Dead Ringer, an elder scroll series fanfic

Disclaimer:I don't own anything related to the Elder scrolls and make no profit off this work.

Dead Ringer

By: Mage-Alia (Auraion)

A woman wakes in oblivion. No past. No future. No soul.

Coldharbor is filled with screams and tormented souls and one more husk sitting in the shadows is hardly something to be remarked upon. At least... in the beginning.

There's no sense of time. The world is grey and the shambling remnants alternate between violent and docile, but life... life always finds a way. There's something in her eye, a hint of another future that reaches out and when Lyris passes her cell, it makes her...

stop...

"You look a bit more lively than the others." The she-giant exclaims as she drags her out of the tiny room she's made her own. "I need your help. We're staging a jailbreak."

The prophet promises to get her soul back, but She's not sure if they realize that she doesn't miss it.

A/N: So it's my old headcannon that all my elder scrolls characters are the same person. I've called all my characters the same thing since I first played oblivion and as I learned more about the lore I kinda just found myself subconsciously slotting it into one giant story, starting with a soul shriven woman in a dark corner of cold harbor.

One of my favourite parts of ESO was the Dark Brotherhood questline. Mostly because it gave you a guaranteed one shot kill against humanoids, but it jumped out at me because it also got referenced down the line that I was a silencer and that was kinda neat.

But it got me thinking.

What if malag bolg did something not unlike with the vampires to the shriven. What if a side effect of having no soul meant that their body was frozen to a point in time. Imagine they live through all the major events of Tamriel and what kind of new... being that would grow to fill the void...? XD

This is just a snippit from the Dark brotherhood of Skyrim. But I might end up exploring other stories later.

(also, if anyone has read Guards Guards, here's the other side of the Assassin's inspiration XD)

-xx-

Taking the contract is like donning an old cloak. One she'd put down somewhere, only to be surprised when she found it miles away years later. Honestly it had been years since she'd last heard the call. Her offerings to her mother and father found their way to them without the need for guidance. However this had been different.

She'd heard the voice on the wind. A weak whisper that she recalled her mothers faint tones. It hadn't spoken to her since Bravil, even if she'd gone on as normal.

But it meant that this contractor. The little Arentino boy. Was going to do something special.

She donned a black robe that dated back to the earliest days of the brotherhood and stood in this hall while the boy vented his spleen. The request was childish. But she took the contract without even discussing payment. And honestly. For an assassin of her skill, this kind of contract was a milk run. Even with the forewarning that came with such an obvious resentment.

She'd heard about it in a tavern before the Night Mother had whispered to her.

Still. Grelod the Kind died in her sleep. Blissfully unaware of her departure from the mortal coil, and like the wraith she was the Ex-listener slipped away into the night. The reward for her effort was as bland as the task itself, but she accepted it in silence.

She climbed to the roof after, and lingered under the eaves as she watched the boy go about the rest of his day and ultimately agree to return to the orphanage.

Her biggest question though...

Where was the brotherhood?

She'd seen hide nor hair of them. Surely even if they'd not heard the night mother they'd have heard the rumors. She had.

The robes were changed once more, going back into her collection before she donned her old leathers and ventured out into the night. The dark blue and black of the ancient brotherhood garb was different enough that few picked it from the more traditional red variant. It also helped disguise her from the quicker thinking enemies who would attack a red uniform on sight.

She didn't anticipate meeting the clown though.

-xx-

She got a terrible feeling that something was trying to latch onto her when she stumbled across the festive stranger on the road, he wailed about the cart and his mother and begged for help.

But she'd stared at the crate and then at the man who was seemingly oblivious to her expression.

He noticed quickly when she climbed into the bed of the wagon and shrieked in rage when she pried the crate open to reveal a reliquary that she'd seen once before.

The Night Mother whispered to her as she stared at the coffin in mute horror.

It was no secret that Bravil had fallen and Arqwen had been well meaning when she'd broken the seal that had preserved the body. But it was just a body. The real spirit sat beside Sithis.

But with so few totems these days... possibly...

She leaned back in time to dodge a stab as Cissero attacked her. Deft hands had him knocked out and bound loosely in a blanket as she sat beside him on the wagon's bench. Having secured the crate once more.

"Uggh." She grouched and tugged at her hair before swinging off the cart and venturing toward the farm nearest.

The clown's wheel had broken. She could fix it easily enough but she'd need tools and material. The farmer was already creeped out by the prancing loon but commiserated with her when she explained that he was a cousin that missed his arrival date and she'd been sent to look for him. He was simple and his mother was his only family for far to long. Cicero likely would resent the tale, but she'd seen enough fucked up assassins in her time not to... well... care.

She got the wheel fixed, made sure the clown was still unconscious, returned the borrowed tools to the drastically more mellow farmer and took the reins. The night mother, endlessly amused, poked her (for lack of a better word) into moving south.

They traveled well into the next day before Cicero woke, all fire and outrage and complaints about the cocoon she wrapped him in until they pulled into a secluded grove behind the cemetery of Falkreath.

He went dead silent when he saw the Black Door.

There was a glimmer of something wickedly intelligent in his eyes as she swung off the cart and approached. The door uttered its question, but no Black Door would deny her entrance, passphrase or not. He wasn't about to leave his cargo behind to follow her though and set about grabbing it down.

She merely left the door open behind her and slunk into the shadows.

-xx-

So naturally the people of the sanctuary were baffled and annoyed by the sudden clowning they underwent.

"How did you even get in here?!" The fuming blonde nord woman all but yelled when she saw the coffin was revealed to be Astrid. The leader of the sanctuary and possibly the leader of the remnants of the Brotherhood. Cicero jigged in the main hall.

"Why our sister let me in!" He announced obtusely and eyes went suspiciously to the women. "Cicero was stuck! Stuck on the road with dear sweet mother and no one would help when along came an 'Assassin in Blue'. She knew mother, saw her even through the box. Why-" he froze, suddenly thinking something that hadn't struck him before, "-it was like she heard mother..."

He went still and stared at the casket.

The others didn't care though.

She stayed hidden and just watched as an aggravated Astrid railed against his presence, but Cicero pensively took it all in stride and refused to be moved. His "sister" had brought him here and here he'd stay.

Half of them felt threatened by the fact this "assassin in blue" might be in the sanctuary with them. The other half where too distracted by the clown to notice. Astrid herself muttered about a contract they didn't perform and she was attempting to track the culprit to little avail.

The boy's description of a woman in black robes had rattled Astrid and made Cicero laugh in glee. He was milking her frustration for all it was worth.

If it was normal times She would have just left them to their business. After all, she hadn't been an active member of the brotherhood in centuries now. But seeing how this sanctuary refused to believe...

In a world where gods could be tangible forces... why shouldn't they believe? But it supposed that the sanctuary, being isolated and alone. They'd survived the purge simply by being too far away to care about. She hemmed and hawwed over introducing herself until she said screw it and went to sit in the small chapel where the Night Mother's casket now stood. She rested against it, staring through the stained glass like she'd seen Teranous do all those years ago.

Cicero lit up in glee when he found her lurking in the shadows.

"Listener!" He gasped reverently. And she had to resist smiling at it all.

