Archive of Our Own

Mael glanced out of his manor window at the snow-covered landscape of the great Whiterun, drawing a deep breath before turning to his Housecarl. "Gregor, I decided that I would like to give you a few days off. Old Halfdan would be delighted to see his pup, I am sure.” Reaching out with a warm smile to his Housecarl, he squeezed his shoulder.

“As you wish, my Thane,” Gregor's face was marked with a look of confusion. “I assume that you are seeking solitude for some time?” As known to the Nord warrior, the Breton he served was somewhat of a lone wolf, following the destiny that his prophecy foresaw for him on his own. Whether it was killing dragons and absorbing their souls, clearing Nordic tombs and discovering their secrets, or staking out Skyrim from bandit scum in an effort to make this frozen land a safer place, he would rather go it alone. 

“I guess you could call it that,” Mael smiled as he gazed at the Nord with his deep green eyes. “It would be nice for you to spend time with your father rather than guarding a mansion I don't get to visit enough.” In an effort to quench his thirst, he reached for the beer lying on the dining table. “There is no doubt that you yearn for the sight of Riften's foliage in the fall.”

“Maybe it isn't my place, but if there's anything I can help with, do not hesitate to share it with me,” with the awareness that Mael's mind had been overburdened with thoughts, Gregory offered a smile at his master.

“You can rest assured that I am fine, my friend. The last few days have been quite eventful for me, and I would appreciate some quiet time.” 

Infiltrating Imperial Fort Greymoor and murdering an old woman who worked as a maid, assassinating the Housecarl in front of Jarl of Falkreath, killing Gaius Maro, son of Commander Maro, chief of security for Emperor Titus Mede II and head of the Penitus Oculatus, and planting false evidence on his corpse, and lastly, killing Safiah, the captain of the Red Wave, who was known to smuggle and loot throughout the Sea of Ghosts, inside her ship, made for an eventful week for him. 

Even so, he did not anticipate that it would be easier than he thought to obtain info from Virane about the Gourmet's identity and kill him, and then murder the Gourmet, steal his permission card, and impersonate him. The pieces were beginning to fall into place. The Emperor of Tamriel was to be the final target of his grand scheme to bring the Dark Brotherhood back to prominence and spread terror throughout the hearts of people, and thus needed absolute privacy in order to plot his assassination.

Even though Gregor possessed the look of hesitation on his face, indicating that he was not satisfied with the answer given, he was unwilling to refuse his master's request because of it. “As you wish, my Thane. As soon as I gather my belongings, I will depart for home,” The Nord nodded.

“I greatly appreciate your understanding, my friend,” Mael offered a bright smile. With a strong grasp of the hilt of his Ebony Sword, Mael unsheathed it. Taking the blade in two hands, he offered it to the Housecarl. “There's no denying that it's outlandish and fierce, but I wish to present you with my sword as a gift.” He then unclasped the scabbard in order to hand it over. “It has been a pleasure having you by my side, serving me with dignity and honor from day one.” It was tragically humorous that an assassin, or rather The Listener of The Dark Brotherhood, would talk about honor and decency. Had Mael lost sight of his sense of morality completely, his stomach would have been convulsed with laughter at his words charged with irony.

Gregor felt tense inside, almost as if Mael was saying his farewells just as he spoke. “There is something strange and unsettling about you, master.” Mael struck the Nord as a very generous Breton, very unusual among his kind. In the absence of The Last Dragonborn’s unusual speech and seemingly random token of appreciation, he would likely have been delighted to receive such a beautiful and deadly blade.

“It is a great responsibility to be a Dragonborn, Gregor. This uneasiness is likely to last until the day I die.” Mael muttered in thought, his eyes darting away from the present. At the sight of his bodyguard's utter concern, he smiled and patted the man on the shoulder to diffuse the situation. “Anyhow, I suggest you begin packing your belongings. I'm sure your pa' misses you so much too.”

“As you wish, my Thane,” Nodding, Gregor went up the stairs to pack his things, his face still filled with concern as he glanced over his shoulder at his master.

After taking a moment to prepare, Gregor descended the stairs, wearing his backpack, adorned with his steel plate armor and the ebony sword that he had been given as a gift. Standing before his master, he offered a slight bow to him. “Take good care of yourself, my Thane.”

“Goodbye, Gregor. Give my regards to Old Halfdan,” Mael smiled, following behind him as his Housecarl walked towards the door. As he stood leaning against the door threshold, he watched his servant unbridle his steed and mount it, galloping toward the Rift. 

His gaze swept around the manor as he closed the door behind him. After joining the Dark Brotherhood three months ago, Mael had made use of the homes he had built in Falkreath, Morthal, and Dawnstar frequently, primarily for security and to wait for the heat to decrease after he had carried out his executions. There was a great injustice, Mael finally understood, for his housecarls Rayya, Gregor, and Valdimar to be left alone in these manors which they had been assigned to watch over just because of the service they had sworn to him, The Last Dragonborn. I am an awful human being, Young Breton said to himself with a deep sigh. He did not have much time to contemplate his internal struggles and wage war against them. There was an assassination to be planned, one which was intended for the Emperor of Tamriel, specifically through his methods.

Mael ascended the stairs to his bedroom where he organized all of his adventures, plans, and assassinations. A huge mirror mantled against the wall caught his attention as he surveyed his surroundings. Studying himself in the mirror, he took a moment to contemplate his appearance. With a well-built frame and a tall stature, his figure was more appropriate for a warrior than one of an assassin, but he was able to make use of his quick-wit and agility that he developed in his hard childhood. The short, light brown hair he wore was combed to the left, while his chinstrap beard complemented his forest green eyes, although he looked somewhat like a Skooma addict due to slight hollows under his eyes as a result of sleep deprivation. Taking a few moments to brush his hair with his fingers, the assassin turned to the shelf, where he unfolded a stack of papers and arranged them on the table.

Taking the blueprint of the Tower of the Wolf in front of him, he carefully studied it. He would be welcomed by the kitchen and a cook who was busy preparing food as soon as he stepped foot into the tower. Furthermore, the place included a throne room, sleeping quarters for the Emperor, and a dining room for his guests. While the tower was built long after Castle Dour had been constructed, its connection to a secret passage made it highly possible to alert every Legionnaire inside if an assassination attempt was made on the Emperor. During his attempt to kill Vittoria Vici, The Emperor's cousin and the woman in charge of The East Empire Company's Skyrim branch, he had the opportunity to examine the bridge that connected the tower to Solitude Windmill, so he was confident that he would be able to escape, assuming that the entrance was not blocked by the guards. It all seemed ridiculously easy, even though, from a planning, strategy, and execution standpoint, it seemed like the Empire's ruler would die conveniently and quickly. The poison could be applied to the soup, or a well-crafted poisoned ink applied to his dress, even one drop would be sufficient to kill him. He could grab the Emperor by the throat and cut him open, or he could shout him to pieces. It seemed that the possibilities were limitless, but that the simplicity of his intrusion to the tower was so unsettling.

