(AN: I've finally gotten myself a frame for this story and know what will happen later on. We may not make 100 chapters, but we still have a ways to go. We're nearing the end of the Second Act now, but the Third Act is where everything falls to pot and Crixus' story starts to overlap with that of another character [you can probably guess who], which means the burden is on me to make their two stories mesh.)


The Silence Has Been Broken

Crixus left the Sanctuary that night. He did not elect to sleep, for he was still on edge from his visitation with the Night Mother and he knew that sleep would only invite 'the voices' as Cicero had told him. Everything he had seen and heard in the past week were much more than he thought he could handle and he needed to seek solitude. Or perhaps Solitude, for his thoughts went out to Elisif. He was still at odds with her, and perhaps if he did something to make up for it, he could enter back into her good graces. And, of course, he was still in service of the Empire.

Slowly his path went northward, the general direction of Solitude. But what he did not know was that, slowly yet surely, his path started to turn away to the east ever so slowly by degrees. By midday, he found himself halfway across the breadth of the hold of Whiterun. From afar he could see the mountains that formed the back-bone of Labyrinthian, where he had been but a few days ago. He looked out to the north-east, towards Winterhold, but could see nothing for the peaks of the high mountains. He wondered if Marcurio and Brelyna had been successful in their attempt to defeat Ancano. After what had happened, his belief that the Thalmor could not possibly have any meaningful infiltration in Imperial lands was shaken. They were obviously operating throughout Winterhold and, from what Torgrim said, at least in Markarth. He was still of the belief that there were no Thalmor in Solitude, or that their presence was not permitted. Even so, there was a nagging feeling that there was something else happening, though it gave him a headache to even think about it.

By and by, Crixus found himself in the foothills of said mountains, where the snows would gather on the days of heavy winter. Here there was an old Nord ruin with a pile of bones pulled up to the front. Once again curiosity got the best of Crixus and he tied his horse's reins to one of the buttresses of the structure and went on inside, summoning a candlelight spell to give him light on his way. The ruin went downward most of the way, but about a bow-shot from the entrance, Crixus stepped back and cupped his hands around the candlelight spell. To the left, he saw the flickering of fire in a chamber.

"Who goes there?" Crixus asked.

"It's alright, Rexus!" he heard a voice say from the other room. "It's him. The one we've been waiting for."

With that, the light grew and the sound of footsteps was heard coming close. Crixus' hand gripped the hilt of Gallus' Nightingale Blade, ready to draw in case this was a trap. But then the one called Rexus appeared and immediately Crixus relaxed his grip.

Rexus was dressed in the livery of an Imperial soldier. It would be damnably impossible to kill an Imperial legionnaire, quite more so for an ignorant Nord rebel; this, in Crixus' mind, meant that there was little doubt to the authenticity of this man's garb.

"This way," Rexus spoke. His voice was Nibenay, definitely one from the Bay. No one could fake that accent, especially a Nord.

Crixus followed the soldier named Rexus into a room where there was one other torch placed into an ancient niche on the wall. In one corner of the room there was a short, brown-haired Breton in fine clothes sitting on what appeared to be a makeshift chair.

"I assume you're the one I've been looking for?" he asked. "That bloody Sacrament seemed to work. You're here, aren't you?"

"Dark Brotherhood," Crixus muttered. He was bemused that his path had led him to this place. Had another power beyond his own guided his footsteps?

"Excellent," the Breton replied. "I hoped it was you. Though, to be sure, I took the necessary precautions. Rexus and I came to this damnable province on horseback, left our horses at the nearest town and walked most of the way here on foot. Rather troublesome, to say the least, but it was necessary. Can't let anyone else know I'm here, especially on a mission of such great importance. Oh, but where are my manors? Have a drink. I'm afraid all I have is water. Colovian brandy doesn't sit for traveling drink."

Crixus nodded silently.

"Now, down to business," the Breton began. "As I said, I took the necessary precautions. No one knew I was coming to Volunruud, therefore I wasn't expecting anyone else to be here but you. Now that you're here, I would like to arrange several contracts with your organization. I daresay, these would be the most important work your organization has had in, well...centuries."

"Go on," Crixus nodded.

"I have three targets in mind," the Breton continued. "As I'm sure your organization can appreciate the value of a secret, I cannot divulge any pertinent information. It's all written in the letter that Rexus will give you." At a command, the Imperial guard thrust a letter into Crixus' hands. Crixus did not open it immediately, but pocketed the letter in his belt and continued looking at the man whom he assumed was Motierre.

"You will find the targets, as well as the required manner of their deaths, to be quite...varied," the Breton continued. "I'm sure someone of your disposition will probably even find it enjoyable. But...that is not the end of the matter."

"Is that so?" Crixus asked.

"I am aware that these targets are very high profile," said the Breton. "And you would be a fool not to question my motives. Even a local idiot would be able to see that there may be certain...patterns in the selected members I've requested to kill. Therefore I think it's only fair that I divulge the real reason I'm in this shit-hole of a country in a detestable crypt talking to a cutthroat such as you." He leaned in, a look of keen, almost-frenzied, intent.

