A/N: I have a longer note at the end of this chapter but know this story is brand new, self-contained, and not related to my Storm of Skyrim fics. Enjoy! Warnings include foul language, child endangerment and traumatic childhood (both historic, off the page), and graphic violence.

A STOLEN OPPORTUNITY

The lovely, trickling sound of rain surrounds me making the cobblestones grow wet and aromatic. Darker than they were before. It's fitting for today, I muse. It almost looks like blood. My black gloved fingers brush the white, fluffy curtains in the Winking Skeever. Last I heard, the manager here wanted things to be a little cozier for their guests.

And there's nothing cozy and fuzzy like a good assassination.

Or coup attempt, I should say. The buyer didn't give too many details. When he handed Astrid the contract almost written in blood, it said to kill none other than the High King himself. Astrid didn't say why, or what the shadowy figure wanted. But she did say it was written in red ink.

That would spook me a bit. I don't like the theatrics some clients go to with their contracts, but the price was too pretty to stay away from. Fourteen thousand. Fourteen thousand septims to kill the High King and…wow. I could get out of that little rat hole in Falkreath. Maybe get my own house and a little farm going set up with pigs and chickens. Astrid gets her well-deserved and highly sought-after fame for the Dark Brotherhood. It was too good to pass up.

My mouth curls in a sly grin. Who was I kidding? Once I get that coin, I'm gone. I get to travel the continent, live and rub elbows with the richest of the rich. Maybe have an assassination or two here and there. And girls. All the girls a man could ask for hanging on my elbow and feeding me grapes from a silver platter.

My mouth just salivates with all the food I could be tasting. All the dazzling lights and glamour surrounding me. I lean in a bit, let my forehead sinks against the cooling glass as I stare at the great Blue Palace shielding the distant sky. I wouldn't have to look at this godsforsaken city anymore. Solitude was pretty with its tall, unique architecture. It was flashy and wonderous as I expected and would, ultimately, prefer for a permanent residence. But it's always been the boot on my throat. The man holding me down.

If not for this city and all its slimy citizens maybe I would have grown up a little differently. And that means a lot to a scrappy fellow like me. "Sir, your clothes." The resident maid says softly behind the door. She gives a timid knock.

I flinch away from the window, letting the curtain cover it. As if this maid could see right through it and to my main goal. Tonight, I'd be scaling those walls and eventually have an arrow nocked in my bow. Five daggers on my person and a short sword hidden at my side. With one face in my mind.

"Sir? Mr. Rune Forester. Are you here?" Another knock.

The name's actually Rune Allister and I'm not stupid enough to correct her. I run a hand through my dark reddish hair, it's getting too long. I'll have to cut it. Sometimes I wonder how the women shove theirs in the tight masks we need to wear. Come to think of it, I could just drag my dagger through it and cut off the pieces I need.

"Yes?" I creak open the door with a sly smile on my face. The little Khajiit woman jumps at my surprise appearance.

"I have these." She passes over my pressed clothing. This woman was good. Doesn't even ask why she was washing and pressing black leathers.

"Thanks." I grin again, noticing her little name tag on her dress. Habba. "Say, you have a minute?"

Her eyes widen slightly, her cheeks heat, I know what she's thinking. This city, like most cities, still have bottom feeders. But unlike Riften they scrape them off the streets here. Usually leaving us to pool into the cracks and crevices like this slightly run down inn.

I ease her fears instantly. I'm not one to pay for a half-assed night with a woman. Never was, never will be. Coin is far too precious to waste on such fleeting moments of pleasure. "Do you know how to give a good hair cut?"

Her mouth drops open but I'm happy to say she doesn't object. She's more than eager to get her hands through my luscious locks. More than I could say for any of the objects of my affections back home.

"Is this good?" She seems to purr.

I wince as she tugs at my hair a bit rougher than I wanted and snips the ends. "Yeah, sounds like it." I mumble.

"Such pale skin, are you sure you aren't sick?" Habba asks again. A little knowing lilt to her tone.

I narrow my eyes as she tugs on another lock. "Thanks to my Nord heritage, I burn easy. If I go out and get a little too red, then it would be feel like Molag Bal was whipping my face when I have that mask on."

Habba stops clipping, letting some dark red strands float down my nose and into my mouth. I damn near almost bite my tongue. That was sloppy, way too sloppy for one of the best assassins in Skyrim. "I do jestering on the side." I add quickly.

"Oh." The snipping continues while she tugs at pieces of my hair. "Why? There aren't any jesters in Skyrim."

My mind works fast, a little too fast as Festus liked to tease me. But deep down, between you and me, I think he's just a bit jealous. "It's a novelty thing. Some of the nobles around here like to pay for me for my time and jokes. I don't know why. I think it makes them feel more important."

"Ah, like the ones in Cyrodill."