"Little cousin." She greeted mildly. "How would you like to stretch your legs for a time?" He perked up then deflated.

"Cicero is mothers caretaker." He explains mournfully. "He must keep her body safe and sound."

"Mother will keep for a time." She tells him placidly. "A contract has been made, a soul is owed to father, I could do it myself as I have always done, or I could send the faithful..." she turned partly to show him a gimlet eye.

'You are faithful.' It said. 'They are not.'

She reached into the atherium and pulled out a blade... well, not just any blade. No pale imitation like the ones handed around now. A tool of faith. Cicero's eyes had widened to dinner plates of quivering glee.

"Your target is within a cave system known as the smugglers den, I will teleport you to the entrance. While the only soul that matters is that of the contract you may offer others to father as you see fit. It matters not. Though I challenge you to do so unseen and leave well before their overseers arrival. He is due within two hours." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Do you agree to take the contract?"

He nodded his head so fast his jiggling hat fell off his head and she smirked in amusement as the portal whisked him away.

The other members of the brotherhood noticed the quiet.

They lingered outside the door and muttered to themselves before the door finally opened an hour into the mission and in came the most curious of the entire sanctuary. Babette. The little girl was a sad case of a life taken to early. A vampire made of a child, and one who had been around since the Septim dynasty's peaceful reign.

She was fast to notice the humming portal tucked in the corner and the dark shadow leaning against the coffin.

"Who are you?!" She questioned "and where did Cicero go?", quickly put on the defensive until the Listener turned around to regard her. Her eye patch was off and her hidden eye glowed with father's baleful light.

"Cicero was given a contract." She intoned in the grave tones her first silencer had used on others. A deliberate calm that was intimidating as all getout for most. "He will return shortly. Given how... faithful he has been, Father decided to give him a gift. He will return when he's finished." She nodded to the portal and the vampire stood down... just slightly confused.

Her senses told her she stared at nothing. They also screamed wolf. But worse they felt the weight of a stare that told her she did not matter.

It was big and it was humbling and it could tear her apart without a care if it was for something greater, vampire or no.

The child turned and left.

-xx-

When Cicero returned he was happy. Immensely so. He danced and sang and jigged before the nightmother and through the halls.

It creeped Astrid out.

When he opened the coffin to care for the night mother's body he hummed as he worked, chattering to her as he told her all about his contract and the glee he felt at being able to work again. The air to the nightmother herself was indulgent. She had received a sudden glut of worship that she'd been slowly starved of for years in a single day. It wasn't enough to bring her to full strength, not even close. But it was enough to give her a jumpstart ... so to speak.

She watched all this from the chair that Cicero had moved to the chapel, it was a plain highbacked thing he'd painted himself. She'd placed it to the side of the window in the chapel where she was not quite visible from the door and had been content to sit whenever she was in the sanctuary. The waystones still allowed her to come and go as she pleased, so she could be on the other side of Skyrim in the morning and here in the night.

(It drove Astrid mad that she still couldn't track the killer that took the Arentino contract.)

Soon though, Babette sought her out. She had some red in her eyes and there was a storm outside that meant her usual targets weren't available to eat. But she knew for a fact that someone in the sanctuary could make portals.

She came upon the sight of her seated in her black chair with Cicero rolled into a blanket at her feet, humming to himself as he scratched something into a book.

The black robed woman took one look at her and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, it was a brittle edge of darkness. Her baleful eye glimmered in amusement and Babette almost took a step back.

"There is a contract available... assassin." It was insultingly doubtful, like she doubted she was really a sister. Cicero perked up at the word contract.

"Ohhhhh send me! Send me! Contracts as ever so much fun!" He almost dropped his quill. She laughed.

"No, not today, a new supplicant stands waiting, an offering must be made. Good assassins share their love for father with their brothers and sisters." The clown pouted and he glared over his shoulder at Babette briefly before hunkering back down in his blanket roll with his book.

"Well then? Will you take the contract?"

The little vampire agreed.

She was given a blade of woe and told that her target must be killed by it. Told that she was challenged to not be seen, to not be there when the people in charge arrived and to do so within a time limit.

The old little girl left and when she returned she was bloodied, sore and stressed. But she was also full and just a little bit smug. She had killed half the people in the mine, but she'd managed to achieve her objective, within the time limit and unseen.

Cicero managed to be jealous for all of ten minutes until he reluctantly congratulated her and called dibs on the next contract.

Babette herself was oddly pleased with her work. Before she'd been a killer yes. But it was more due to need than work. Astrid didn't much care how people died. Just so long as they died. But the challenge had been oddly satisfying and very different to her usual trap and bait method of feeding.

In the following weeks Babette and Cicero would snark at each other, like actual siblings might. But they were a lot more pious than they'd ever been before.

-xx-

Astrids husband Arnbjorn patrols the halls restlessly.

He can smell another werewolf in the den of killers.

He knows it can't be his fellow assassins. None of them have the curse. It means that there is a stranger in their home. His home.

It makes him more ill tempered than usual when he finally notices the scent on Babette.

"Why do you smell of dog?!" He growls and the little vampire glares at him around her book.

"Because you shed everywhere?" She sasses back, unperturbed.

"No. That smells like me. I can smell a bitch around here. She's not part of any pack of mine." The Babette of a few weeks ago might have played up her childish nature. Might have sat bold faced and lied.

But the Babette of now, the little girl that was finally receiving guidance, for the first time since she'd left her sire, she just lowered her book to her lap and stared.

"If you must know, the woman in the black robe is also a werewolf. But one much older than you." He jerks in surprise. His wife constantly complains about the one said to have stolen their contract and that Babette knew them...

"Where is she?" He hears himself ask. Babette shakes her head.

"Nuh, not telling. It's more fun watching Astrid running around in circles." She's unrepentant and gleeful.

The werewolf leaves, grumbling and snorting and decides to leave it alone when he realizes that the other wolf has left his main habitation areas alone.

It's a decision that lasts for all of a week before he winds up in the chapel. It's not a room he's spent much time in previously. He'd a devout of Hercine after all. But it's the one place both Babette and the Clown vanish too for hours on end and he's honestly disappointed in himself that it's taken this long to notice.

It's quiet when he shows up. Neither Babette nor Cicero are present, but there is a woman.

An assassin in blue.

Her red hair is braided tightly and one eye is covered by an eyepatch. She sings under her breath as her hands work, steady and methodical to preserve the body that has been stored within the coffin the clown brought.

"... young children playing in the yard...

Mother did you not have six?

No my child, I only have five..."

It sounds like a nursery rhyme. That just makes the unease he feels even worse.

But there's no mistaking that this woman is a wolf. She feels old. Ancient in comparison to himself. She wears her human skin like a disguise that's not quite good enough to hide the beast within. He ends up waiting as she finishes her song, placing the corpse carefully back into it's reliquary.

"... no my child. Of children I have none." She murmurs as she closes the door and seals it shut, finally turning her attention to him. That attention is like looking at a dragon. They don't fear, because they know they are more powerful. On any human he'd call the expression foolish and dissuade them of the notion. But she's very clearly... not.

