#maybe even since I first went through the DB questline because gosh

[cursedmenagerie]

ℒ𝒶𝓈𝓉 ℛ𝒾𝓉ℯ𝓈

　　　A harsh gasp leaves the Penitus Oculatus soldier, garbled and spraying bloody spittle as they wheeze their final breaths. Their attacker draws back the spectral blade embedded in their neck and steps casually around them when they slump, lifeless to the deck of the ship.

　　　“On me! Don’t let them breach the Emperor’s ca- Hrk!”

　　　The tip of a wicked, obsidian sword pierces through the lieutenant’s chest before he can finish the order. Behind him a Dremora snarls. It wrenches back to cast off the deadweight from its blade and wastes no time gleefully rushing the nearest soldier. Another Dremora, slimmer but more agile, beats back a line of men attempting to block off the stern with ease, laughing at their futility. 

　　　Draped in black and red leathers the lone noncombatant marching the length of the deck could almost be mistaken for another of the daedra in the rush of battle. But they pay little mind to the fray unlike their bloodthirsty allies, focus narrowed to the far door leading deeper into the vessel. One brave fool breaks through the Dremoras’ ranks to charge the figure. A flash of sickly green blinds the woman. Her body seizes in place, dropping like a stone.

　　　“There’s no need to be hasty,” The figure chides her. Flames replace the green wisps around their outstretched hand. In her paralyzed state the soldier can’t even scream as fire sears her flesh. 

　　　Nearer to the galley door the corpse of the ship’s captain lays against the wall, and they pause long enough to rifle through the dead man’s robes to fetch a ring of keys. “Vas! Motal! Leave no survivors! It won’t do to have my appointment interrupted.”

　　　The only acknowledgement they receive from the Dremora are war cries.

　　　Inside the belly of The Katariah the sounds of fighting are deafened to a dull roar. Not a soul stirs in the immediate area, and every door stands flung wide as a testament to the frantic dash made to defend the ship; all save for one. This and its sturdy lock tell them all they need to know of what lies beyond. With keys in hand and the crew thoroughly distracted by their allies, breaking into the Emperor’s quarters is child’s play.

　　　Once inside, however, their tidy plans to murder him without mercy or misgivings fall to the wayside.

　　　Despite the years spent living in the Imperial City they had only seen the Emperor’s face a handful of times, and seldom within such proximity. After thirty-five years of ruling the Empire he was starting to show his age. Thinning hair gone gray, faint wrinkles that contrasted sharply to the last time they’d seen him. Youthful, for a grown human at least. But he still carries the same weight of responsibility that they recognized in his father before him, in the high-ranking soldiers tired of war, and that they now recognize in themselves. He stands at a wide desk, unassuming as he watches the figure enter.

　　　“And, once more, I prove Commander Maro the fool. I told him you can't stop the Dark Brotherhood. Never could.” Titus nods as if to himself, stepping around the desk. “Come now, don't be shy. You haven't come this far just to stand there gawking.”

　　　Every modicum of sense inside them screams that this must be a trap, and yet they step forward. Swayed by curiosity as to how he can face his would-be assassin with such calm. A question sits on the tip of their tongue, but the words fail to coalesce into a coherent sentence. The Emperor, oblivious to their attempts at speech thanks to the mask obscuring their lips, continues on. “You and I have a date with destiny, it would seem. But so it is with assassins and emperors, hm? Yes, I must die. And you must deliver the blow. It is simply the way it is. But I wonder... would you suffer an old man a few more words before the deed is done?”

　　　Disbelief floods through them. For all the killing they had done for the Brotherhood a scarce few targets had ever resigned themselves to their deaths. Certainly none had ever asked to chat before being killed. Bold to the end. They could respect that, and so gave a nod.

　　　“I thank you for your courtesy.” He then begins pacing the length of the room. “You will kill me, and I have accepted that fate. But regardless of your path through life, I sense in you a certain... ambition. So I ask of you a favor. An old man's dying wish.” A pause to look back to the assassin. They move to lean against the desk and motion with a hand for him to continue. “While there are many who would see me dead, there is one who set the machine in motion. This person, whomever he or she may be, must be punished for their treachery. Once you have been rewarded for my assassination, I want you to kill the very person who ordered it. Would you do me this kindness?”

　　　Kill Motierre? The task would be simple. Simpler than killing Mede, certainly. But betraying their employer wouldn’t go over well with the rest of the Brotherhood. The organization’s reputation was already in tatters, and if it became known that they’d killed the man who had put a price on the Emperor’s head the Brotherhood would have a harder time convincing the public of their trustworthiness. 

　　　Still, there’s something to be said for putting a corrupt and uppity member of the Elder Council in his place. Were it not for Motierre’s greed the Brotherhood might still thrive, even if it would be under Astrid’s leadership. 

　　　“Very well. They indirectly led to the weakening of the Brotherhood, and so we have as much motive for retribution.”

