A/N: Okidoki, apologies for the late one. I want to be a chapter ahead, and getting Muiri's dialog wasn't quite so easy. Either way, I got it, changed some of it (I think – I finished this chapter a week ago) and I am now posting this with the hope that the next chapter will come soon. Also, those who have/are reading The Tale of Arya, I know I'm not updating it all that often, but I promise another chapter of that soon. Read on, and may Sithis guide your blade. Or your pen.:D Preferably your pen.

Chapter 3: Mourning Never Comes

We arrived in Markarth fairly safe and sound, and I handed twenty gold pieces to the stable hand to look after my horse as best he could, and the boy's wide eyes gave away he had never seen so much gold in his life. "Take excellent care of her, and there's more where that came from if you do. If not…" I trailed, touching my index finger to my neck and drawing it across. He nodded vigorously, not realizing I meant it literally. I smirked, sauntering over to the city gates. I had never been inside Markarth before: most of the contracts Nazir gave me were in little villages, caves, farms and the like. There was so much that could go wrong in a city assassination, so many places to hide it was exciting! I could feel my heart begin to beat faster. I hoped my target was inside a city, be it Markarth or Winterhold, or anywhere in between. A guard stopped me, demanding gold to enter the city, no doubt having seen what I gave the stable hand. I glared at him, hands on my hips. "That's preposterous!" I exclaimed, purposefully making my voice louder than necessary. "Do you really think I'm going to pay to get inside when–"
"Alright, alright!" the guard shushed, his hands trying to lower my voice. "Do you want all of Markarth to hear you? I'll just unlock the gate for you," he turned away fumbling for a key. It was all I could do to stop from sniggering as I passed him. If he hadn't been wearing that full-faced helmet, I'd bet he would be very pale. Or very flushed, I could care less which one: I just knew it was funny.

Markarth was a city built atop a sprawling set of Dwemer ruins, the name of which I was sure I had never heard before, and which I certainly couldn't pronounce. Apparently they were only now beginning to explore it. Rumors were rife in the city, and more than a few times I heard something about a 'Dragonborn' Bosmer, and then a 'Dragonborn' Altmer. Self-righteous creatures, all of them. Thrice-cursed elves; I hope Sithis claims them all for eternal pain and suffering in the Void. No matter if they were High, Wood or Dark. All could suffer and die in my opinion for all they had done to us Nords in the past, and currently. I suppose, had I been an ordinary citizen, and had I managed it when I was younger, I might have joined the Stormcloaks: I certainly had considered it once, when I had been sixteen. But a lot had happened before then, and after, and I found the life of an assassin suited me better.

I shook my head, coming back to the present and looking around me at the white city. It went up into the mountains, with streams and waterfalls all around, with little stone bridges across them everywhere. Interestingly enough, as high up as the paths went, there were no rails or walls to stop people from falling into the water or off high walkways. A chase in this city could easily result in an 'accident', where someone 'fell' to an untimely death: how exhilarating! Here was the place to assassinate in the dark, in secret; or in broad daylight, in public. Oh well, it wasn't so bad, I supposed. I could disappear if I wanted to. I hefted my almost empty pack a little higher, and checked myself into an inn, asking the innkeeper for directions to The Hag's Cure. I nodded my thanks, leaving my pack in the room and locking the door with the key I had been given. Hopefully the apothecary would have poisons there. I felt empty without them. I wandered through the afternoon streets, making my way to my client. I walked into the shop, and started looking around. I immediately found five – albeit weak – Frost poisons, and took them immediately. I cringed on the inside: there went about three-hundred gold.