Mael had decided on poison. As much as killing the Emperor would be an achievement that would bring him fame and spread fear, it would be foolish for him to risk his life in order to do so. Safety was paramount.  His father had served as a spymaster for Barynia, the deceased king of Wayrest; he had learned the secrets of alchemy from his old man before his death. A keen observer of medicine and death, The Breton had mastered the preparation of cures that could close the deadliest wounds, relieve the most excruciating pains, and make poisons that could knock down the strongest men.

Wasting no time, he made his way to the alchemy room to work on his poison. The mixture of Imp Stool, Mora Tapinella and Human Flesh Mael was going to craft would render the Emperor helpless, paralyzing him for as long as it lingered on his muscles, draining the life out of him, ensuring his death within seconds. After some difficulty locating the ingredients that he intended to use for his mixture, he placed them on the alchemy table and proceeded to concoct the deadly poison.

Having finally finished the poison, Mael, sighing with relief, carefully poured the blackish mixture in the mortar into the small flask. He sealed the vial with cork, holding it between his two fingers as he watched the liquid continuously change colors. With pride in his achievement, the young Breton walked back to his room, clutching the small flask tightly in his palm. When he first stepped into the room, he was startled by the sight of someone sitting in it, and he knew immediately who it was, a sense of relief washed over him. With her legs crossed on the couch, Astrid was filing her fingernails with the dagger in her hand. As Mael stared at her from the doorbench, the Nord Assassin flashed her classic wry smile. “You have an array of interesting toys around here, Listener.”

The way she stressed the word Listener felt somewhat spiteful to Breton, who remained smiling. “I would avoid using Mehrunes Razor as a nail file. Even a careless sting from that weapon would cause instant death.”

Astrid twirled the dagger in her hand, directing its hilt toward Mael as he approached her to take it from her. “I know what the Razor is, and how dangerous it can be if not handled properly, thank you,” scoffed Astrid in her deep voice, as she uncrossed her legs and sprung to her feet. The Head of the Dark Brotherhood did not expect The Listener to reside in such a luxurious location when she found out that he was in The Pale. Upon sneaking inside the manor, Astrid found statues clad in expensive armor, and the interior, which had doors leading to dozens of rooms, indicated that Mael was wealthy beyond belief, an incredible feat given the young age of the man. Taking a look at the mirror, Astrid caught a glimpse of her frame, on which she could also see Mael sifting through the papers. “I didn't realize you were so… affluent, Mael.”

“Me?” Mael laughed at her astonishment for a moment, but cleared his throat to remain serious. “During my time here in Skyrim, I have saved quite a bit of coin, and I spent some of those to get this all built. I’m an assassin, yes, but it’s not my only profession.” His gaze turned to the mirror, capturing both hers as well as his reflection. He wasn't unaware of the fact that Astrid had come to Mael's with the shrouded armor on, which was something that could likely draw attention to her if she wore it in public, since it was a representation of the Dark Brotherhood. When she wore the armor, it hugged the contours of what was already a gorgeous body, serving one purpose—distraction from inevitable death. “I'd like to know why you're here, Astrid. Surely you didn't come to give me an inspiring speech before my big mission.”

“You do not need my encouragement to accomplish your task, Mael,” Astrid smiled, resting a tentative hand on his shoulder. “You have been chosen by the Night Mother as a Listener for a reason, and you are on the verge of fulfilling your destiny.” The tone of her voice was as genuine as it could be.

“But even so...” Mael paused with thought, weighing his words carefully, knowing his role as The Listener was irking Astrid all the time, regardless of how much she tried to conceal it. “Your guiding hand keeps this family safe and strong.” Mael truly meant it. Hearing and adhering to the beautiful voice of an equally beautiful woman such as Astrid was more genuine and radical than listening to the voice behind the personality of Night Mother, whoever she was, who ordered him to kill the Emperor out of nowhere. A genuine smile appeared on the corners of his mouth as he delicately pressed his hand against the older woman’s shoulder. “And you will always have my obedience, Astrid.”

It was only a mild smile that Astrid could offer the younger man. His eyes already made it clear to her that he was not lying, not in any manner or form. No matter from where it came, power had a way of corrupting the human mind. When Astrid was in Mael's age, during her early adulthood, she witnessed as the leadership of the Skyrim Sanctuary was eliminated one by one, either due to civil war or to the Dark Brotherhood's rapid decline throughout Tamriel. When she was given the leadership of Falkreath Sanctuary, she felt honored and desperate at the same time. There was no Night Mother to announce contracts, or no Listener to distribute them among the Dark Brothers and Sisters. It was an embarrassing move on the part of the professional band of assassins to rely on rumors that people were performing Black Sacrament and move accordingly. Thereafter, everything changed when this young Breton, who had pledged his absolute obedience to her, arrived on the scene. And that damnable Jester, the so-called keeper of the Night Mother. “I am grateful for your loyalty, Mael.”

The Night Mother's revelation of Mael as the Listener did not blind him to Astrid's threatened condition. In spite of this, he was pleased for the Nord woman when contracts poured in from all corners of Skyrim, providing the guild with a stable income and thereby restoring their reputation, which was to grow exponentially upon the death of the Emperor. Although they obeyed Astrid blindly, some of them, including her husband, started losing faith in her when they were deprived of the drive that kept their organization going. It was Mael who brought them relief and a fresh breath and rekindled their lost ambition. He was their only hope and he knew it. In the interest of Astrid, however, he would refrain from taking up the issue of leadership, leaving it to the woman who had only this in her control.

“I've been working on Potage le Magnifique for a while now. At least the old man will die with a good taste in his mouth, except for the poison, of course,” Mael said with a smile, flashing the small flask in his palm and showing it to Astrid with a quick gesture.

“It's a pity, I had something else in mind,” Astrid tsked, carefully unfolding a fresh ingredient from her bag, her eyes keenly observing Mael's confusion.

“Seems familiar somehow...” said Mael, scratching his chin in a moment of contemplation, as he seemed to shift his gaze ever so twitchy back and forth between Astrid and the wicked, blood-red, thorny plant. “What is it?”

“It's a rare plant called Jarrin Root,” she replied, pacing slowly around the table as she continued to explain the plant. “It is found only on the island of Stros M'Kai. It can be served like any vegetable - cut up, put in a salad, perhaps boiled in a stew. One taste will lead to nearly instant death, so don't even think about it.”