　　　Titus slows in his pacing until he stands before them. The two meet gazes, and though they know he only perceives the illusionary disguise they had conjured up before infiltrating The Katariah they struggle not to squirm under his scrutiny. “Thank you. I can pass on to the afterlife with nothing left to regret. Now, onto the business at hand, I suppose.”

　　　“Do you have no desire to know who was the cause of all this?”

　　　A resigned sigh leaves him, and he inclines his head. “I must admit, when Maro revealed that he had a tip about the Dark Brotherhood being contracted to assassinate me I was curious to know who had ordered it. The idea of the Aldmeri Dominion being responsible was unlikely. They would want to take full responsibility of the feat. The Commander had even considered that the contract was made by a member of the Stormcloak Rebellion, and there were inquiries made, agents sent east to seek out who had hired you. But in the end I knew we would not find the person responsible.” He offers a genial smile. “Anyone intrepid enough to have the Emperor assassinated would thoroughly cover their tracks. If you feel willing to divulge, however, I would appreciate the gesture. For as little time as I have left, that is.”

　　　They fold their arms over their chest, letting their gaze wander around the ornate cabin. The sound of fighting that was faint in the main hall has since died away. Whether it is because their daedric companions have prevailed or because the thick walls mask the noise is uncertain, but they nevertheless feel at ease continuing to indulge the Emperor’s desire for conversation a bit longer. “You were right that the Thalmor are not involved. And Maro’s assumption was incorrect. He did not share much information about himself, but we know that he is an influential man from the Empire, wealthy and powerful. His name is Amaund Motierre.”

　　　For the first time since the assassin’s arrival Titus’ neutral demeanor wilts. The wrinkled lines of his face harden, though there is an absence of anything near to anger in his expression. Only disappointment. “Amaund… I can't say that I am surprised to hear it. He always had high aspirations, though he hides his unrelenting avarice well. And with Cassius so young… I imagine he believed the Elder Council would be free to take control of the Empire as they had in the past. Or perhaps he planned to vie for the position of Potentate. I can think of only a few Council members I would trust less with the fate of the Empire. Thankfully those few have never had the same sway as Motierre. Still, there will be squabbling all the same while they settle the chaos following my death; for years to come I would wager.”

　　　A wry smile tilts their lips behind the mask. “Nothing ever seemed simple when it came to the Council.”

　　　“Never indeed.” He raises a brow. “Have you had experience with the Elder Council? Ah, pardon me. I failed to consider you might not be at liberty to share. Though I suppose your secret would be going to the grave.”

　　　“That it would be,” They muse. They reach up for the mask, tired of the impediment in their conversation, but hesitate. Would this be a step too far? There still remains a chance that the Emperor has only been stalling for time, waiting for an opportunity to gut them when they have their back turned. They wouldn’t dare show their face on any other job, but so long as Vas and Motal do their jobs well, no one on The Katariah will live to tell the tale. And Titus has a point: anything they wish to share would die with him. 

　　　The mask and hood fall away with some difficulty, both made to hold their positions in any situation, but the illusion is easy enough to dispel. No longer does the mysterious leader of the Dark Brotherhood stand before the Emperor but an altmeri woman, crimson hair falling down her back to bleed into the red of her armor. “My experience was brief. My father became a member just before the Great War, that would have been the year 164. Perhaps you remember him. His name was Colnuril Nivuran.”

　　　“I believe I do. He was one of the more welcoming members of the Council when I ascended to the throne. I was disappointed to hear of his retirement so soon after the war, but I understood his decision. More than twenty-five years since and still there is distrust aimed at those who had nothing to do with the atrocities wrought by the Dominion.”

　　　“In the end it killed him.” She studies his expression, watching his eyes darken at the news. “He and my mother found a home in Riften; it’s hardly more than a shanty town, in truth. He contracted Blood Rot, Divines only know when. My mother encouraged him to visit the temple daily but there was little they could do by the time he admitted he was sick. He passed away three years ago.”

　　　“Ah… Such a pity. I hope his passing was peaceful, and that your mother is still well.”

　　　Sweet, ever obstinate Pyria, who had always been the most well-informed of their family, masking her interrogations with kindness and gifts. The assassin doesn’t realize she’s smiling until she sees it mirrored on Titus’ face. “Better than would be expected of a widow. Father was still fresh in the ground when she took up work in a friend’s shop, and after the rebellion began she was contacted by the Imperial Army to become an informant. Despite my advisement, she accepted. Mother has always had too big of a heart, and a great deal of loyalty to the Empire.”

　　　“But you do not?” He asks. His voice lacks any judgement.

