Solitude was completely empty.

The only people out in the streets were workers that could not abandon their jobs, or guards that equally could not move from their posts. However, there was something in common to all of them. They were all talking about a specific thing, one that had been in every debate for a month or so: Vittoria Vici, cousin of the Emperor, was getting married to Asgeir Snow-Shod, a Stormcloak. The general opinion on that marriage had been split since the beginning and had shifted a great deal. Initially it had been pretty badly received, but with time some even began to see it as the first step towards a peace treaty. Both sides had their parties and their fights, so much so that the ones favorable had united in one front against the ones that didn't like the idea. This mechanism had created a united front that was much louder than any mixed opinion coming for the other side. The main argument was the exceptional occasion that wedding granted to most people, a chance for understanding between the war parties.

For Plautis, it was just an occasion to get an import deal from the bride, with the help of gifts and a thousand honeyed words. His wife, Salonia, wasn't that much into that journey they had made and had complained for the whole ride. They had encountered some other people coming to the city, both for the wedding and not, but mainly for the wedding. They had engaged a hundred conversation made of circumstantial politeness and fixed phrases to show the enthusiasm for that unique occasion.

It was just midday when they arrived and the Sun was high up in the sky, close to its zenith. Hadn't it been for that light, it would have looked like midnight. The streets were deserted, noiseless and as quiet as they could get. Mumbles and murmurs were the only things they could hear. So few people were around that it seemed almost unreal. Strangely, it made the city look so much bigger than it was.

'I'm hungry…' lamented Salonia. 'Where is this damned temple?'

'Just ahead, we're almost there. Stop moaning and keep going.'

'Why are we even going to a wedding at this far end of the Empire, anyway?'

'I told you already: it's the wedding of Vittoria Vici, an extremely well connected merchant with the East Empire Company. The Emperor's cousin? Remember? Hopefully these gifts will put us in her good graces, secure that import deal, and lead the way to an audience with the Emperor.'

Plautis approached a guard, ignoring his wife still grousing.

'Soldier, could you point us to the Temple of the Divines?'

'It's just along this way,' answered the guard. 'You can't miss it. Have a good day, sir.'

They went forward, riding under a high archway that led to a big courtyard, where a group of soldiers sat down. Plautis looked a bit closer, and noticed some of them had slightly darker cuirasses and had more refined and well-designed helmets.

Penitus Oculatus? Hm… Strange. Is someone expecting trouble?

He saw a large group of people near the entrance of what had to be the Temple. They wore expensive dresses and tunics, diadems and necklaces. One in particular, a young woman with straight chestnut hair, wore a green piece of clothing worthy of a member of the Elder Council. Those people saw them coming, and looked at Salonia and Plautis as they dismounted.

'Greetings, travelers,' said the chestnut-haired woman. 'Are you here for the wedding?'

'We are. We have gifts and our best wishes for the bride,' said Plautis. 'Who am I speaking with?'

'Elisif.'

'You…' stammered the Imperial. 'You are the ruler of this city?'

'Aye, she's Jarl Elisif the Fair. High Queen of Skyrim,' said a man behind her, at whom she immediately turned.

'Erikur, stop calling me like that. You know it's not true, and I'm not queen yet.'

Plautis had got a bit lost in all of that, but Elisif quickly turned her attention back to him and his wife, smiling broadly yet timidly, and invited them to enter with a simple gesture. 'Please come in. It'll be my personal pleasure to introduce you to the newlyweds.'

The front courtyard of the Temple of the Divines was full of people, and all kinds of people as well. Aside from the green dress of Elisif, some Imperial-styled outfits could be seen as well as some civilian clothing. Plautis followed Elisif really closely, as everyone stepped aside to let her pass; he was followed closely by his wife, who had stopped moaning all of a sudden. They bumped into many people as they tried to follow the Jarl, when people closed back after she had walked away.

The Temple was made of stone, dark grey granite. It had some small windows on the front, and the walls surrounding the courtyard were high and very large. In case of attack, it would have been easy to defend. The whole building followed a similar architecture to the one of the nearby Castle Dour, and that explained the heavy walls, but the other elements were just Nordic fashion, or so Plautis guessed.

