What made you look in Cheydinhal? I am surprised that she wasn't desecrated when the Sanctuary fell."

"The Keeper brought her to Skyrim. To this very Sanctuary actually," I said. I was going to continue, but Garnag's look of surprise stopped me. "What?"

"Chickpea is alive?" the orc asked.

At that moment, Cicero walked by with a bowl of flowers freshly picked from Babette's garden for the Night Mother's shrine. "Listener, Nazir" he said nodding at us, "Garnag." The jester paused. He slowly turned towards our prodigal brother. The bowl fell from his listless hands. "Garnag!"

Cicero flung himself into Garnag's arms. The two of them hugged each other as if they were drowning and the only thing saving them was each other. "Why were you gone for so long?" Cicero wailed. "Cicero waited and waited and waited and you never came back!"