I placed them on the counter, and a young woman smiled at me. "Is this all?" she asked, her voice soft and kind.
I nodded curtly. "I'm also looking for Muiri."
The woman blinked. "I'm Muiri," her voice dropped, and she glanced around the empty store quickly, leaning closer and dropping her voice to a whisper. "Are you…? I mean, did they… the…." I raised my brows, my face probably screaming 'get to the point'. Muiri finally spat it out in a strained whisper: "Are you from the Dark Brotherhood?"
I leaned on the counter with both elbows, dropping a hip as I rested my leg. "Yes," I replied coolly, about to ask her about the contract when she got very excited.
"The Black Sacrament. It actually worked?"
I rolled my eyes. "Obviously. Now tell me what you need."
She was still grinning like an idiot, although I think a little taken aback. "What I need?" she echoed, then gathered resolve. "What I need is for Alain Dufont to die! I want him hunted down and murdered like the dog he is!" Oh, another crime of passion! I commented sarcastically in my head. I looked at her expectantly. She didn't say anything else, just breathed deeply after her outburst. I sighed through my nose and straightened, both hands flat on the counter. "By Sithis, I need details! Get to the point."
The girl's mouth worked like a fish trying to breathe on land. I resisted the temptation to call her out on it. "I didn't know it when we were… with each other…" Oh, hurry it up! I thought, but she plowed on instead. "But Alain is actually the leader of a band of cutthroats. Bandits. They're holed up in some old Dwemer ruin – Raldbthar. It's near Windhelm. They use it as their base. It's where they stage their raids…" she trailed off, bitter. "I want you to go to that ruin, find Alain Dufont, and kill him. I don't care about his friends. Do whatever you want with them. But Alain has to die!"
I memorized the names of the places – I'd ask for clearer directions once in Windhelm. "It will be done," I said coldly.
"Excellent!" Muiri smiled. "Once Alain is dead, I'll pay you. In gold. I've saved up a bit, I hope that'll do. But, well… there is one more thing. If you're interested," she finished hesitantly.
I raised a brow, cocking my head. "Speak."
"If you can, I want you to kill someone else –"
"Of course I can."
She blanched suddenly. Who did she think she was talking to? A lowly sellsword? I closed my eyes briefly in annoyance. Astrid hadn't mentioned they'd be stupid. "Continue."
"You don't have to – not as part of our deal. But if you do… I'll pay you even more. It's Nilsine Shatter-Shield, in Windhelm. If Nilsine dies, too… I'll make it worth your while."
I nodded. She then blathered on about dear friends, and treachery and drowning in tears and blah, blah, blah before she finally stopped. "Anything else?" I asked. I was bored. Boredom doesn't still well with me.
She nodded quickly. "I planned to kill Alain myself, you know. Nilsine too. But I lost my nerve. I even brewed a special poison, Lotus Extract. Maybe you could use it? Just coat your weapon with it. Then… you get the idea."
Known it for eight years, my dear client, I sneered mentally in reply to her comment, nodding and taking up the seven bottles of poison she had given and sold to me, suddenly at half price. Might as well spend the night, and head out in the morning to the other side of Skyrim. Thank Sithis I had found myself a horse. I suppose also, I hadn't quite been as polite as I should have been, but then how can anyone take a polite, kind assassin seriously?

"Shut up, little man!"
Cicero stopped singing. That horrid wolf-man just NEVER leaves poor Cicero alone! What did sweet I do, Mother? "Hmmmmm…" Cicero strokes his chin, pretends to think! Oh, Mother, he IS a terrible man! Mean wolf! "Cicero will go speak to the kind, wise wizard, then! He's always interested in Cicero's tales of the Night Mother and long-lost TRADITION!" Cicero lifts his head, and skips away before the wolf-man can do other mean things to sweet Cicero.

"Keeper," the fortune-teller!
Oh oh! Cicero must speak with her! "Hello dear sweet Sister!" Cicero bows, then clasps his hands at his chest. The dark she-elf looks him over very calmly, yes. Strange one, so calm.
"Keeper," she says again.
Can she say anything else, sweet Night Mother? Shall Cicero find out? "Oh, dear Sister! Perhaps we can talk about the Night Mother, and the manner –"
"Jester, do not think that I do not know about our past, or that I would not like to speak of it, but I am rather busy at the moment. I have predicted someone's death and must go to realize it," she sighs, and brushes past Cicero. Oh well, perhaps next time we shall speak! But she can say more than 'Keeper', Mother! Yes she can!