Elisif reached the couple, who were sitting on wooden throne-like seats. They resembled their respective people so well they almost looked like stereotypes, but they were a pleasing sight nonetheless. Asgeir was a high and well-built Nord with light blue eyes, blonde hair and light complexion. Vittoria, on the other hand, was a typical Imperial: dark haired, brown-eyed, a bit smaller than a Nord and with darker skin. One could say they were polar opposites, but it was this that made them so unique.

'Vittoria,' said Elisif, introducing the two travelers. 'These two guests arrived now from a long journey, and are willing to wish you the best.'

Plautis and Salonia bowed slightly.

'We are honored to be here, Vittoria Vici. Asgeir Snow-Shod', he said, hoping to have pronounced his name right. 'Our respects come from the bottom of our hearts.'

'Thank you kindly,' answered Vittoria. 'What an amazing day this has been. I hope you're enjoying the festivities. I'm… I'm just so overwhelmed. Such kindness… for me.'

'We brought you something from Cyrodiil, something you might miss in foreign land. I hope it will be well received and appreciated.'

'Thank you again. Now, if you please, you can stay here and enjoy the reception all you want. There is room for everyone here!'

'Oh, we will, certainly. And again, congratulations.'

As stated before, the whole courtyard was literally filled with people. The whole Solitude, or near enough, was there, and we would need to add all the others that came from far away; other relatives of the Emperor, members of various Cyrodiil families and so on.

Almost the entirety of the guests felt relaxed, and forgot all about world for that short moment. Those affiliated with the Stormcloaks were talking to Empire supporters without the slightest problem, not arguing about politics, birthrights or whatnot, but of how beautiful and how joyful was the newlywed couple. Differences had been erased for a moment, and nothing else mattered. Only a handful of individuals, mainly the older ones, could not do that entirely.

For a lot of time the parents of the wife and groom argued, but they were an isolated case. So Plautis realized after having walked for a bit and having spent time with the other guests.

'Typical Imperial rot,' snarled the father of Asgeir. 'You speak of Skyrim like you know the land, know its people. You're from Cyrodiil! You know nothing about us! Nothing!'

'Oh, I know enough,' replied Alexia Vici, the mother of Vittoria, in a spiteful tone. 'I know those trouble-making Stormcloaks refuse to submit to Imperial authority. Such seditious behavior. Why, it's treason!'

'And when the elves marched into your beloved Cyrodiil, and everyone took up arms against them, wasn't that treason? Against the Dominion? Huh?'

'Why, that's not the same thing at all! The Dominion were invaders. Conquerors. We had to fight them, to preserve our own way of life.'

'My point exactly.'

Plautis couldn't help but empathize with Alexia. They both were from Cyrodiil, and shared the same point of view. Nothing would have changed it. He approached the two.

'Greetings,' he said. 'I was told you are the parents of the couple.'

'What my daughter sees in that... barbarian, I'll never know,' muttered Alexia.

'Excuse me?' groaned the older Snow-Shod. 'We can fight about our origins all day, but do not touch my boy…'

'Why? What do you think of my daughter?'

'She's not bad. My boy always did have an eye for the pretty ones. Vittoria ain't bad, for an Imperial.'

'So you think she is no good.'

'No! I talked about her origins, as I said. I won't touch your girl with one finger. Asgeir made his choice, and as much as I may despise it I will respect it.'

Plautis tried one more time to break the tension, and changed the subject. To little avail. 'But are you having fun? This, after all, is the wedding of your children.'

'I most certainly am not. I've just lost my daughter to a Nord beast, and my nephew Titus is too busy playing Emperor to even show up,' moaned Alexia, and the old Nord followed shortly.

'No, I'm not having a good time. My boy just married a gods-forsaken Imperial. Skyrim is full of eager Nord women, and he beds down with the enemy.'

The Imperial gave up, and tried to distract them and sufficing his own curiosity in the meantime.

'I'm sorry for that. And, you… You are from the city, so you should know. Why is the Penitus Oculatus staying here? Is there some kind of danger ahead?'

'Are you blind to the state of the world or what?' asked the Snow-Shod looking at him sideways.