"These three targets," he whispered. "Open the door for the real target, the most important target. The Emperor."

Crixus' eyes visibly bulged, though he tried to keep his face as straight as possible.

"You're a traitor," Crixus murmured.

"A murderer with a sense of loyalty," the Breton grinned cheekily. "How inspired!"

"I know your name, Amaund Motierre!" Crixus interjected, anger rising in his voice. "I have friends in the Legion, and I can have them find you and kill you for this!"

"How do you know my name?" Motierre asked suspiciously. "I never told you."

"The Dark Brotherhood knows everything," Crixus replied. Obviously he could not say that an old Dunmer woman's corpse told him his contract's name.

"Then you should know," Motierre retorted. "That the only true treason would be against the Empire, not its head."

"Are you on skooma?" Crixus retorted angrily. "The very meaning of treason is to kill the Emperor!"

"And what has Titus Mede II done for the Empire?" Motierre asked. "In his time of peace, there was nothing but political strife in the Heartland and annexation in the Hinterlands of Valenwood and Black Marsh. Then war came and Hammerfell seceded, and if that were not enough, all the lives spent in the War were for nothing."

"Shut up!" Crixus roared. "Shut the fuck up, you stupid, stunted half-elf! You know nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing!" Crixus heard Rexus run towards him, but he did not care. His blood boiled so great that he did not care. Motierre's words stung him to the heart. How could their lives have been for nothing?

"It's alright, Rexus, stay calm," Motierre muttered, completely unaffected by Crixus' outrage. He then turned to Crixus. "The Dominion got what they wanted, even though they lost the final battle. Even now, the effects of that victory are felt throughout the Empire. High Rock is isolated from the Heartlands, they face threats from Hammerfell and the west. This civil war in Skyrim is because the Emperor bowed down to the demands of the High Elves!"

"We all make sacrifices," Crixus replied. "And-And great men have to make great sacrifices, sometimes, for the good of everyone. Do you really want to kill the Emperor for that?"

"This is what your organization represents!" Motierre chuckled. "Killing people. And here you get to do it for the best cause ever: the greater good of the Empire! I mean, you can't possibly imagine how much has transpired to bring us to this moment! It-It's like the very stars have aligned to bring this meeting together after so much planning and preparation and maneuvering!"

"You're mad!" Crixus sneered.

"Wrong!" Motierre insisted. "I am more sane than anyone in the Empire! I see a way of saving the Empire, and I am the only one with the stones to take it! If you truly cared about the Empire, you would want this as well." He gestured to Rexus, who thrust an amulet into Crixus' hands.

"If you choose to see reason," Motierre continued. "Then give the letter and this amulet to your superior. The amulet is very valuable, and I'll wager it will cover all the expenses for this little enterprise; you know what the letter contains."

Crixus took the amulet and clenched it in his fist, raising with the same hand one threatening finger towards Amaund Motierre.

"I will take this," Crixus swore. "And I will give it to my friends, and they will hunt you down and gut you like the traitorous swine you are! And you will regret telling me your plans, you fucking idiot!"

With that, Crixus turned about and made his way swiftly out of the ruin and back up to his horse. Solitude could not be more than a day's ride away. If he forced himself and rode through the night, though coming fast upon them, he was certain to arrive there by morning. He could have Imperial troops sent to Volunruud as soon as tomorrow afternoon and have this rat arrested. He would not delay, not even for a moment; the Emperor's life was in danger.


"He's gone, now," Motierre spoke to the shadows.

From out of the room where the meeting with the Dark Brotherhood had taken place, a tall Altmer in the black-and-gilded robes of the Thalmor slowly walked out of the darkness, slowly clapping with his gloved hands.

"Well done, Motierre," he lauded.

"You think so?" Motierre asked in reply.

"Oh, yes, indeed," replied his host. "I particularly enjoyed your little quips about the greater good of the Empire." There was a low, measured laugh. "Especially considering that you have as much love and concern for the greater good of the Empire as I do."

"I have as much concern as anyone," Motierre stated sharply.

"As long as you profit from it, of course," the elf added.

"Can one honestly expect to go through life on altruism alone?" Motierre reasoned.

The elf chuckled. "And here I thought you worshiped Mara."

"A quick visit to the chapel and this will be forgiven me," Motierre insisted. "So what about yourself? Where do you fit in to all of this?"

"Our agreement did not entail the full disclosure of motives," the elf retorted calmly. "Therefore, I would ask for your silence in this matter...or perhaps I should pay the Elder Council another visit..."

"That won't be necessary," Motierre replied, hiding well his fear at that statement.

"As for this Dark Brotherhood assassin," the elf continued. "A murderer with a sense of loyalty. And powerful friends at that. I must keep a close eye on him."


(AN: A mercifully shorter chapter than before, but at least one gotten out in quicker succession than the others. Lots of interesting things happening here. But yes, here's a question: as for the writing of stories and the plots therefore, do you prefer, as my brother does, random "interesting" events that have absolutely no weight to anything happening in the story at all [a la The Wonderful Wizard of Oz] or everything that happens in the story must be necessary to the plot/character development in some way [similar to Chekhov's gun]?)