"I did wonder when you would come to see me." She stands at ease. "I have made no secret of my presence here. Is Astrid still searching around Dawnstar?" He grimaces. It's not like he'd mentioned it to his wife either. She's been coming and going and honesty he'd begun to feel ignored.

The woman just hummed. Amusement present at a stretch, but not prominent enough to be antagonistic.

"Where's the other two?" He asks. He knows that the vampire and the clown aren't there. He also knows that they didn't leave via the front door. She nods to a corner where there's a ripple in the air.

"Cicero and Babette are currently competing to complete their assignments." She says, pleasantly bland. "They will return when they have completed their contracts."

"Neither have asked Nazir for work." He pointed out.

Her smile is faint. But he can feel the barbed wire behind it.

"There is always work for those who listen to their mothers. Our dread father required a sacrifice and both of my Assassins relish the opportunity to make their offerings."

There's nothing but calm certainty.

However violent he'd imagined this conversation being, this wasn't it.

The alpha in Nord skin just nods.

She's old enough that violence is an option that she rarely needs to take. Simply because she knows many other ways to get what she wants.

Honestly, he doesn't even want to fight her. He was ready to defend his territory but it's like the previous owner had returned after he'd been squatting there instead.

He folds. Going silently.

He doesn't tell Astrid either.

Babette is right.

It is kinda funny.

-x-

By now others have noticed the divide that's forming between the assassins. Cicero was crazy, Babette hunted down her food alone all the time. But the werewolf going from territorial to quiet is obvious.

The black robed woman standing behind Nazir wasn't there a moment ago.

"AAAGGG!"

Startled in spite of himself he leaps from his chair and the woman gives a deep throaty chuckle in response.

"My, my. You seem out of practice in the art of detection." She oozes amusement before she takes a step back, all but melting into shadow as a head sticks around the corner of the common area.

"What was that noise? Didn't expect it to be you Nazir." The newcomer says cooly, eyes scanning the room for signs of intrusion. He's still standing, his breathing a little ragged, staring at the corner where his chair had been propped.

In the time he looked away the deep shadow has vanished and his chair is just a chair with just enough space for someone to stand behind.

He lets out a breath and kicks it so it's flat to the wall and sits down again.

"It was nothing Gabriella." He says as evenly as he can. "Nothing at all."

She looks at him like she doesn't believe him, with the cruel twist of amusement that anything could startle him at all. He's lost face but for once he doesn't care. She leaves and he peers around once more, eyes scanning the room as fast as he dares, examining the shadows.

And there.

The woman radiates approval as she stares down from where she's seated on the balcony railing above. Not even trying to hide, but difficult to pick out from the shadows none the less.

"You're out of practice, but that can always be fixed with work." She is just plain amused and he has to war with his own feelings, feeling like a child under her stare in the worst ways. She just shifts and drops a book to the table below her perch.

Its a black old thing with uneven pages and it's saturated in blood and murder.

"The Book of Deaths." She confirms quietly. "The small contracts any can do are contained within. Normally one would be gifted to every sanctuary, and an agent assigned to deal with rewards. You have been performing it's work alone. Commendable but unnecessary now. You should never have been burdened with the sole domain of administration."

He's out of his chair and over to it in a flash, and they're all there. All the contracts he knew of and some he didn't. Even as he watches, a new one oozes from the page before him to fill it. The text glistening like blood.

"What do you want out of this." He asks. At first wary and then suspicious. He begins to think as the surprise of her appearance wears off and he looks. Properly "looks" at her.

Only her mouth is visible under her hood at this angle, but she's smiling. Sinister and approving.

It makes him feel... strange to see it.

"Walk with me."

She invites, standing from the railing and waving a hand. Before her a portal blooms and she waits patiently until he joins her in the gallery before stepping through.

They step out into the gloom of a ruin...

No. Not a ruin.

A tomb.

It's silent and still but for the murmur of voices coming down a tunnel, they're close to the surface and there are occasional shafts of natural light lancing the gloom, inviting even deeper shadows at the edges.

She walks silently along the tunnel, Nazir following her warily, clinging to the shadows as she approaches two men, vanishing in one step and appearing behind them in the other just like she'd done to him.

"Ah. Amand Motierre. I remember Mirabelle. She was a loving soul. She died in service to our dread father and I considered her a dear friend. It only makes sense that her family would still remember the old ways. Though to see one so far away from Chorral..." The bigger of the two men bristled as he went for an axe while the other first processed his shock and then the words as she rounded them to stand closer to the light, deepening the shadows of her hood.

It was a well practiced method of intimidation.

Her voice never wavered from the low murmur, but she didn't need to raise her voice, she didn't need to shout. Respect was afforded immediately and without asking. The man, Motierre, knew he had summoned the genuine article as he let the knife drop to the ritual circle at his feet.

"So it really worked. A speaker really came!" He said it like he didn't quite believe it still but he was happy with the result all the same.

The speaker? Hummed in a noncommittal tone.

"The night mother heard your prayers. What will you offer her in exchange for her children's service?" She asked and he drew himself up.

"I have a twenty thousand gold pieces. And I want the Dark Brotherhood to kill the emperor."

Nazir bit back a curse in surprise, the hiss he made going unnoticed in the wake of the announcement as the Speaker began to laugh.

It wasn't a nice laugh.

It was laced with disdain and wicked amusement that made the two men in front of her shiver with dread as she leaned over and plucked a jeweled amulet from the nobleman's hands.

"It will be done."

She turned and without any further words, left the room leaving the two supplicants to stare into the dark after her, not even trying to hide how shaken they were. Not that Nazir was doing any better himself, he barely had the presence of mind to move after her as she went back to the point they'd arrived and recalled the portal.

The warm light of the Sanctuary felt alien in comparison to the natural gloom of the tomb and he didn't dare look at the shadow in his peripheral as he moved to stand dumbstruck by his chair.

"What's gotten into you?" Faustus Krex eyed him warily from where he was paging through The Book. "Yeh Look like someone just told you you're getting married to a hagraven."

The sheer offense he felt over that statement burned through his daze and he glared at the Mage.

"First of all, that's disgusting. Second, you don't know jack." He grumbled and the old man just snorted.

"I'm taking this one." He grabbed a nearby quill and put down his name on one of the contracts. Without another word he wondered off down the hall and out of sight leaving Nazir alone once more wondering how he was going to explain this to Astrid.

It wasn't long before Arnbjorn walked into the room, scented the air and moved over to clap his shoulder in a rough display of solidarity before going to drop a package into the larder at the back of the room and leaving again.

—-x—-

Astrid has been going insane.

Her sanctuary had been alone in Skyrim for so long that she wasn't sure there was even a brotherhood anymore. When news stopped coming from the other provinces of Tamriel she hadn't questioned it, just started to listen a little closer when she heard rumors of the black sacrament being performed.

And somehow she'd made it work. In spite of the silence of their brothers and sisters they still managed to get the job done and it had been going well. Sure they weren't anywhere near full strength, but they were comfortable and best of all, alive.

Their survival in the face of an order that had abandoned them had become a point of pride.

And then the Orphanage incident happened.

It wasn't a rare thing to hear about a death after the sacrament had been performed, it was the whole point of it really. Her assassins had been out to take the contract and had arrived in Windhelm only to learn that the supplicant had already been informed of his target's demise and paid the price.