'Oh, be quiet you brute,' scowled Alexia. 'He's from Cyrodiil and doesn't give a damn about our stupid problems. The possible danger here,' she explained, now looking at Plautis. 'is that the rebels, the Stormcloaks, are everywhere, and could try to sabotage the alliance that was forged in this very moment. My daughter wants peace for her land.'

'Peace? Who wants peace?' mumbled the Snow-Shod, but she ignored him.

'The Penitus Oculatus are here to prevent any mad, bloodthirsty Nord destroys what was just formed here. They are the last line of defense against the inner enemy that could lurk around here.'

That will do… The stone gargoyle seems too much like and accident. An arrow in the throat… Is a completely different thing. I'll go with that. Now… To find where Gabriella left that bow.

The light of midday had gradually faded, and now the first orange rays of the twilight gave the afternoon light a warm tint. As the banquet proceeded the guests started to talk a lot more and eat less, significantly raising the noise and the confusion. Azrael crept along the wall above the courtyard, staying West whenever he could. He was not as visible if he stayed on the opposite side of the sunlight.

It's so… Unnatural that someone has to die in order of someone else to complete his or her own purpose. Or maybe not unnatural, but strange nonetheless.

In this specific instance, or rather in every complicated Dark Brotherhood contract, the expression "the goal justifies the means" is a very recurrent theme. Azrael couldn't stop but looking at that smiling woman, dressed in white and red with a leaves crown on her head; she was the very picture of joy. And he had to end all of that. Why? Because someone wanted her cousin dead.

The Dunmer couldn't help but think of that. Politics always intrigued him, but for the sole reason it was one of the numerous arts that Boethia taught the Chimer that lived in the Eras past. Being an art of Boethia, it came natural that debate was also followed by plots, killings and rebellion, but that was the work of a Daedric Prince. Being himself the killer gave Azrael a different point of view.

She has to die in order for someone else to achieve his personal end. And I've got to do the dirty work. Does any of this make sense? Does the world itself make sense?

The answer was no. That very monosyllable was the reason why he had the strength to do what he had to do. No orders would have bonded him to a task he did not want to accomplish, no conviction could obscure his mind and prevent him from reasoning; but the world made no sense, and so that had not to be a sense in what he was doing.

Strange, isn't it? If he thought about the purpose, he would have refused to act. If he acted for the mere satisfaction and self-accomplishment alone, not only he would have acted, but would have done so without thinking twice nor feeling guilty. Thinking about the big picture, what lied beyond his sight and his mind, silenced any empathy inside him. That emotion stopped whispering words in his mind, dissuading him from committing such a cruel act. It was silent.

In the structure of power that man created, what right does a being have to eliminate another? No one, not even if that other is a killer, a thief or worse. But in the structure of power laced in Nature? That was not the same thing. The rule was one: the most adaptable wins.

Azrael was just that.

An assassin's strongest weapon is his own dagger, but the Assassin that still slumbered within Azrael knew that fear, despair, paranoia, terror and so on are as effective as any weapon would be. All it took was one arrow, and the events would have unfolded by themselves; he did not exactly know how, but they would have. He just needed to set the machine in motion. The asset of the world would change, and all he had to do was perform a banal movement with his fingers and to exert a force strong enough to bend the bow. It was insignificant by itself, but it could have theoretically changed the world and the course of history.

Azrael was a nobody for those people. He just exchanged a few worlds with the priest, talked for some time with the Jarl, got introduced quickly to the bride and then… vanished. Elisif was the only one sorry that he had gone away. She knew his name and that was it. He had liked her. He liked her composure and shyness, most of all because they seemed to hide a power beyond the one normal people had. She was similar to him, in a way. A simple word from her mouth could change history almost as much as Azrael's arrow could. He felt bonded to her, but he had needed to ignore those feelings. She couldn't know who he was. And still, everything was calm. For the time being.

And… Speaking of Elisif, she was sitting in a chair near the entrance of the temple, looking at the balcony. They said the bride would have had a speech, and her sudden vanishing could mean only that she went un the stairs. A heavy silence was gradually descending on the courtyard. Finally, the newlywed came out of the door and walked on the balcony, approaching its fringe.