“Hmm…” As Mael contemplated the matter further, he held Jarrin Root in his hand to study further. “I’d prefer to keep it as a gift, I already have the means to kill the Emperor.” His smile spread across his face as he stood up and set the plant down again. “That is, unless you object to that.”

“Sure, I wouldn't mind,” Astrid said with some confusion in her voice.  “But why would you keep something so dangerous as a gift?”

“An apt remembrance from a friend, I would say,” he said with a wistful smile, his eyes unintentionally avoiding being met by the older woman’s gaze. As he used the word friend, he hoped to obscure the forbidden affection manifested in his heart. Astrid was older than Mael. This Nord Assassin was beautiful in a way that contradicted her age. It was well known among the people of Tamriel that all Nord women, regardless of their age or appearance, were breathtaking. As Mael was so busy making a fortune for himself that he did not have the time for romance, the very moment he set eyes on Astrid, he surrendered to this perception. The fact that Astrid was married was beyond the comprehension of his heart. In what way was it possible for a woman so beautiful to be in a relationship with a bloodthirsty, miserable werewolf who was hard to communicate with?

“I've been thinking, Astrid...” Mael said, a slight smile prickling the corners of his mouth. “Quite some time has passed since we last sparred.”

“Oh?” Her cheeks curved into a smirk with a sudden intensity. “Do you actually remember how it ended last time?” In their last fight, she was triumphant when she managed to knock Mael down in the middle of the muddy field, pressing her dagger against his throat with a wry smile on her face.

He was somewhat embarrassed as he recalled how the Nord woman had beaten him, blushing from shame. “Yeah... I learned not to underestimate a beautiful woman with a propensity for murder,” laughed Mael as he realized the tone of his statement was complimentary. His worries went away when he saw her unbelievably beautiful smile. “I eagerly await the chance to test my limits.”

“Then you are ready for some more humiliation,” Astrid said in a low tone that echoed threateningly in the younger man’s ears.

Young Breton thought for a moment and approached the older woman, standing before her. In Mael's opinion, it was amazing that Nord women could be tall as well, no less than their male counterparts. He noticed that he was quite taller than the woman, her forehead barely reaching his nose, whether it was due to him being an exception to all rules or simply his luck with his parents. “Even if it's unlikely I'll stand a chance against you, I'm not going down without a fight, Astrid,” Mael smiled, his green eyes etched with determination. 

His mind wandered to the possibility. In all fairness, Astrid was not the mistress of this Sanctuary by accident. In spite of the fact that her assassin nature demanded perfection in her strategies of stealth and subterfuge, she was also incredibly outdacious, he noted from the times when he witnessed how she murdered her victims efficiently. She was an exceptionally beautiful woman, no doubt, but her pretty face was also a means to facilitate her fulfillment of her contract, namely to tempt her victims in order to bring them to their deaths. She had all the tools she needed to achieve her objective, and Mael was relieved that he was not included in her list of targets.

I’m not opposed to the idea of putting the haughty assassin in his place, again,” the undeniably confident grin of Astrid induced a frustrated scowl from Mael.

Elated with the prospect of spending time with someone he really cared about, and with a remnant of his youth stirring inside him, Mael gestured for the older woman to follow him to the location where their sparring would take place. “Follow me, then.”

“Are you really required to… disrobe?” Sighing, Astrid grimaced to see Mael remove the large robe that covered most of his body, leaving him only with his trousers. However, she was left stupefied when he revealed his sculpted upper frame, which was also pleasing to the eye. “I see what your real purpose is now,” she mused, her eyes taking their time to examine the young man's perfectly proportioned body thoroughly.

“My real purpose?” A look of confusion slicked across Mael's face as he asked. The reason he was undressing was that he did not wish to waste time putting on armor for sparring, and he knew he would not be as agile as he desired to be in these robes. An uncomfortable flush appeared on his face as he realized the naivety of his actions, observing Astrid's self-indulgent gaze. “Oh, I... Would you like me to put it back on?"

“It is up to you what you feel comfortable with; after all, you will be the one to be lying on the ground,” she laughed, bringing yet another frustrated expression to Mael's face.

“I find it extremely annoying when you are full of yourself, but I love it,” Mael said with a sigh, but managed to put on a confident look as he stared at her, ready to fight. “Let’s begin.” He declared, unsheathing his wicked Daedric Dagger and watched the woman remove her Blade of Woe.

The belittling smirk that reflected in Nord's eyes gave her an initial advantage, while Mael was unable to convey any sentiment since he had to closely observe her movements. As they walked in circles, two assassins measured each other, searching for an opening for an attack. 

Having not expected Astrid to charge at him with a scream, swinging her dagger in such a way that each blow was intended to kill, Mael was stunned, nonetheless managing to remain cool-headed, doing his best to defend himself from her precise blows that could possibly penetrate his skin. While it wasn't particularly surprising to him that the Nord woman was fast and agile, he noticed that she fought with a fervor, almost like she wanted to prove something. Having decided it would be best for him to remain on defense, he decided to strike a few times with his dagger, allowing the woman to waste his energy on him. It's like she doesn't realize we’re sparring. Her dangerously beautiful face radiated determination and drive as the young Breton caught a glimpse of it.

“Didn't expect you to start so fast,” Mael replied with a smirk, although his face exhibited a hint of surprise as well. Now it was his turn to charge at his exhausted opponent, sweeping his dagger at her. It was evident that her senses were indeed keen, able to dodge his strikes with grace and skill, but he managed to find a way to get an opening, slashing the tip of the dagger at her arm the very moment she swept hers at him in a fierce display of strength. The audible sound of her groan brought Mael to halt as she held her bleeding arm. As Mael approached Astrid, reaching out to inspect the damage he caused, a momentary concern seized him. “That looked painful, are you-” The pounding of the woman's foot against his stomach cut short his words, as well as his breath, leaving him dazed.

“Certainly not as painful as this, I'm sure,” Astrid laughed with a cocky arrogance, without caring about the faint bleeding on her arm, as she gazed at Mael, struggling to catch his breath, holding onto his stomach.