So naturally they'd had to investigate.

There were many reasons why someone would take the mark. Upon closer inspection, Grelod the Kind was the furthest anyone could be from their name. She had been a cantankerous individual with little patience for the children she had in her care and a mean streak besides. Honestly she'd been well on her way to being murdered even without the sacrament.

But it had been performed. And that meant that she was supposed to be one of theirs.

It burned at Astrid's professional pride.

But nothing about this contract had been okay.

The boy had told witnesses that the one who came wore black robes and didn't say a word, just stared at him as he'd made the request and left before returning a day or so later for the payment.

Back before their sanctuary had been abandoned they'd had a speaker. He'd wondered between the Dawnstar and Falkreath sanctuaries, seemingly at random carrying news of contracts. He'd worn black robes too, but only when he was in the sanctuary or on official business. One day he'd simply stopped coming and not long after the Dawnstar Sanctuary went dark.

Astrid resented the man for leaving them there.

Alone.

Pushing down her thoughts and comparison's, the nord woman had noted just how Grelod the kind had died, and if she wasn't so stung by it she'd have been impressed by the mastery displayed. The hag had died in her bed, so quietly that it had taken the other caretaker of the orphanage a full day to notice and finally have her brought to the house of the dead.

That might have been the end of it, however when the priest had started to prepare the body for burial, he'd discovered that her death hadn't been natural at all.

She'd been murdered in a building full of people with no one the wiser.

The city guards had put two and two together with the rumor of the sacrament and decided it to be her peoples handy work.

But it wasn't. IT HADN'T BEEN THEM!

That burned her more than the stolen contract. On one hand the request had been filled. But they'd come out with a sudden, alarming and PUBLIC endorsement for competence that had made part of her fill with warm pride and equal measures of stomach twisting icy dread.

And then the clown had turned up.

She'd been back for less than a day from her self imposed mission to hunt the assassin, when the Clown had dragged the giant box into the sanctuary. He was unfailingly cheerful in the way that grated on her nerves. A proper jingling fool with a story of a sister that showed him the way.

A strange black robed woman and a new blue clad sister in the same month?

Astrid didn't believe in coincidences.

She hunted through the sanctuary for the rest of the day, but the woman was nowhere to be found.

—x—

The Night Mother was in her Sanctuary.

Well, at least if the Clown was to be believed.

The jingling fool made no secret about his mother. He said outright that he had been traveling from Sanctuary to Sanctuary for god knows how long looking for someone or something amid the remnants of the brotherhood. Whatever he'd searched for, it seemed he'd found it here and Astrid was infuriated with him, because this was her sanctuary, her home.

And he wouldn't leave!

He'd set up camp in the chapel, tending a corpse.

Some days he would wonder around making noise and others he'd be eerily quiet. Astrid wasn't even sure what was worse. It would have been bad enough on its own. But then Babette started vanishing for hours at a time.

Astrid found herself split between prowling the corridors and venturing out into the cities in search of her very absent prey. Prey that mocked her with sightings and disappearances. The woman in black robes had been in and out of towns like a ghost and worse, where she investigated there were signs of the black sacrament being performed. She'd had no whisper or rumor of those but the contracts were assigned and done by her people.

The sister in blue was a more illusive ghost. She seemed to vanish into the night more effectively than the rumored speaker, the problem was that she was all over the place. Entire enclaves and camps of bandits were slaughtered overnight, she'd been seen on the thousand steps by delivery people taking things to the greybeards and then later that same day there had been claims of her wondering the back streets of Solitude.

Astrid just couldn't keep up.

Nothing was going right, nothing had gone right for a long time and she was tired.

"Maybe you should go speak to the listener." Her husband murmured one evening as she rolled into bed, exhausted after riding all day, having fought against Shadowmere, the horse summon being particularly stubborn about not finding her prey and trying to go home.

"Hng." She just made noise, more concerned with finding sleep than listening to Arnbjorn.

She drifted off before he could say anything else and by morning she didn't remember him talking.

—x—

There was an old saying that the Brotherhood and Emperors went hand in hand. While not responsible for all of the varied and inglorious deaths, there were enough contracts in the Brotherhood's memory for it to be considered a trend.

Although when they did have a hand in shaping the face of Tamriel, it was usually because the one on the Throne wasn't meant to be there in the first place, that and the current state of the empire left much to be desired.

Even so, they had the unenviable task of not only killing the Emperor, but actually drawing him to a place they could reach to do the deed. Skyrim and its borders were under heavy scrutiny from the other nations of Tamriel and it was proof enough already that they couldn't easily leave that she of all people had been found trying to cross the border, then again. She'd been captured by Imperials.

Imperials!

It was insult to injury given that this was the third time they'd done it. It was by far the most familiar method they had for getting her attention and it had her wondering if there wasn't a secret message somewhere written by Tiber telling them to start arresting people by her description when something threatened the world with ending.

Either way, while the theoretical order was in place, she wasn't getting out of Skyrim.

So the Emperor, would have to come to them.

And that, was the tricky part.

She sighed and dragged herself in the direction of Solitude, she'd start her research there.

—x—

Astrid had been in the sanctuary for more than three days when Nazir finally decided to approach her. The amulet and the details of the contract penned by the Listener held tightly in his hands. She'd assured him that the amulet would be more than enough to cover the costs of the assassination. It mostly just came down to weather or not Astrid would take it.

The nord woman had grown more distant in the past few months and they were all starting to feel quite a lot of concern regarding her mental state.

"Astrid?" The blonde was leaned against her small war table and if you looked close enough one could tell that she was exhausted. She blinked hard and looked up at him, taking a moment to process his presence before abruptly straightening.

"Nazir, what do you need?" He offered up the missive.

"We had word of a contract, it was investigated and found to be genuine, but the target." He noted the moment she reached the line with the contracts name because her eyes went so wide that they might have fallen out of her head.

"The Emperor!" She stared into the distance and then just as abruptly, began to laugh.

It was an ugly, unhinged thing that echoed off the walls creepily and Nazir had to repress the urge to shudder.

"You know what." Astrid slammed her hand down on her desk, visibly trying not to giggle manically but failing somewhat as the eerie sounds stuttered around the words. "How about we get our sister in blue to perform the contract." She glared daggers at the wall. "She hasn't been on any contracts as far as I know. If they're even real, maybe it's time to put them to work."

Nazir took her continued muttering as a dismissal and backed out of the room, his own countenance carefully blank.

She'd lost it.

Utterly lost it.

The Redguard assassin turned once he was out of sight and made a beeline for the chapel. This wasn't going to end well for any of them.

—x—

There had been much to consider when they'd set out to start the mission of a lifetime. Nazir had sent the amulet onward to the theives guild to be appraised and the argonian assassin sent to do the deed had returned with a story of it being a genuine amulet of a member of the Emperors Elder Council. Its price was immeasurable and the guildmaster had all but written them a blank check in exchange.

Astrid had lit up greedily at the amount and seemed a little more convinced as to the legitimacy of the contract. She proceeded to show exactly why she was the leader of the Sanctuary as she went about her scheming. It certainly distracted her from her previous failure to find the mystery assassins.