　　　“I thought I did…” She turns away, memories of a chilly morning and rope around her wrists in her mind. The jeering, the glint of a steel axe, a sound like distant thunder. And then an inferno. “Maybe I still do, but I felt… Jaded. We spent weeks helping families flee across the border to Morrowind when the Dominion took the Imperial City. And I returned to it when the war had ended, wanting to help where I could. It didn’t feel like home anymore. Entire districts were burned or crumbling to pieces. So few would look me in the eye. And there were always more families looking for lost loved ones, begging for food that the shelters could barely provide. I couldn’t stay. And I hoped that by moving to Skyrim I could get away from the war, but a year later they were crying in the streets that Ulfric Stormcloak had killed High King Torygg. If you weren’t throwing your lot in with the Stormcloaks you were as good as an Imperial.

　　　“And then I made the mistake of saving a couple of soldiers’ lives. A pair of fools who had joined the Stormcloaks looking for glory in the wrong place. But I couldn’t leave them to be eaten by a sabre cat, so I intervened. They brought me back to their camp hoping to reward me, only to be ambushed by Imperials when they arrived. Everyone they didn’t kill was taken captive, including myself and Ulfric of all people. General Tullius did his job well. Maybe too well. If not for Alduin…”

　　　Her voice trails off, unwilling to relive that day in full. 

　　　“I recall the reports.” Titus nods. “An upsetting setback to find that Ulfric had escaped in the chaos. Tullius was furious, even if he did not say as much in his writings. But as far-fetched as the tale is these things happen, and in the end it revealed a rather important figure I believe the people of Skyrim owe a great deal to.” He levels an expectant look at the assassin. “Do they not, Aesatel?” 

　　　She winces, though she should have known he would be able to identify her. “They do. But I don’t feel much like a hero these days.”

　　　“Why, because you work for the Dark Brotherhood? Because you are here to kill the Emperor? I will admit it is hard to reconcile the different versions of you in my head. The daughter of an Elder Council member, then come to find that she is a Dragonborn like the emperors of old, and now revealed to be part of a murder cult.” Despite his grim words he surprises her with hoarse laughter. “But they are all part of who you are. Tell me, did being part of the Brotherhood inhibit your slaying of Alduin?”

　　　“No.”

　　　“And when you resolved to kill him what motivated you to do so?”

　　　Aesatel blows out a huff of air through her nostrils. “Because no one else was willing to. Not the Empire, not the Stormcloaks. And even when I found allies willing to help, I discovered that no one else could hope to defeat him but me. If I didn’t stop Alduin from destroying the world as we know it no one could have. By then… It wasn’t even a question of ‘why’.”

　　　Nodding slowly, he rests a wrinkled hand on her shoulder. “We all possess flaws, and we all find ourselves at times misguided or on paths that may not align with what we perceive as moral. But at the end of the day we are defined by much more than our weaknesses. You, my dear, are blessed with a great many years left to define yourself. Do good where you can, and hold fast to your convictions.”

　　　For a moment it’s like the weight of two years has lifted from her weary shoulders. But the moment is cut short by the door being forced open and Motal’s guttural voice breaking the silence. “My Lady, soldiers approach from the harbor.”

　　　It was only a matter of time before the bloodbath would be noticed by the locals. Standing straight, Aesatel motions for the Dremora to leave. “Delay their boarding but stay out of sight. Once I’m finished here I will return you to your realm. Neither of you are to harm them, is that understood? I will not have the blood of Solitude citizens on my hands.”

　　　They make no show of hiding their disappointment at having to refrain from slaying the guards but do as commanded. When Aesatel returns her attention to the Emperor she finds he wears a look of fright mixed with awe. “There is so much more to you than meets the eye. I thought I had no more regrets when I accepted my imminent death, but I do. I regret that I will not be able to discover more.”

　　　Her breath catches in her throat. “Perhaps if we meet again in Aetherius.”

　　　“I should like that very much.” 

　　　She moves behind him and conjures up a spectral dagger. Already a fog has begun to settle in her mind. The haze of focus that has helped steer her towards what needs to be done for the Brotherhood, like an automaton guided by its programmed directives. But before it completely overwhelms her Aesatel speaks up one last time. 

　　　“Titus Mede II, may the Divines bless your soul and guide it true to the realm of Aetherius. By this blade your spirit be released, wielded by Aesatel Nivuran, the Sonorous Dovahkiin, servant of the Dread Father Sithis.” The dagger is raised, its phantom flames flickering in the dim light of the cabin. She wraps her free arm around his shoulders, partly to brace his body when the deed is done and partly to ground herself. Her voice drops to a shaky whisper. “I will kill Motierre. A life for many lives. I will do what I can to steady the Empire in your absence, though I fear it will not be enough. And I will end this war. Even if I have to kill Ulfric myself. On these oaths I swear my soul.”

　　　The Emperor breathes his final words of gratitude and surrenders to the dagger that pierces his heart. 

　　　What follows Aesatel remembers only in a blur. Steadying Titus’ corpse and placing it carefully in his regal bed. Fleeing to the aft balcony and being hit by the sound of shouting in the distance before turning herself invisible and plunging into the icy bay. But for as much as she would later try to forget the day of the Emperor’s death their final words and her promise to him would never fade from her memory.