"Yep." I suddenly want this hair cut to end. The little clock on the wall is ticking and I'm getting sloppy. Fourteen thousand septims. Those are the words that echo through my mind. I'll need an hour to calm myself, do those breathing exercises Veezara is so fond of, then be on my way.

If I truly think about what I'm about to do, kill the High King Torygg, and send Skyrim into a political death spiral while I escape the country, I just might freak myself out. And I'm a hard one to crack.

Usually. Sometimes I scare when there are unforeseen complications. Things I don't adequately prepare for then have to manhandle to the ground like wrestling with a wild stag. Kind of like right now when I feel this woman's furry hands curl around my neck, tipping my head back to her soft stomach. At first, I turn on the charm. A pretty smile for my handsome, elfin face. My bright green eyes soft and dreamy. I know how to curl my eyebrows just so to get that lustful look across. Might be a good opportunity to seduce her into getting her ass out of my room.

But when I see her vengeful eyes, feel the tip of the sharp scissors at my neck, I know I fucked up and good. "I know why you're here, assassin."

When one is at the mercy of another, you fight when necessary or avoid them. That's what I learned as a scrappy orphan on the street, and it's done me well in my time in the Brotherhood. No reason it won't work now. I shove my hands up, grabbing her wrists and twist so hard she screams. The scissors go clattering on the wooden ground. I shove her back and leap up from my chair.

Shit, looks like Habba has magic. Her heaving form doesn't look so little and delicate anymore. I see all that hard earned muscle coiling around her, the fire in her hands doesn't lend itself to anything good. I duck quickly as she sends a firebolt over my head. I move across the ground quickly to snatch my dagger from under my pillow.

Another flaming ball comes my way. I dodge again, ducking and rolling only for it to incinerate my bed. Good thing I only paid for tonight. Habba lets out a harsh shriek of rage. Not a good assassin. Not a good bargain for whoever paid her to be here. She's not quiet, not cunning at all. In fact, I think there will be a lot of questions around here when the other patrons find out half the Inn has burned down.

Only one way to handle this. I fling my dagger right at her. Just like I trained for. Right at her throat. She lets out another shriek before it's cut short with the gurgling of her windpipe smashed against itself. She snatches at the dagger desperately while blood spurts on her hands. With the fire raging around me I know I can't let her live. Can't let another person sinking my ship with their loose lips. I race across the room and tackle her to the ground, ready to finish the deed and shove my trusty dagger into her once and for all.

I got it long ago, as all legendary pieces of weapons are found. I heard about it from some traveler here back when I was dirt covered and ill clothed. The men and women in these parts, in these inns, don't care about the dirty and hungry children hiding in the corners. Don't know that we're listening to all they say and are in fact, smart enough to understand it. Just a few words from some noble asshole and I had a new purpose. I snatched his food and coin, bought some clothes and went searching for this Bloodthorn dagger up in Markarth. Even fought a few hags to get to it.

After that, as a young teenager, I went wandering around. Once I had the courage to escape this desolate city. Then the rest was history. As thick as the blood pouring from little Habba's neck and just as useless.

Her shining eyes go dark, staring at me in an accusatory manner. But I'm the one who came in here wanting to kill someone. Well, not the someone who needs to stay alive and that's me. I pause, my hand resting on her vacant eyes to pull them closed. I wonder if I had a bounty of fourteen thousand on my head. Or maybe it was less. Maybe it was enough to just get her by in a foreign land. She's wearing so many coats and layers she must not have acclimated to the harsh cold yet.

"Sorry about that." I murmur down to her, hearing the fire rage ever closer to our forms. "But thanks for the haircut." I snatch my bag, leathers and little roll of weapons quickly. The heat of the flames pushes in further, begging to burn me to a crisp. But not this time.

I pull the mask over my head, shielding me from view and shove on my dark leathers and boots. I'm quick and I leave the scraps of noble clothing here to burn. Not like I was going to wear them again. I didn't have the patience to go sell them here. They never gave me a good enough deal.

Flames rage down from the ceiling, growing the pluming smoke. I should be a good lad and go warn Corpulus downstairs. Aside from his outrageous, and questionable stories, he gave me good drinks. But he'll see this mess soon enough. I leap out the window and land on soft feet, never once looking back.

The only thing that's louder than the people screaming around me, and the harsh rain sheering my vision, are my heavy footsteps. I decided to give up on the sneaky act and just get in there. The Blue Palace looms overhead. He should be upstairs, tucked nicely in his bed. But if Habba knew I was here, then the deal might be blown. She might have warned someone. They might have the High King locked up downstairs in some safe house.

Nothing I can't break through. But it would incredibly difficult if I had a whole army fighting against me. I finally reach the rain-soaked wall and pull out the thin little daggers Astrid gave me. They're strong enough for rock but nothing else. Ironically, if they were to be used against a person, they wouldn't do much. They're remarkably fragile unless digging into the bedrock of towers. A strange sort of magic.