With her attention focused on working once more the other members of the brotherhood appeared to relax as well and the mood in the hideout was positive.

The assassin in blue left them to their planning and went about doing her own work, there was an entire crisis involving dragons and a civil war that were still preventing her from leaving the region after all.

It's at least a week before she returns and finds Nazir waiting for her with a letter of his own. One from Astrid.

She hadn't even tried to find her this time, handing the details to Nazir and she merely looks amused as she reads it.

'One hopes you have something nice to wear, you're going to a wedding.'

The contract is for a woman known as Vittoria Vici and she is related to the emperor.

Due to be married in a few days, it's the talk of solitude. The woman herself isn't that important, she'd a noble and she works for the East Empire Trading Company, but aside from being educated she's done little else to stand out. It's clear that her connections are where she'd truly shine. By comparison her fiancé is almost painfully bland but if she were to die...

Well, there was a distinct chance that the Emperor himself would come to attend her funeral.

And that, is precisely the effect they wanted to have.

In spite of how antagonistic they've been to each other, the Listener can't help but admire the mind behind the plan. Astrid may resist the reality of her presence, but there's no denying the skill and cunning that she displayed in keeping this place running and safe through one of the darkest times in their history.

She's humming to herself as she takes the details and goes to sit in the chapel once more.

—x—

Assassination is an art.

Death was merely an end result when faced with a contract. As long as the target soul ended in the hands of the dread father there was no need to worry about how it got there.

But for an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood there had always been expectations of excellence. They were the boggeymen that lurked in the night, the ghosts that haunted peoples nightmares. The silent and swift death that for most, wasn't just a knife in the back. To be targeted by members of the Dark Brotherhood was to be dead before the blade even fell.

It was something many in the sanctuary had forgotten in this dark age.

Even she had started as a mere knife. A tool with no special abilities, she'd stalked her enemies with her family, relying on a relentless pursuit rather than actual finesse. Her earliest memories of the Brotherhood had been overshadowed by the fight to retrieve the Amulet of Kings the first time and stop Malog Balg.

It wasn't until she'd been caught in the imperial province the second time that she'd had the opportunity to really appreciate the value of a good accident. Her third initiation into the brotherhood had seen her relying far more on carefully crafted accidents and stealth as she'd stalked her targets.

There was an old memory, in fact, that gave her an idea on how to go about her scheduled act of murder.

Once, in a city called Bruma, she'd been forced to assassinate a man in his own home. Paranoid to a fault, he'd been devilishly hard to sneak up on and she'd despaired not managing to kill him without being seen. She'd sat in the corner of his house just watching him until she'd finally taken note of the decor.

And the oversized taxidermy head above his armchair.

Her pulse had quickened and she'd been swift to scale the stairs, easily finding the fastening that held the ornament in place and with a twist of a wrist, all the effort and the waiting had ended. The crash of it had alerted the neighbors, who then alerted the guard, but no one had been able to pin the death on anything but an accident...

She ghosted up onto the walls.

The shadow of the railing was thin on the ground but she sank into it and waited. Below the ceremony commenced and the couple said their vows before heading to the balcony above to make their speeches. Their guards had followed them but it posed little threat as she reached up to the back of the looming stone gargoyle and with a flick of a wrist...

She couldn't see the carnage, but there was a grind of stone as the gargoyle gave way and dropped, a sharp crack of stone breaking and the unmistakable wet splat of someone's skull being caved in by a heavy object.

There was a long moment of silence...

...then someone in the crowd screamed.

A commotion went up around the courtyard, the groom was bellowing, the guards were closing in as some called accident and some tried to claim murder. The assassin in disguise slid around the wall out of sight until she could see the grizzly scene and confirmed that the gargoyle had hit the bride in white before slipping through a door and away, leaving chaos and unease in her wake.

She shed her party outfit and donned her blue leathers in a side chamber of the chapel of the divine's and rather than risk being seen she used her waypoints to teleport away.

In her easy escape she unintentionally avoided the other brotherhood assassin that came looking for her not a moment later.

—x—

The Listener didn't appear in the sanctuary for nearly a week after Veezara had returned with news of the job's completion. The argonian had been as baffled as any of the guests at how the job had gone down. One minute she'd been waiting for a sign of the assassins presence and the next Vittoria Vici was dead. She'd picked up the sister in blue's trail briefly, only to lose it in a dead end room off the chapel of the divines.

Astrid had ground her teeth but refrained from saying anything as she'd given orders to keep an eye on the imperials and everyone who wasn't already aware of the plot were clued in on who their ultimate target was.

—x—

In the meantime while the assassins buzzed like a kicked hive, the listener didn't vanish, so much as she got caught up dealing with a Daedric prince. She honestly should have known better than to think it was safe enough to lay low in Whiterun. She had another home there, honestly she'd had to re purchase her own houses every now and then when she moved back into a region. The land had a way of remembering her even if the people didn't.

She even had a housecarl this time. Lydia had been resentful of serving her at first. Having expected to serve under the Jarl. But she was warming up to her, mostly because she still spent a great deal of her time in the keep.

Jarl Balgruf was one of those bastards who always seemed to know more than he was letting on. He wasn't a bad ruler by any means, but he'd got a twinkle in his eye when he'd seen her come back from fighting the dragon and offered her her old home. Her lone visible eye had stared him down until everyone watching the encounter had become thoroughly uncomfortable and she finally accepted the opportunity.

But like she'd said before.

She should have known better.

Because when fate or design saw her played on the field it drew attention.

And naturally it was a double edged sword as to what kind you got. Especially when it lead to waking up three days later with no memories after having gone on an accidental multidimensional bender with Sanguine.

At least the staff she got out of him wasn't enchanted to get everyone naked like the last time she'd done him a favor.

(She was still technically barred from the city of Leyawiin centuries later.)

And so while Astrid plotted and planned the Lone remaining Shriven of Coldharbour went about finding livestock and divorcing a Hagraven.

—x—

A few weeks later and it was confirmed, the Emperor was coming to Skyrim. They didn't even need to be told, the region was humming with rumors and speculation while the security force for the rulers protection detail had already moved into Dragonsbridge. A small crossroads settlement not a stones throw from Solitude.

That in itself was a significant concern. If the Dark Brotherhood stood as the death of Emperors, then the Penitus Oculatus was their counter.

For the Listener it brought back memories.

Given the dark nature of their work there was always someone to oppose them.

Though, it rarely mattered. One might hunt their order, but so long as a single brother or sister lived, faithful to their Dread Father, the only thing it truly stole from them was the structure. She was already proof enough that so long as one still lived they could rebuild it again.

The other members of the Falkreath sanctuary weren't so reassured. They plotted and planned their distractions and it was agreed that they would strike out preemptively. One Commander Maro, a man already proven to have a distinct dislike of their order, had been put in charge of the Emperor's safety during his coming visit. Astrid had decided that in order to put him off his game and provide a distraction that they would kill his Son.

It was late evening and their small faction sat in the chapel, listening as Nazir relayed the details of the assignment. Arnbjorn shifted restlessly against the wall he was holding up and Cicero was quiet, worrying a lip with his teeth, radiating distinct concern. Babette was eerily still as she contemplated the decision and the Listener leaned back in her small black throne, seemingly unconcerned by what she was hearing.