This was a careless act on the part of Mael, who was finally able to disregard the acute asphyxia he was experiencing after she kicked him stiff. This did not, however, anger or surprise him, as he was familiar with the woman's ferocity in a fight. “We'll see about that,” Mael examined her with a keen eye, anticipating her steps as he circled her. The elegance with which she avoided the swings of his dagger was astounding, leaving him feeling outmatched by her. The moment Astrid turned to slash him with her dagger, Mael managed to deflect the blow with his blade, reverberating in the area with the clash of steels. He was able to stop the fist coming his way in its tracks by grasping it within his palm, twisting her wrist behind her back. Positioned behind her, he deflected the elbow strike, wrapping his free hand around hers and locking her in place. Apart from squirming in an attempt to break free, which was impossible due to his firm grip, Mael felt somewhat ecstatic at how close they were to each other, almost in contact. He whispered in her ear, which tucked some of her glowing blonde hair, panting as he struggled to hold her in place. “I assume I have improved since last time.” 

Having her hands pinned behind her back was terribly restricting to Astrid, who resolved to play dirty as she gave a malevolent chuckle. “Haven't been impressed much,” Mael’s grasp on her inched away as the back of her foot met between his legs, and she was able to escape easily. In nonchalant silence, she gazed at the assassin who was on his knees, groaning, trying to overcome the discomfort he was experiencing at his core.

A voice mingled with pain was heard from him as he shouted at the Nord woman. “Gods, woman! At the very least, you could consider doing this in a real fight and not in a spar!”

“Stop whining, Mael. Always be prepared for anything,” The older woman did not shy away from her enjoyment of inflicting pain, as she chuckled amusedly as the young man rose from the ground, still suffering from the effects of her low blow.

“If you're playing rough, then I'm letting loose, too,” Mael gritted his teeth, as well as being somewhat attracted to the tantalizing, yet wicked smile on her face. It was however disappointing that Astrid took the opportunity to be coarse during the fight, especially in the way in which she kicked him as she had just declared. Lucky for him, his ardent desire to win also came into play. With a ferocious rush, he raced toward the assassin, twirling the dagger in his hand in a spiraling motion as he targeted her. In an effort to avoid the blow, Astrid ducked under and delivered a punch to Mael's midsection, breaking his defense. Her attempt to slash a wound on him was interrupted by a strong kick that flew the dagger away.

Stumped and panting, Astrid looked at her hand which was devoid of her weapon, then glanced at the younger man. Although she retained her sass and determination as she offered Mael an interesting proposition. “You wouldn’t attack an unarmed lady, would you?” She considered herself to be capable of more than matching the Breton in terms of cunning and agility, weapon or no weapon.

A broad smile formed on Mael's lips as he hurled his dagger straight into the ground, readying himself for battle with tightened fists. Two assassins exchanged blows, Astrid deflecting the precise jabs and kicks that came her way, while Mael lost focus when another kick to the midsection knocked him off balance, causing him to gasp in pain. He saw the woman swinging another kick, but managed to grab her foot in mid-air and kick the other foot off the ground, resulting in her fall. In the meantime, Mael was sweating blood and panting frantically as he stared down at the Nord assassin on the ground. “Astrid, you're giving me so many reasons to fear you,” he said with a laugh that was accompanied by a coughing fit.

Despite giving Mael a good run for his money, Astrid, who was groaning from a fall, lost her cool instantly when she caught sight of the one triumphant smirk that he gave her. With gritted teeth that conveyed her anger, she swung her leg toward Breton standing in front of her, causing him to collapse. With a swift movement, she crawled towards him and spread herself across his body, straddling him. “Yes, and you should be,” she said with a smirk flaring across her dark red lips. In unawareness, her hands wandered over his stomach's well-defined muscles, then toward his chest, admiring the younger man’s muscular structure. Raising a clenched fist, informally offering him a chance to surrender. “Is it enough humiliation for you, or would you like more?”

A small amount of air came to Mael's lungs as he felt her weight press against his groin, pushing him unintentionally to open his mouth. He was not only unable to utter a single word in an attempt to gauge the situation, but also he found himself enveloped in her beautiful and victorious gaze. “N-not underestimating a woman with your skill and proficiency, but I'll try my chances,” he replied, trying to appear calm and collected as well as control and restrain the bulge that was emerging where she had sat on him. 

It did not take long for Astrid to strike him with her gloved fist. He was able to block her punch and grab hold of her wrist, turning his body around to free himself. Having pinned Astrid to the ground, Breton was now ready to make his attack. But before he could react, Astrid took a handful of dirt from the ground and dusted him with it. She took advantage of his temporary blindness to stretch her legs over his head and wrap them around his neck, squeezing him tight. In spite of her competitive nature, she discovered that she was actually relishing the fight. Her sadism kicked in as well when he twitched, trying to break free from her. Due to her advantage, it would, of course, be enjoyable. “Give up, Mael, you're too handsome to die.”

Mael's eyes were closed by the sand Astrid threw at him, and he felt an intense pressure in both sides of his neck, making it hard for him to breathe. Having barely wiped the dust from his eyes, he found himself strangled by her legs around his throat, noting her expression of glee and assertiveness. The panicked man clawed his nails in a futile attempt to reach her thighs, despite already knowing her agility and now being terrified by her strength at the same time. As his breath was slipping from his lungs, Mael managed to utter a few words out of his throat, his attempts to appear level headed being ineffective. “H-have you ever killed someone like… this before?” His fingers clicked frantically on the tops of her strong legs, trying to find an opening to break free.

“You will be the first if you don't give up,” Astrid grinned audibly, the desperation and paleness etched in the younger man's face contributing to her laughter. Pressing her palms against the ground and squeezing her legs tighter, she forced him to gasp for air even more. She frowned as she watched his palms wander around her thighs, almost caressing them. “What do you think you’re doing Mael?”

Mael’s vision was slowly fading away. Though he was aware of her ruthlessness and cruelty when it came to fighting, he was not about to give up just yet. His witness to the woman's dirty fighting, whether kicking him between his legs or blowing dust in his eyes, and now choking him in between her legs, continued throughout the spar. Although Astrid's frown implied that Mael was going perverse, the spell he was casting gradually drained her strength. “Winning this fight,” the Breton smiled as the grip exerted by her long legs on his neck started to relax.

In watching her legs fall over Mael's shoulder, Astrid felt a sudden tingle on them. There was no movement in her lower body when she attempted to kick him away. “What did you do to me?!” The tone of her voice reflected both fear and anger.

As Mael sat up on his knees, he rubbed his sore throat, coughing and regaining consciousness. Crazy woman tangled her thick thighs around his throat until he would fade out, he was fortunate enough to have known how to endure such an endeavor. Summoning a dagger in his hand, he positioned himself on top of her without sitting on her and lightly pressed the dagger against her throat. “Contrary to what you may believe, there was nothing perverse.”

“You paralyzed me,” she growled in fury, her pride pushing her to refuse defeat. “You cheated.”