"Oh, if I chance to see cat, I'll feed its corpse to my pet rat…" Cicero sings. He misses Alysa. He hopes she comes back! And soon! Oh, if he was Listener, he would ask Mother about her… what she was doing, if she was killing and murdering, and enjoying it as much as Cicero once did! For Sithis and the Night Mother! Cicero will welcome Alysa home, yes yes yes! He will! But no! Cicero serves the Night Mother first! He cannot stray! "Festus! Kind, wise wizard!"
"Yes, Cicero?" he replied. Cicero likes this wizard, yes ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo he does!
"What magics will you work today, with our Mother's blessing?"

I ended up walking and leading my horse every few days: I just couldn't sit in the saddle for that long. My usually two-month journey was drastically shortened to a little less than a month, and the cold, biting wind and snow of Windhelm was a strangely welcoming feeling. It made me itch to find my prey, and revel in the warmth of their crimson life-force as it flowed away…. I shivered in pleasure, grinning as I pulled my cowl down to speak with the stable hand, handing him a small coinpurse with a promise of more. I asked him about Raldbthar, but he could only tell me it was nearby, a few hours away. I nodded, pulling my cloak closer around me as I walked to Windhelm's city gates. The guards let me pass without incident, and I briefly wondered again about joining the Stormcloaks as I stared up at the peaks of the Blue Palace. I eventually decided I'd get so happy killing that I'd turn on my own side, or go rogue and hunt on my own. I shrugged, grinning again, and made my way to an inn. I asked about Nilsine Shatter-Shield, got directions to her doorstep in connection with murders in the city, and found a strange Bosmer woman who gave me directions to Raldbthar. She looked almost like a vampire, but was warm, and almost like a wolf, but was too friendly. An Imperial male mage sat with her, and he smirked into his mug at something they had been talking about earlier, his lips barely moving as he murmured something. The elf turned to glare at him playfully, and I couldn't help but think they were lovers. I quickly moved away, and ordered myself a tankard of mead, savoring the golden liquid. I'd scout Nilsine's house tonight, kill her tomorrow and make a run for Raldbthar, if things went badly. If I had any pursuit, I'd hopefully lose them in the mountains and snow.

I paid for a room, stored my things, changed into poor rags, and went for a walk to the Shatter-Shield house. It was near dusk. Before I knocked on the door, I smeared dirt over my face and arms. I was mostly to see who would answer. An old man came to the door; he looked as though he was bowed down by a great weight on his shoulders. "Yes?" he asked.
I lowered my gaze, fidgeted. "Evenin' Sir. Sir, see, I's lookin' fer work, Sir. I cin do most anyth'n, Sir. Jus' a silver a week, Sir."
I heard him sigh, shift his weight, I cowered and flinched a little, just as I had been taught to when I was ten. "Alright," he conceded. "You can begin in the morning. Why don't you come inside, have a warm meal and some proper clothes? I think you may fit into some of my daughter's things."
He stood to one side, and I shuffled through quickly. "Oh, thank ye, kind Sir! Divines bless ye!" I waited with my head bent until he led me to a fire place, had me sit before it and his daughter – Nilsine, I presumed – brought a bowl of stew and some warm clothes to me. I kept up my pitiful beggar act, and had to concentrate on acting as though I really was starved, slurping food and being generally rude with it. So messy; I hated making a mess. Unless it involved daggers and blood and killing, of course. I didn't have to clean up any of that.