"Cicero may be dressed as a fool, yes, yes, but even poor Cicero thinks maybe Astrid is one also..." the clown spoke quietly, his pitch high as he pondered. While it was clear that the man was dancing mad, people often forgot that the Jester wasn't stupid. He'd survived the purge of the Bruma Sanctuary and made his way to the last sanctuary in Tamriel, the Night Mother in tow with little more than his knife and his wits.

And even he could guess that Commander Maro wouldn't react well at all.

Nazir's face twisted as he agreed, like he couldn't believe he'd had the same thoughts as the clown.

"Indeed, this will paint a rather large target on our backs. It would be imperative to keep this as quiet as possible and ensure that it doesn't link back to us." That meant witnesses. The boy they knew was a soldier. He stuck to the roads when he traveled, he practiced his blade work every day and he was diligent and prompt. Commander Maro was proud of his little soldier boy. So ideally any death he suffered would have to be very obviously not-a-murder, or his father would come down on them faster than one could blink.

As it turned out they managed to find such an opportunity, well, the sister in blue did.

Their target was given the task of traveling the holds ahead of the emperor's tour in order to assess the risks. It meant plenty of time between cities they normally would have taken advantage of, however instructions were clear. Not in the wild. They needed witnesses.

Gabriella, one of the Assassins oblivious to her presence and in enthusiastic agreement with Astrid, reported that his traveling schedule could be found easily if they broke into his fathers office, and since the trail could be picked up in Dragons bridge, it was as good a place as any to start.

She hadn't bothered. She simply waited until the boy reached Markarth.

Then she encouraged the Foresworn in the city to riot.

Gaius Maro was not the only imperial to die that day.

—x—

There was a tension underlying the air in the sanctuary when she returned.

She lurked in the shadows like a ghost watching the others shifting about restlessly. Something had happened, where was Babette? Where was Cicero?

It was Nazir that found her in the Chapel looking distinctly more wide eyed than usual. Her chair was overturned and the nightmother's reliquary bore evidence of blows. The redguard bustled up to her immediately as she entered, a small pile of familiar journals in his hands.

"Good, you're here. Maybe you can stop this madness." He shoved the tomes into her chest. "Astrid had Gabriella investigate Cicero's rooms and found his journals. She didn't like whatever she found in there and they confronted him, Cicero got defensive and attacked but he was injured and forced to flee. Babette is smoothing things over with the others but Arnbjorn was sent to finish him. I don't think he'd actually kill him, even at Astrid's order, but you need to find them, fast."

She opened the journal as she listened and it was apparent immediately why Astrid would feel so threatened by the tales within.

Cicero's story was one of sacrifice.

He'd been tasked with the care of the Nightmother, he'd given up his blade, his life, his sanity to protect her when the statues had been smashed and the sanctuaries pillaged or destroyed. Her corpse was the last literal trace of her on the face of Mundas and more than anything he'd loved his mother, he'd had to.

She hadn't always been the mouthpiece of their order, but she'd become an integral part of its faith.

He'd been hounded by enemy agents on his journey across Tamriel. Where ever he'd gone the Penitus Oculatus had followed and the Sanctuaries had burned. He'd been at the end of his rope when he'd reached the Dawnstar sanctuary only to find it empty. He'd been hopelessly enraged when his cart wheel had broken, a breath away from just taking his knife to the next person to approach him.

And then the entire tone of the Journal changed.

Because she had walked into his life.

It had been for him a moment of revelation to discover the thing he'd sought from the moment he'd put on the fools facade. A Listener.

The Listener.

She'd been everything he'd hoped and more. She'd Known the old ways, the old words, she'd heard the Mother and released him from his charge. He still had to care for the Nightmother, no amount of magic could stop her body deteriorating for long. But now he had an extra pair of hands to help, he could finally put down his tools and pick up his knife again and be himself.

But Astrid. Bloody Astrid.

She'd had no faith, she'd denied the mother's presence. She'd insulted and belittled his sacred charge. He'd wished more than once in his writings that she wasn't the one in charge of the sanctuary, that the listener could do it, or even Nazir, for all of his dislike he respected the administrator.

So yes, it was clear why Astrid would take his rambling as insult.

She closed the book and then her eyes, heaving an aggrieved sigh.

"I will be back shortly." She stashed the journals in her pack and started for the hall.

On the way out she passed Astrid's little study, she was leaned over the wartable, cursing and spitting. Across from her Gabriella looked worse for wear, though she hung onto the nord woman's every word.

They were plotting something, clearly, it was a rare thing when the blonde wasn't, but she didn't have time to stop and listen. She exited the Sanctuary and was about to teleport across Skyrim when she felt it...

"Oh? Ohhh...why hello there my old friend."

A pair of baleful red eyes shone in the gloom that surrounded the black pond beyond the door. A creature made of liquid shadow pulled itself from the font and came to a stop before her, its muzzle bumped into her chest, recognition alight in it gaze.

Shadowmere.

"Would you like to help me find our little cousin?"

The black steed nickered its agreement and she grinned to herself as she took to the saddle and stole away into the night.

—x—

Dawnstar was as far from Falkreath as one could get, set to the very northern coast of Skyrim it had been the furthest north any brotherhood member could roam. It had been long abandoned, its members all dying in a purge. She found Arnbjorn by the black door. He was bleeding from a stab wound and looking feral at his edges.

"Listener." He greeted, voice tight.

It was the work of a second to give him a healing potion and soon enough he was up, they stared at the door, the younger of the two much more apprehensive.

"I tried to get him to stand down but he wasn't listening. If Astrid hadn't-" he cut himself off and cursed, clearly torn over the topic. Astrid was his wife, and in spite of the current situation and her growing madness he did still love her. But there was also the growing pack bond that had established itself among their faction. It was clear he'd been alone for some time even among the brotherhood, but that had been changing, had changed.

"Go home." She ordered him. "Go home and tell Astrid that Cicero has been taken care of and the last you saw, the woman in black had handled it." He looked to the door then to her before giving a single nod and turning to leave, his form rippling as he hit the rocks on the shore.

The listener turned back to the Black door and pushed it open without a sound.

No door would bar her way, not now.

Inside was cold and lifeless. The corpses of long dead brothers and sisters lay reclaimed by the ice, entwined with the bones of their enemies. Scraps of a robe identified the last speaker, surrounded in a ring of bodies. He'd put up a fight before going to Sithis's side. Sanctuary guardians marched around them, their vigil eternal even when their charges had long since left the mortal coil.

Distantly she could hear Cicero muttering to himself. He was downright distraught by the tone of his voice and clearly feeling sorry for himself. He'd locked all the doors and hid away in the torture chamber, but hadn't managed to seal the door leading to the connecting caves. The frost troll wasn't a challenge, not really and soon she was sat on the steps of the torture chambers dais beside the miserable clown.

He vented, he hadn't truly been hurt by Astrid, but he'd clearly feared for his life when he'd run here. There was an artful splatter of Arnbjorn's blood that was masquerading as a wound and he'd made himself small as he talked, but in all honesty, the thought of killing him hadn't even crossed her mind. Father would disapprove. Cicero was no traitor, and as the highest order of Authority by default she hadn't given any orders to have him disposed of either.