“So kicking me or blinding me with dust didn't constitute cheating?” Mael scoffed as he removed himself from her, his anger increasing as the pain in his body persisted.

“It's your fault if you weren't able to anticipate them,” she joked, making fun of his shortsightedness during the fight.

“Numbness will wear off in a few minutes,” The Breton reached behind Astrid's legs, and his other hand was placed on her waist, lifting her up. “I thought I signed my death warrant when you agreed to spar with me.” Her silence in his offer to carry her in his arms resulted in a smile on his face.

Astrid's mind was still occupied by her numb legs, which she was wiggling to feel at least a little sensation. By the time she found herself in the arms of the younger man, she realized she had never allowed herself to be carried by someone. Also it was very strange that she hadn't penetrated his throat by now. “In that case, you don't have the right to object to my creative thinking,” the woman chuckled. Nord exhaled in relief as she finally felt her limbs move. The two of them made their way back to the manor, with Mael carrying her in his arms.

While Mael watched the scene through the window, his hands clasped behind his back, he contemplated the strangeness of the dynamic between him and Astrid. The matron of the Dark Brotherhood, Astrid, was seated in the chair next to him, sipping the wine that Mael had offered her, watching the younger man contemplate. Even though he was angry with Astrid for allegedly trying to kill him, the young Dragonborn felt happy that at least he had experienced something positive. A brief respite from responsibilities and high expectations, even if only for an hour or two, was definitely welcomed. However, a certain amount of negativity still lingered. “Astrid...” whispered Mael, unsure of how to explain the uneasiness that enveloped his chest. “I feel like I am walking towards my death. There is a feeling as if I will meet my demise when the moment of reckoning comes around.”

"You're not going to say you're giving up the contract, are you?" The woman, who was enjoying the remnants of the fine wine in the glass, rose to her feet and cast a judging glance towards Mael. “Our efforts and sacrifices have led to this point, where you will achieve your destiny as the Listener.” Having Mael as the Listener to the Night Mother presented a direct threat to Astrid's leadership position, yet she was as sincere as possible in her words. As of yet, she has not observed any signs of objection or rebelliousness on the part of the young man. He was obedient to her, and she was pleased with his behavior. In a smiling gesture, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Of course I'm not giving up. It is an honor for me to be chosen, and I intend to serve the will of the Night Mother. Moreover, your will.” With a smile on his face, Mael held Astrid's hand, which was laid on his shoulder. “I have a confession to make, Astrid,” The Breton mumbled, averting his attention from her.

“I’m listening,” Astrid replied, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him attentively.

“We have reached a breaking point, and after I kill the emperor, nothing will ever be the same again,” As the cold outside increased in intensity, he shut the window and devoted all his attention to Astrid. “I… made a mistake I should have never done, perhaps even something that might be regarded as sinful.”

She was perturbed by the sudden graveness of the young man's face, which caused her to approach his words with a sense of humor. “If you're talking about our fight, you really impressed me. You're a good fighter.”

“Even if I knew I was going to die, I wouldn't regret it one bit,” Mael chuckled. His laughter subsiding, he moved closer to Astrid, closing the distance between them. “Just like I won't regret what I'm about to do now.” Even if I know I’m going to die.

Unable to make the slightest logic or sense out of his words, a confusion mixed with fright filled Astrid, the feeling of which intensified as she felt his large arms reach out to her. “Mael, what are you doing?”

“What my heart dictated, but my logic opposed for a long time,” quite hesitantly, Mael reached out his hands to wrap his arms around her waist. Although he was aware that this was contrary to the reality that had been laid before him, that Astrid was married, and that she still regarded him as a subordinate, it was still a mistake, and he knew it. Bringing her closer, he flashed her an anxious smile, but he tried to appear sincere at the same time. “I worship you, Astrid.” Even though fear gripped him, the die had already been cast, and he didn't care where his words would lead. He was sure that if Astrid hadn't killed him when her legs strangled him, she would surely do it this time.

The shock widened her eyes; incomprehension gripped her as she was unable to even find the will to retort to the physical contact extending to her. Astrid was married to Arnbjorn. Until Mael and the Jester appeared, The Dark Brotherhood was a tight-knit group of outcasts. In the course of time, she won the devotion, trust, and worship of those under her command, including the Breton. Having him admit to such a one-sided love had been a major blow to everything she had built, not to mention his position as a Listener, which technically placed him above her in the hierarchy. Having already become embroiled in a betrayal, Astrid sought a semblance of sense in sinking further into it.  

If it were any other person, Astrid might have ended their life now. Instead she felt divided, refraining from smashing her knee, or putting a dagger to his throat. She remained silent, without conveying any emotion whatsoever, either positive or negative.

The inability to obtain any response from Astrid led Mael to take the initiative, bringing his lips closer to hers. If it meant walking to his death before his grand mission, he could care less, as making her feel the way he did was worth the risk. His lips were sealed into hers, surprised at the lack of a violent response from her. His hesitant gesture soon transformed into a joyful one as he felt her arms wrap around his neck and pull him in. His heart racing, he wandered his hands over the stunning curves of her feminine body that rocked him to the core. Arnbjorn was fortunate to have such a captivating wife, and Gods, was she stunning. Upon noticing that his hands were too large for her waist, he tried his luck on her hips, grasping her desperately while his lips were still locked shut. He was too ecstatic to care about moral engagements and unpleasant truths that had prevented this from occurring for so long. She was so beautiful, unbelievably gorgeous, and Mael enjoyed every single moment of her breathtaking presence, even if it meant his death.

The neutrality at the core of her emotions was short lived, as she jumped over him and encircled his body with her strong legs, gripping him tightly, lips fixed upon each other ceaselessly, and relishing the sweaty softness of his brown hair with her gloved hands. It was not clear whether the enticing nature of young Mael's looks stimulated her to revel in his proposal or whether it was the bottled up lust that she had kept intact for too long that made her want to take advantage of the opportunity. This was the type of mistake that she would never make as an assassin, and somehow, there was a pleasure in it. As the two killers clung to each other with their eyes closed, they found themselves on the bed at the same time, in which Mael's legs became weakened through delirium, and he seated himself with Astrid on top of him.

How can a woman associated with death be so warm and attractive? In the midst of his confusion, Mael wrapped his hands around her full breasts, which protruded from her armor. An intense desire filled his mind as his mouth found its way to her neck, giving her soft kisses that sent her trembling and made her utter a joyous moan.

Having felt Mael's greedy hands fondle her breasts, Astrid rubbed her palm across his member, which hardened fiercely beneath her. Her body temperature increased to such an extent that she felt the need to proceed without her armor on in order to experience him more fully. When she reached out to unbuckle her armor, she came to a halt, although haziness overwhelmed her, and she really wanted to continue what she had started. By Sithis, he is so young, she thought as she looked closely at the remains of youth in his face with wistful wonder. No.