I almost smirked, thinking of how easy it had been to get in. I was sure getting out would be just as easy, assuming I was quiet about everything I did. Sadly this kill had to be quick, silent. I do so love to hear them scream and beg for mercy. I was allowed to take a warm bath, and shown to a room upstairs, conveniently situated next to Nilsine's. I might still leave Windhelm tonight. I lay in bed with my new clothes on, listening as the house quieted, waiting, each moment stretching an eternity into the Void. Eventually I got up, slowly padding down the stairs to get a kitchen knife. I hid it under my bodice, moving carefully so it didn't cut me. I stopped outside Nilsine's door, listening to the sounds of the house, and her deep breathing inside. I slowly opened her door, taking the knife out and holding it in my hand. I shut the door behind me, stepping closer and closer.

I felt a broad smile spread across my face, my senses sharpening. I was aware of every movement, sound, smell, taste. I didn't have poisons with me, but this would be far more pleasurable. I took a pillow from a chair, holding it in my left hand. I sliced through Nilsine's white throat, and smothered her face with the pillow before she could wake properly. I felt her writhe as she struggled to breathe, her blood filling her lungs before she gave in. I waited a while longer, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Her blood was there, warm, black in the night, and slightly coppery in taste. I carefully lifted the pillow, making sure she was properly dead before tossing it to a side, laying the knife on her bedside table and quickly washing as much blood off my visible body in her washbasin. I grinned back at my reflection, and walked out the front door. I stopped at the inn, changed into my armor and stuffed the clothes I had been given under the bed. I took my things and left, the sleeping innkeeper none the wiser. Nor would any other person, for that matter, until perhaps the morning. Oh, I loved being an assassin.

The following morning saw me watching the ruin of Raldbthar from a distance, scouting out the patrols, and I found there were two shifts of four men each – I could only take them out slowly, as each one veered out of sight of the others. I pulled my cowl higher over my face, and my hood down, tucking all loose strands of hair in. A sudden thought appeared: I wished Cicero was here to help me. I blinked, frowning. Why Cicero? I don't even know him all that well, or what he's capable of in the field. I shook my head, and prepared to shoot down the bandits. I had a long day ahead.

I pulled my cowl down at dawn the next morning, sucking in a deep breath of frozen mountain air. Alain had proven himself a trained fighter, and although a challenge, he was no match for me. Or anyone now, for that matter. His entrails and blood was all over the main room of the Raldbthar Dwemer ruin. My horse was dozing quietly where I had left her, and I was glad to finally be headed home, almost. I couldn't wait to tell Cicero about this: I was sure he'd listen. I shook away further thoughts of the jester: why did I care, anyway? It wasn't as if we were friends, or even acquaintances. Just two Family members. I mounted, and rode south-west. I'd reach a road soon enough that way, ride for Whiterun, then across to Markarth for my payments. Then home! As much as I loved the thrill of travel, and the joys of assassinations, there was no feeling like going home to the Sanctuary….

Muiri had been all too pleased that I had killed both Alain and Nilsine, and she rewarded me with a generous amount of two-hundred gold and her Alchemy-enchanted ring, two-odd weeks ago. I was now a day's ride from the Sanctuary, and took a roundabout route to shake off potential followers and find a place to keep my horse. I found a strange clearing with a lava or tar pool, and left my horse in what looked a natural paddock with a small stream passing through, untacking the creature and making my way on foot to the Sanctuary door. I touched the handle, and felt shivers travel up and down my back as it asked its question. "What is the music of life?"

"Silence, my brother," I answered, and the stone shuddered, opening for me.
"Welcome, home…."

"ALYSA!"

I started, reaching for my daedric dagger only to be pinned to a wall and crushed in a bear hug. I struggled initially, but the embrace just got tighter. I suddenly realized it was the jester, and relaxed, letting him finish this ridiculous act. A thought vaguely mentioned how little I was compared to the jester, and how comforting it actually was to be held again, after so many years…. Once I relaxed, so did Cicero, but he still held onto me. Eventually, I awkwardly patted his back. I wasn't used to any kind of affection like this. I think I might like it….