The aggrieved sigh returned and she clapped him lightly on the arm, watching him tense before he recognized the touch as friendly.

"Stay here, Keeper." She instructed. "I'll bring Mother. Just give me a few days to make arrangements and deal with Astrid." There was a strong feeling of hate from the Jester at the sanctuary leaders name. Her grip became tight in warning before she let him go.

When she unbarred the doors and stepped back out into the sanctuary proper she found a Dark Guardian standing on the other side. It regarded her in stony silence before it gave one clattering nod and turned away.

She just watched it go.

The guardians were such protective little dears weren't they.

—x—

If the tension in the sanctuary had been high before it was nothing compared to now.

Astrid was still mad, but her demeanor had gone cold.

She had a plan.

It didn't take much to realize there was mischief afoot, but they couldn't rightly do anything as the eve of their biggest heist approached. The emperor was due to arrive any day and Astrid had tracked down the man who would be responsible for the banquet they'd throw in his Honor.

The Gourmet was an illusive chef that had written some of the best cook books around and spent much of his time refining techniques either new or old to become the best of the best.

He was also painfully shy.

To this day no more than a handful of people knew his identity.

It made him almost impossible to track down... but infinitely easy to impersonate.

Once again the Listener wasn't the only one to be dubious of such an obvious vector. Nazir was all but biting his nails at the idea that it would be a trap. Even if they didn't know what the Gourmet looked like the imperials wouldn't just let any old person make the Emperors food. It was like asking to get their charge killed.

"We need this to end, sooner rather than later..." she tilted her head, listening to something the others couldn't even imagine hearing. "... we will merely have to be prepared to spring the trap."

And be prepared for whomever their ultimate enemy would be.

—x—

She can feel an odd sense of wariness as she approaches the castle, disguised as a traveler.

She'd hunted down the Gourmet and the orc had died quietly in the basement of an inn somewhere along the northern road from Winterhold. She'd gone through his notes and journals rather extensively before preparing her disguise and using makeup to change her face. Any competent security detail would have a mage on hand to detect illusions.

She'd handed over the writ of transit that was her proof of being the Gourmet and was escorted right to the kitchens of the blue palace. The chefs were an excitable bunch who strained the extent of her disguise asking questions about this and that ingredient. She gave them a pointed look to prevent them writing things down on a number of occasions as she did her best to cook from memory. It turned out fine... maybe even more than fine from the way the tester lit up. With a new plate from the now approved batch of Pottage she'd performed a slight of hand to get the poison into the food and carried it out herself.

But the moment she saw the so called Emperor sitting at the head of the Jarl's table she knew that there was going to be a problem.

That wasn't her mark. Not even close. She set down the plate and immediately went to make herself scarce. The assassin was already at the door when the loud and annoying decoy choked and started to expire.

Guards poured into the hall stone faced and expectant as the other party guests shrieked in alarm and it was sheer skill that saw her reach the ramparts of the city wall, only to walk into the trap.

Commander Maro stood in the broken tower above her, gloating about a traitor in her order. One that had leaked their plans and enabled them to know her escape route. He was smug right up until she managed to break the ward holding her far enough to speak.

"I must commend your tenacity Commander." The listener shaded her face in the hood of the familiar old robe she'd pulled on in the move from the dining room to the walls. "But you must realize that we are both victims in the true mastermind's plan. We are naught but 'blades', going where our father wills it."

The Imperial snarled, both at the perceived slight and the reference to the Septim Dynasty Emperor's personal guards.

"After today there won't be a Brotherhood." He hit the stone of the tower with a fist. "We know where your sanctuary is, we've hunted your kind across Tamriel and finally we have you, the last of a dying cult. The traitor was kind enough to show us where to find them. This war of ours will be over before the sunrise."

He'd ordered her dead, the soldiers of the Penitus Occulatus advancing from multiple directions. But she hadn't been around for Centuries only to die here. Her grin was full of teeth as she met the commanders eye from the shadows of her hood.

"Oh, but Commander. There will always be assassins. As long as there are people to pray for another's death, there will always be a murderer to do it." She didn't let him think too hard on what she meant, instead she let her skin bulge and her face tear away, revealing the beast that lurked beneath her skin.

And that evening, in the broken tower she'd once stood upon to defeat the horrors of Blackreach, the wolves howled again and by the time she left through the door at the base of the cliff there were fewer threats to her order than before.

—x—

As a werewolf Arnjborn had always known he'd never be welcomed by polite society. He'd left his clan and struck out on his own, making many bad decision's before he'd finally landed in the path of the Dark Brotherhood.

Astrid had made it clear right from the beginning that she was the one in charge and at first he'd chomped at the bit, agitated by the woman who had the gaul to try and bring him into line, but over time it had become tolerance and eventually he fell in love. She was headstrong and wicked smart and all sorts of deadly...

But this was not that woman, not any more.

She was muttering to herself as she leaned over her map and stabbed into the marker for solitude with her belt knife.

"Don't you think it's time to go to bed?" He asked, already knowing what her answer would be, but asking anyway since he needed to hear it more than she did.

"No, no. I need to wait for confirmation of the kill." She uttered back and he left her with a sigh. She didn't even listen to him anymore, not really, and it was starting to wear at him. His first impulse was to go beat up a sparing dummy but his feet took him to the Chapel instead.

Pushing the door open he found Nazir and Babette already waiting within. They'd done their best to clean the place up. Most of the furniture ruined by Astrid and Cicero's confrontation had either been repaired or removed. The Nightmother's coffin had been sealed tight after the last time The Listener had been by to tend to it before her contract and they were planning to move it when she got back.

They were all moving.

Bags sat in the corner, ready to go. All they needed was a portal and they'd be on their way.

"Well... she's not budging." He grunts out as he all but throws himself down on a pew.

"You should know better than to think she'd do anything we want her to." The little vampire snarks and she's not wrong. The werewolf finds himself being more annoyed that she's right than upset about Astrid herself.

He makes a half hearted attempt at a comeback but subsides into uneasy silence.

Something has been bothering him for days. Astrid had told them not to leave the sanctuary and they hadn't, but something was different, the air had changed and he couldn't say for the life of him what had happened outside.

But something was wrong.

He got to his feet and started pacing. Babette wasn't much better, she worried at her nails, her eyes bleeding red and Nazir sat ramrod straight on his chair, watching the door like something was going to charge through and bite them.

Arnbjorn's pacing took him to the stained glass window that looked down on the main cavern of the Sanctuary and it took a few moments to comprehend what he was seeing as he looked down.

Soldiers.

Imperial Soldiers were creeping in, the armor clanking at the very edge of his hearing. His first instinct was to shout, to roar and challenge, but he bit down on the impulse.

"Shit." He whispered.

Both Nazir and Babette snapped around to him and Babette's eye went red entirely as she smelt the threat at last.

"Sanctuary is comprised." He said lowly, almost hesitant to move as he sank back against the wall and slid away, keenly aware that someone could be seen quite easily with a light at their back.