As abrupt as it felt at first, Mael could express his thanks to Astrid as he felt intense thumping in his chest as if his heart was trying to escape its confines, while drifting into this lustful moment that seemed to last for hours. The remnants of aging on her face were a manifestation of beauty, death, struggle, and fear. A hand was extended outward to feel the beauty of her face, tentatively caressing her cheek, then reaching out and stroking her bright blonde hair. Yet despite all this, Mael so badly wished they had not met under these circumstances, since he was the newcomer to the group and was anointed the Listener, which put him at the top of the hierarchy, and thus, having been threatened by the arrival of this younger man, Astrid nurtured a secret dislike and hatred for him. Although Mael had the beautiful Nord straddling him and they shared a lustful kiss, it was in no way genuine, and he was only a young man who had relished the opportunity to physically interact with a woman whom he deemed to be an absolute goddess, given her haunting beauty and dangerous nature.

She conveyed a sense of sadness and silence that somewhat disturbed Mael, who inquired. “Are you alright, Astrid?” He looked into her eyes, trying to induce a feeling of reassurance, while folding his hands around the curves of her waist, smiling.

“Thank you for making me feel whole again,” the Nord woman said with a smile. Her words led her to regret, however, as she witnessed the thrill in the young man's eyes. To begin yet another kiss, she plunged her fingers into his chin. As the tears slowly trickled down her cheek, she was unfazed, her lips still locked around his. She slowly unsheathed her dagger behind her back. She was betraying everything she loved and stood for, and yet, stupidly, she decided to go along with the idea. It’s time to put an end to it. In breaking the kiss, Astrid noticed the smile of Mael waning as he recognized her cheeks were wet with tears. A tearful smile emerged on her face as she extended her hand to caress his face. “Forgive me, Mael.” Removing the dagger she had secretly kept behind her, she thrust it into his gut and watched him fall backwards.

An agonizing groan escaped Mael as he felt the dagger penetrate his flesh, stealing all sensation from his body. As he lost all feeling in his legs and arms, frightened, helplessly staring at the woman on top of him, his vision slowly deteriorated.  Only a faint “Why?” was all he could muster from his lips. His fear increased tenfold when she put her forefinger against his mouth, indicating him to stop, not to mention the smile that arose from her face, as if she had not just stabbed him in the gut seconds before.

“You'll live, Mael, you don't have to worry,” unsure of the best course of action, Astrid tried to console and tried to explain that the dagger she gutted him was imbued with a paralysis poison. Yet deep within, she wished that killing him would be a simple matter, not burdening her so much, so that she could stab him repeatedly until he stopped moving. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so long ago.”

“You’re a… kind woman,” Mael said, flashing a faint smile that concealed his sadness.

“You are young, strong and beautiful,” muttered Astrid, her eyes flitting from his. “But, what we did, this… is wrong.”

“You are right, I tend to get carried away...” Breton's voice reverberated with disappointment, a sigh of dejection filling the room. Astrid leaned toward him, her hands caressing his cheek. “Sorry for loving you, I guess.” As Mael felt the potent effects of the poison take hold of him, he was currently confused by the distortion of his feelings, making him feel sarcastic and sardonic when, in fact, he ought to have felt bitter and spiteful. This was even reflected in his choice of words.

“Good luck with the contract, Listener… ” Astrid, as if compensating for the pain that she had caused him, pressed her lips against his lips one last time, not meeting any resistance since the paralyzing poison had already taken a toll. The assassin lifted herself off of his lap, glancing at the young Listener for one last time, sighing with frustration, and leaving the room.

There was more to Mael’s pain than just the paralysis he felt overrun by his body, but also the feeling of being betrayed, even though the whole interaction was a mistake from the outset. Having the courage to confess his feelings to Astrid, let alone kissing her, was a death warrant. In such a situation, he would be considered lucky if he were only kicked out of the Dark Brotherhood. The only thing that poor Breton knew before closing his eyes to the darkness was that the woman walked straight out of the room and that the door had been shut with a loud thud. 

Mael opened his eyes and found himself lying on the bed in the middle of the night. So what Astrid had said was true, Breton thought to himself as he wiped the crust from the corners of his eyes. The young man realized that the blood had dried on the scar for a considerable period of time, even soaking into the blanket. Luckily for him, he possessed an affinity for magic, and he called upon his healing powers to alleviate the pain that she caused him, at least physically, if not mentally. It was best for him to stay focused on his contract, since reflecting on the incident that ended with a bitter rift between himself and the older woman who happened to be his boss was a pretty depressing bit of grooming to do. 

Hastily removing the bloodstained clothing, he put on a set of garments laden with jewelry, intending to maintain the appearance of a pompous and aristocratic gourmet while inside the Emperor's Tower. Finally packing up his belongings and putting on the disguise of 'the greatest chef in all Tamriel,' Mael left his manor behind. Markus, the cart driver that Gregor had arranged to work for him, caught his eye. To attract the Nord's attention, he slapped his hand on the cart, causing the man to jump up and stand at the ready as soon as he saw him.

“Need a ride, sir?” Markus, who was trying to remove the fatigue in his eyes, asked his master.

“I want you to drive me to Haafingar, I need to pay a visit to a friend,” Mael said as he slipped on his cape to shield himself from the rain. Without waiting for the driver's response, he climbed onto the cart and seated himself.

“Off we go, sir,” Markus remarked with a grin after looking behind his shoulder at Mael, who was hunched over and staring at the ground brooding.

“No, it wasn't worth it, it wasn't worth it at all. You need to dispose of him from your mind. Foolish Astrid...” As she steered her horse through the Ilinalta River, Astrid rebuked herself for her lustful kiss on the Listener, ‘a mere boy’ in her eyes. You are married, damn you. How could you do this?! In a fit of fury, the Assassin screamed into the heavens, her cheeks dripping with hateful tears. It was absurd and stupid for her to go and check on Mael, especially after she had tipped off Maro that the Listener was going to ifiltrate the tower and kill the Emperor. I should have killed that bastard in the shack. She wondered, unable to predict that the young man she recruited to the Dark Brotherhood would become the Listener, the highest form of esteem for an assassin. Nevertheless, the damage had already been done and could not be reverted. There could only be one hope for Astrid - that Maro would set the trap for Mael, and that the Dark Brotherhood would be left to its own devices. As it was in the days before Night Mother, as it was in the days before Mael…

When Astrid was making her way through the lush forest of Falkreath towards her home, she noticed in the distance a black plume of smoke rising in the sky. By Sithis… Her entire bloodstream was chilled by the harsh reality that slapped her in the face. Her deal with the Imperial scum had backfired, since Maro had failed to keep his promise to leave The Dark Brotherhood alone. With a fierce desire to protect her dying family from the flames of her burning house, Astrid rode her horse in the direction of the Falkreath Sanctuary.