But they get the job done. I pull myself up, blinking through the rain that assaults my mask. It helped a bit but not what I wanted. It's as if the winds have turned against me, as if mother nature herself knew what I was doing. But she had another force against her. My Unholy Matron watches me well. The others in the Brotherhood thought the Night Mother as some fable but I believe in her. Without her blessings I wouldn't be the only assassin here with over two hundred contracts under my belt. And all without any permanent scratches on me. For the most part.

Please get me inside. I beg her.

Fourteen thousand. Fourteen thousand and I'm out.

I finally pull myself up on the wall, shoving a guard to his untimely death in the process. I hear shouting behind me. I grind my teeth. This won't be good. I should have left earlier, just not have gotten that damn hair cut and maybe I'd be up that tower by now. I'd be walking with quiet feet against the soft carpet to see our High King and his wife curled up in bed. I would lean over, oh so silently, to slit his throat. She would wake and scream her head off but by then I'd be long gone. Hopefully on a ship to the south.

Now, I have to drench their carpet with the fucking flood on my clothing. Manhandle the man to the ground when he ultimately wakes up to all my sloshing. I might have to kill the lovely wife too. And that would be a damn shame, marring a pretty face like hers.

Fourteen thousand.

I let out a long breath, catching it at the railing. The incompetent guards were too far behind. I stare up at the tower. It's not much but that has to be where he is. A scream pulls my gaze downwards. A woman and a few men run from the main room. One slips and falls. "The King is dead!" The woman wails.

That coin sure has me in a strangle hold. I don't stop to assess my options like I usually do. I don't run for a dark corner and wait it out. I leap over the balcony and roll when I land on the hard, wet pavement. On the other side of the courtyard the doors have been flung open and inside is a kaleidoscope of lights and screaming.

I feel like I'm outside of my body. I pull my mask off, straighten my spine a bit, maybe no one will guess anything. I do look like any normal man taking a stroll home in an unfortunate rainstorm. No one will question my clothing choice.

Silly thoughts fade away. My mind goes numb as I walk through the wide-open doors. A man shoves past me, a few inches higher than my five-ten height. His fur coat brushes past me, and I have the absurd thought that I should warn him not to go out in this rain. A handsome thing like that kind of cloth will mar. His sharp green eyes burn with a hatred I hope to never feel. His blonde hair and short beard aren't polished in the slightest. Come to think of it, he looks like he picked that coat up off the street on his way in from the wilds outside.

One hard look from him and my world shatters. Knowing what I know now, I would have gutted the motherfucker right there. In those eyes reflected my fourteen thousand, gone. In the blink of an eye. And I'm left to look at the carnage before me.

Guards scrambling around the room. A woman weeping over a strong looking man. One who has the stench of death, even now. I should leave. I should hightail it back to Falkreath and tell Astrid it's a bust. But I can't do anything as the woman looks up.

Elisif's dark blue eyes land on me. A sharp sorrow filling them. A sorrow that spears me to the core. I lose my breath. It's like a large hand is crushing my lungs. Yet, I don't feel like I'm choking.

I know that look.

I felt it when I was six. I swore to never let it keep me down again. I wish to tell her something. To give her some comfort while she holds her broken husband in her arms. "What happened?" I ask softly, my deep voice lightens a little. Anything to pull her from that far away look in her eyes. She was falling into the void I knew too well.

"Ulfric Stormcloak killed my husband." She says with a quivering lip. "A shout. That's all it took. He killed him with a shout."

A fucking shout. I could have been better with a blade. I would have made it peaceful. Hell, maybe I could have made a poison and used it instead. Then the word would be "natural causes" in the headlines. Not some horrible assassination. The contract never said how it should be done. Just that it had to be.

And damn it all if I don't want to crumple to the ground just like Elisif. Months, almost a whole year, spent squirreling away and obsessing over the layout of the Blue Palace. A full two weeks spent here watching the guard shifts and studying the layout up close. Even Gabriella was able to get me firsthand knowledge of the dead man's schedule.

Just like that, fourteen thousand down the drain.

I have the good sense to turn and walk away. Before the beautiful woman's eyes pull me in again and take me down the long-forgotten path of my own grief.

A/N: Hey everyone! I'm excited to start this new story that's been in my head for a few months now! At first, it started as a fun writing exercise and has slowly become a story I feel like I can share. Here's some things to keep in mind: I won't have a walkthrough of all the quests, just mentions of it or bits and pieces here and there.

Also, this is a brand-new story. It is not connected to Storm of Skyrim at all. It was fun starting from scratch again and seeing a new take on familiar characters! This will be self-contained, so no sequels, prequels, spin-offs (at least so far, that can always change). I hope you all enjoy! This will be first-person with a new original main character and some familiar faces from the game. I will be switching points of view as the story moves forwards. :) Expect romance, enemies to lovers, slow burn, mystery, adventure, angst, and absolute chaos in these pages. Enjoy!

I drew and painted the cover art in Procreate!