Nazir cursed, compared to the two either side of him he was a plain old squishy human and they were under attack. Now under normal circumstances he wouldn't be feeling religious. But he'd seen the Listener at work lately and knew if ever there was a time to pray to their patron it was now. They got to their feet carefully and began to prepare in silence as someone yelled below and the fighting started. It would only be a matter of time, there weren't many of them left. They could hear the yelling and the screams.

Faustus was setting everything within sight on fire, cackling like he knew he was going to die and an imperial ran afoul of Gabriella's pet spider but soon there were more imperials in the Sanctuary than assassins and they were getting closer with every second.

But just as they approached, ready to batter in their hastily barricaded door, they felt it.

The suffocating wave of something big and old and dangerous that washed through the cave and behind them they felt as the Nightmother called back.

"She's here..." Arnbjorn breathed out, his own beast shining through.

There was a howl, ripping through the Sanctuary with murderous glee as screams started anew. Soldiers went flying as fire spread.

Only when the sanctuary lay silent once more did they emerge. There was no sound but for flickering flames and dripping blood.

There in the middle, the great beast shrank and twisted until she once more wore a mortal shape.

"Listener!" Babette pulled herself away from the wonderland of gore and trotted over, fearless. Arnbjorn and Nazir following more sedately in her wake.

"What happened to the contract?" Nazir asked, distracting himself, and the Listener frowned, lips twisting unhappily as she pulled on her robe and cowl.

"It was a trap." She revealed, voice colder than the northern sea in winter. "They were tipped off and a body double took the poison. I came as soon as I could once they started gloating about a traitor."

None of the survivors looked particularly pleased with that.

"Well, our gear survived, and the chapel is intact. All we need is a portal to leave." Nazir offered and the Listener nodded, moving to climb the stairs, a icy spell moving ahead to stifle the blaze of Faustus' last stand. But before she could go two steps she froze and the others froze with her.

"My dear Listener..."

Her gaze went uneeringly to the chapel window, behind which the Night Mother's coffin stood like a shadowy monolith. Then, following instructions only she could hear she turned around and started picking her way through the corpses, back toward the entry and then aside to the antechamber that was Astrid's chambers. The others trailed like ducklings in her wake and when they rounded the door frame someone gasped.

There was a a ring of fire, some of it lit candles, other parts charred pieces of wood laid out in the circle. In the center was a blackened corpse...

No. Not a corpse.

Breath whistled and skin cracked with every move, but the victim was still alive.

And it wasn't until they heard it's gravely voice that they realized who was in the circle of the black sacrament.

"You really came."

Astrid.

The Listener stared down at her in silence.

"In hind sight it was so obvious. If you knew when the sacrament was performed, then undergoing the sacrament would have brought you forth. But I didn't want to believe that you were the Listener in truth. I'd kept this place going for so long and when the speaker never returned I did everything to keep my family from falling apart."

There was a moment of silence, mid confession, as she fought to breathe. But none present dared interrupt.

"I was jealous and afraid, and rather than embrace the opportunity, I sold my people out. Better it be destroyed than lost to a clown and a corpse. I was the traitor that told the Penitous Occulatus how to find the sanctuary and now, I want you to kill me. Gods know I deserve it."

The Listener was silent, fully immersed in her role before she moved close, kneeling down and bending forward to whisper something only Astrid could hear. She didn't have the fine control to smile, her muscles mostly burnt away, but she laughed, a breathy wheezing that wasn't the cold cruel laugh of the bitter or the high pitched wail of the mad. It was one of genuine amusement and the Listener smiled alongside her, somehow forgiving even as she drove her Blade of Woe into the former guild leaders heart, silencing her at last.

The other three desperately wanted to ask what she'd told her, but hold their tongues as they're ushered back to the chapel and further on to the Dawnstar Sanctuary.

And the Falkreath Sanctuary is left to burn.

—x—

-x-

There's a purposeful energy to the Sanctuary as they slowly start to rebuild.

Here in the cold north there's little fear of the Night Mother's body degrading and the inhabitants are hopeful themselves as they go about their days with murderous intent. Nazir and Babette are secure in their new domain and happy enough to do their own work, Nazir taking the field for the first time in years.

Cicero roams the corridors, wonderfully unburdened, they almost immediately start to lose track of him as he finally set's down the jingling hat and fools clothing, for the more traditional leathers. He's still as mad as a box of feral cats, but at least he's happy.

Arnbjorn is not quite so enthusiastic, he'd had to choose in his own way. To follow the woman he'd loved into ruin, or start over with a new pack, a new structure. In the end he'd chosen to embrace the new, but he still mourned what was lost and took it out on every poor target to get in his way. Not that he blamed the Listener. Astrid had ultimately sabotaged herself.

As for the listener herself she had one last contract to forfil. She'd stay and play Listener for a while. At least until another could be taught to hear the Nightmother's words. But there was still a soul owed to father that hadn't yet been reaped and that lead to here.

The Emperors vessel had idled in the mouth of the bay for days, still waiting for something even after the clear threat to the man's life. It had been child's play to swim out and climb the anchor chain, slipping through the mechanism and into the hold. The sailors were for the most part, unaware of the Assassin in their midst as she picked the lock on the door of the largest cabin and opened it up, slipping inside. Seated at the desk waiting for her, dressed in the more traditional raiment of kings, was the man himself.

"Ah, good evening. I was almost afraid you wouldn't come."

She paused in the doorway, then after a long moment, closed and locked it behind her.

"Your highness."

He smiled knowingly and she scoffed at his expression.

Imperials.

"What was the big deal. I would have liked to avoid this region entirely you know. You put them up to arresting me again didn't you."

The man's shitty grin only grew wider.

"Come now, don't be sour. Uriel knew what he was doing when he made you Imperial Champion. No other has been called since and our retainers are among the most eager to remind us you exist." He's entirely to pleased with himself as she scowls.

"The last emperor I followed was Martyn. And he's long dead."

He looked more rueful at that, even as he smiled. He of all emperors that had followed in the footsteps of Akatosh's Chosen, was all to aware of her choice to avoid imperial politics. Honestly, he wouldn't have even realized she existed had the retainers of the imperial household not remembered the secret champion that had been chosen eon's ago. Passed down from father to son to daughter. She'd periodically tried to wipe them out, but somehow the story came back to haunt her.

"Needless to say, this is the best we can do for the empire." The man sighed, looking down at the desk between them and finally pushing his chair back. "With myself out of the picture my daughter can take her place as empress and then with some effort, she can lay the foundations for a new era against the Thalmor. But that will not happen while I live. So dear champion, if you would do the honors?"

He turned his back on her and clasped his hands eyes fixed on the view outside the window.

"I've left you a writ of passage." He continued. "It will need to be signed by General Tullius to be valid, but once it is you'll be free to traverse the borders once more."

She snorted at the obvious lure. Of course he'd try to make her side with the Imperials to end the civil war. It didn't matter though. The war would be over soon enough and eventually she'd wonder into the paths of the Thalmor herself.

That was how this worked after all.

The man's shitty grin never left his face.

The Emperor of Tamriel died with a victorious smile.

The Assassin slipped out the side window and vanished into the night, leaving the crew of the ship none the wiser for the death of their leader.

(And she had a list of retainers that needed to be ... reprimanded.)

-x-