She could not exist in this wretched world without the Dark Brotherhood, the family that was the source of her life, her passion, and her sense of identity, and in order to survive she would have to either protect her family at all costs or meet her end.

“Please serve the soup to our distinguished guests, Gianna,” Mael ordered to the cook, who had been swept up in the experience of serving the Emperor with the Gourmet. Oh, how wrong she was… 

“Aha! Here we are. Honored guests, I present to you - the Gourmet!” Introducing the chef to those gathered at his table, the Emperor Titus Mede the Second rose to his feet.

With a shudder, Mael bowed slightly in respect while squinting. There was no mention of Mael's name in the Emperor's address. There was something horribly wrong with this whole thing. Insofar as Titus Mede II. had ordered The Gourmet, Balagog gro-Nolob, to stay in Skyrim until his grand entry, then it was obvious that the Orc and the Imperial were well acquainted. To avoid jeopardizing the mission, Breton decided not to leave the hall until he was certain that the Emperor of Tamriel had been killed, wondering what the consequences would be.

“Ah, the Potage le Magnifique. Looks very delicious. My friends, as emperor, I of course reserve the right of first taste.”  A salute was given by the Emperor to Mael, who had his hands clasped in front of him, smiling. He dipped his spoon into the soup, consuming it. “Oh... Oh how marvelous. Just delicious. It is everything I had hoped it would be.” Enjoying the taste of the meal, the Emperor slid the spoon back into the bowl, taking another sip. “It.... I.... I think something's... wrong… I-” Mael's foul plans and the potent effect of the poison manifested themselves in the Emperor's body, as he began vomiting the soup uncontrollably. It didn't take long for the ruler of Tamriel to lose control, falling from his chair to the ground, spilling the bowl.

“By the gods! The Gourmet and the chef have poisoned the Emperor! Get them!” Drowned with horror, an agent of Penitus Oculatus who was charged with protecting the Emperor cried out in horror.

“What? No! No, you don't understand! There's been some kind of mistake! I... Aggghhh!” Gianna, the only person whom Mael may have felt sorry for in the hall, cowered in terror as the agents attacked her, taking her life. The poor girl was only a means to an end for Mael to reach the Emperor, and he did not have time to feel sorry for her.

While Mael would have liked to revel in the horror on the faces of the people in the dining hall, he needed to protect his skin and make his escape. His hands were glistening with green illusion runes as he cast the spell, engulfing the hall in a wave of green mist, encircling the entire room in a state of paralysis, bodies collapsing as if they were made of stone. Once he was certain that he had left no threat behind, he headed for the door leading to the bridge connecting the Tower with the Solitude Windmill, leaving behind the hall he had decorated with such brutality.

Amid the darkness of the night, lit only by the stars and Masser and Secunda, escaping wouldn't  be daunting. A sigh of relief passed through Mael's throat and he relaxedly walked towards the Windmill, providing an escape from the city.

HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!

A booming sound halted Mael in his tracks, and he was also stunned when two Penitus Oculatus agents appeared, obstructing his escape route. What is going on? This way was supposed to be safe! He clenched his fist while gritting his teeth, for he did not arm himself, not anticipating such an ambush. 

An Imperial with a clap of his hands emerged from the top of the windmill, Commander Maro, the man who had dedicated his life to killing the Dark Brotherhood, the loyal servant of the Emperor who had lost his own son for this cause and was filled with hatred. “That man was, by far, the most insufferable decoy the Emperor has ever employed. I'm glad he's dead. Ah, but I'm even happier that you killed him,” The applause from Maro continued, his tone ever confident, mocking Mael for his failure.

I should have fucking known! Mael became frustrated at his failure to accomplish this task, as he was too late to realize it was a ploy all along. “Come down and I will send you to your boy, you son of a bitch!” The real Emperor knew that the Gourmet was an Orc, and before Mael could serve the soup, his cover would be blown. The Breton realized that the uneasiness that he felt since his encounter with Astrid had everything to do with this. He rubbed his forehead tensely in an attempt to relieve that feeling. There was a betrayal, to him, and to the Brotherhood, and he had no idea by whom it had occurred.

“You, an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood, have just made an attempt on the Emperor's life. Would have succeeded, had it been the real man,” Maro shrugged, his malice dripping from the edge of his voice. The assassin's shock in his face intensified his laughter. “Surprised? So was I, when a member of your "Family" came to me with the plan. We worked out a deal, you see. An exchange. I get you, and the Dark Brotherhood gets to continue its existence.”

“What...” Mael's entire world crumbled into pieces. The Listener of the Dark Brotherhood rattled through all the possible suspects that may have snitched to Commander Maro about Emperor's assassination during that brief moment of shock. Nazir immediately sprung to mind, but it could not be him. There was no mystery surrounding the Redguard; he kept to himself, content with his murders and the money that flowed in. Babette was a 203-year-old little girl that took full advantage of her appearance as a child vampire, and it was unlikely that she was interested in gaining power. Festus Krex was nothing more than a maddening old bastard who prided himself on his remarkable creativity and magical proclivity. Veezara, the last breed of Shadowscales, joined the Dark Brotherhood to satisfy his need for a sense of belonging. Despite his initial hostility, Arnbjorn, the Nord werewolf, was grateful to Mael for saving his life and was certain that he had spoken with the Night Mother. Like Babette, Gabriella was a quiet, traditional Dunmer who was not interested in matters of guild leadership. And Astrid…

In truth, such a betrayal has been long overdue. Since his revelation as Listener, Mael was the true heir to the throne of the Dark Brotherhood, holding the fate of people in his hands, with the power to command dread and fear in the hearts of common folk. It was clear as day to him that Astrid was unwilling to accept the truth, as evidenced by the look of shock on her face when Mael was huddled in the coffin of the Night Mother, and by her odd demeanor when she arrived at his manor. But to go so far as to betray him?

“We worked out a deal, you see. An exchange. I get you, and the Dark Brotherhood gets to continue its existence.” 

I will never forgive Astrid for this, Mael muttered under his breath as he listened to Maro with a stony look. Despite his best efforts, he could not hold back the tears that rushed into his eyes.