Elisif looked at both of them, and sighed deeply. Two clear emotions were fighting in her heart. A bright happiness and a deep and stinging pain that crept up her body like poison. She just crossed her arms and stopped thinking. Doing so made her feel sad.

'Good people of Solitude,' Vittoria began. 'I just wanted to take this time to thank you all for being here. To thank you for sharing this wonderfully happy day with myself, and my new husband. I thank you all again for making this the best wedding a woman could ask for.'

The twang of a bow. The hiss of an arrow.

It took too long to Plautis to even understand what was going on. For the ones closer to the balcony awaited a macabre spectacle: a few drops of blood fell on the ground, and began to slowly flow in the nearest drain.

It was like something had been turned upside down. Ice to fire, light to darkness, order to chaos.

'Vittoria! No!'

The first to react were the Penitus Oculatus, who ran past the gate and looked around without understanding too well what was happening. One of them pointed at the corpse of Vittoria, held by Asgeir in his arms, and at the long elven arrow with black vanes sunk in her throat. The shaft came out of her throat and the point barely coming out the nape of her neck.

The second to act was Alexia Vici. They always say a mother has special instincts towards her children, and this time it got proved true again as she cried.

'My daughter! Dead! No!'

And after that, it was utter chaos.

The Penitus Oculatus ran in the crowd, shoving aside and knocking down everyone that stood in their way. Some of them went in the direction where the arrow had come from, some other stood in the courtyard to try to keep the people calm. But it was all meaningless. Everyone was running away, presumably towards the exit, but a ration mind wouldn't bank on that being an actual fact. Everyone was running in the first direction they saw, and it wasn't always the right one. The Penitus Oculatus tried to stop them wandering around, but again, to little avail. They in turn got trampled by the fleeing crowd and were forced to back off.

They regrouped in the center of the courtyard. The stood shoulder to shoulder, their swords out and their eyes scouring the whole courtyard in search of the killer. They looker at every corner and at every balcony, sometimes mistaking shadows for the figure of the assassin. Their hearts raced and their minds were half focused on the task and half attempting to ignore what has just happened. They exchanged glances and spread out a little, extending the range of their search.

And then, unexplainably, they started dying.

Loud screams of pain and agony echoed in the air, two more thuds of arrows finding their targets could be barely heard. Then a series of metallic sounds became the most hearable. Plautis saw the Penitus Oculatus trying to swing at two dark shadows, pushing each other in the process.

Meanwhile, some others started killing.

'It was the Empire that killed her! I know it! They killed her so they can blame it on the Stormcloaks!'

'Shut up, you beast! Why would Imperial kill their own? It was the Stormcloaks that did this!'

'How dare you!'

Plautis tried to move, searched the courtyard to see if Salonia was still there, but he did not see her. He got pushed aside by a Penitus Oculatus and fell, and after a second he felt a hot spray covering his shoulder. He screamed, and there was little else he could do. What he could have done was stand up and flee, but it took too long even for that. A plated boot landed on his chest, and shattered his ribs.

'Get away from me, Nord! Get… Aaah!'

More death, more blood. The stench of it filled the courtyard.

There was a last thud of a body hitting the ground, and then silence. Plautis could hear only two voices, but the pain was so strong he barely understood what they were saying.

'Thank you, Veezara,' one said

'You're welcome, Brother,' replied the other.

'There are two wounded.'

'We can't save them, they know too much.'

'You take that one on the floor, I have something to discuss with the other one.'

After a couple of seconds Plautis saw a shadow over him. He wailed, but nothing came of it. A blade sank in his heart moments later.

Veezara stayed there and watched his Brother taking care of the last man. He was an old Nord, with a large dagger wound on his chest. Azrael was kneeling just in front of him, looking him in the eyes.

'Now you die,' he said, in his glacial and deep voice. 'You should have just fled. Taken care of yourself. No point in dying here, trying to take revenge on nothing.'

'Look who's talking… Someone who despises Talos… An Imperial dog…'

'I didn't do it for the Empire. Quite the contrary, in fact.'

The Skyforge blade pierced the man's heart. The Dunmer stood up, sighing.

'The Void awaits.'