“But you know what? I've changed my mind. How about this? I kill you, and butcher each and every one of your miserable friends? Your Sanctuary's being set ablaze right now. That's what I think of this "deal."” With a great deal of rage and hatred in her eyes, Maro shouted. “You killed my son! All of you! And now you'll pay the price. Kill him. And make sure there's nothing left to bury!” Maro shouted before disappearing from the windmill, leaving Mael at the mercy of his agents. 

Under the strain, Mael felt as if he would crack, unable to cope with the betrayal he had been dealt from Astrid. I wish I wasn't the Listener, young Breton thought to himself, gripping his fists so tightly that he felt his nails dig into his palms. As a result of this foolish, thoughtless, unplanned act, not only Astrid, not just him, but the entire Dark Brotherhood was on the verge of complete collapse, worse than ever. 

As he was about to launch an attack against two agents intent on ending him, he was confronted by a figure cloaked in blue mist rising up from the ground next to him.

I will hold them off, my Listener! Go and save our family! Yelling in a hoarse voice at Mael, the ghostly figure charged at the agents with wild savagery.

Having had his Sanctuary burnt to the ground by Maro's henchmen, Mael did not have time to mull over who this ghost was. He looked over and saw the other agent rushing towards him. The time had come to unleash the wrath of the heavens, he thought, as he opened his mouth to shout. FUS-RO-DAH! An extremely strong gust, which was every bit as mighty as a storm, blew the poor creature away, knocking him against the wall, incapacitating him. Mael raced towards the windmill that led downstairs, determined to save what little remained of his family. Even so, he could not help but shudder at the thought that Maro's agents might not have left a family to be saved.

In the midst of the crumbling walls of the Sanctuary, Astrid struggled desperately to find a way out of the hellish situation she found herself in. A treacherous bastard called Maro was tearing her family apart and she had no choice but to watch as her home was ravaged by his agents. Having killed the Imperials in the smoke and fire, most of her armor was burnt, the fire had charred the flesh of her body and the pain was unbearable for her, not to mention all the wounds that she had sustained. However, in her mind, her intentions were very sincere and simple. All she wanted was to protect her family, the only thing that was within her control from the outsider who claimed to be able to save it as he was whispered by a long dead woman called The Night Mother.

There was never a time in her life when she felt such depths of suffering, not even when her uncle, who was a miserable excuse for a man, harrassed and raped her for numerous times. There wasn't any point to look or act strong, since all the people who regarded her as outstanding, willful, and a true leader were dying one by one. In a fit of rage, her tears streamed out, screaming against the walls that enclosed her, lamenting all of the wrong choices she had made, all of the wrong people she met, all of the wrong things that had made her fall into this despair so deep.

Having traveled without any rest, but full of concern and discomfort, from the far north to the far south of Skyrim led Mael to the forest surrounding Falkreath Sanctuary. Having Shadowmere trot to the depths of the forest seemed to be pointless and cruel, especially since his limits were also pushed, and he was exhausted to the point where he was almost dying. As he dismounted from his trusty companion, Mael caressed his mane with affection. "Good boy." With no delay, he sprinted towards the Sanctuary in hopes of reaching it in time with little casualties, and possibly none at all.

Mael felt as if he had been enveloped in a haze of fear when he observed barrels filled with explosive oil resting against the whispering door, along with the body of a man impaled in the trees and riddled with arrows. When he got closer to the corpse, he realized it was Festus Krex who had been the victim of Penitus Oculatus' murderous spree. Poor, old man, he thought, feeling his gorge deepen with the sight. He noticed an ebony dagger, possibly the only thing that was left of the wizard,  lay on the ground next to the tree, and he took it without hesitation. It’s better than nothing, he sighed, reprimanding himself for not smuggling a weapon with him back in the Emperor’s Tower. In this case, this one would be suitable.

Descending downstairs, Mael could see the flames that engulfed the entire sanctuary, the whole place was on fire. In the midst of the explosion, Mael was startled by a large bang that came from within. Apparently, the Imperial scum was telling the truth. His attention was drawn to three Oculatus agents who were speaking to each other as he approached the entrance.

Captain Arcturus, do you think there's any more assassin filth left, sir?

I doubt it, but it never hurts to be cautious. Take Aeridus with you and scour inside, return to me after you make sure everyone's dead.

Yes sir.

The opportunity presented itself for Mael to eliminate Arcturus when the two agents left his side. As the assassin crouched and crept low behind the Imperial, he grabbed the Imperial by the mouth and cut a wide swath through the victim's throat, ending him. Having finished with the agent, he headed for Astrid's room; however, it was impossible to enter since the entrance was in ruins. Perhaps she is deep inside the sanctuary, he hoped as he continued on. Upon checking his surroundings, the Listener observed Arnbjorn, in his werewolf form, fighting two soldiers, who ultimately overpowered him. The assassin did not waste any time in rushing towards the invaders after watching his fellow assassin fall down.

“This day will haunt you!” Mael cried out in fury as he charged at the agents. As one of them countered by slashing his swords, the Listener was swift to react as he dodged the blow and deftly landed a punch to the stomach, forcing him to gasp for air. As the invader lay on his knees, Mael penetrated his throat with his dagger deep into his mouth, ushering death upon him. The other agent was not so fortunate as he was shouted into the flames by the Last Dragonborn. Watching him struggle in the midst of the flames, Mael delighted in witnessing him slowly succumb to the scorching heat.

In a desperate attempt, the Breton swiftly made his way to the living quarters, where he hoped to find his Dark Siblings who had survived the onslaught, although without much hope. The gas filled his nostrils, hindering him from breathing. He felt relief when he saw Nazir defending himself against the agent's attacks. Mael saw another Oculatus agent charging at Nazir in order to take advantage of him unguarded, so he leapt into action and grabbed hold of him, penetrating his back with the dagger and saving his fellow assassin from death. When he turned around to assist his friend, he saw that the Redguard had already dealt with the attacker.

“So you are alive. I was starting to wonder.” Nazir said, relieved to see the Listener, between fits of coughing due to the fiery vapor that irritated his throat.

“Someone fucking sold us out, Nazir. We must get out of here!” Mael shouted, struggling to make his voice heard among the sounds of crumbling walls.

“Considering most of us are now dead, I assumed as much. And before you ask, no - I don't think it was you,” replied Nazir as he and Mael struggled to reach upper levels, both of them coughing as their breathing space was impeded tremendously. “Well, maybe I did, but you saving my sorry hide just now sort of erased any doubts. So thanks.”

“The only thing we can do is get out of here. Once the dust has settled, we'll find out who betrayed us.” Mael knew that he did not need clairvoyance to locate the traitor, and that Astrid was probably already dead somewhere inside the ruins.

“You've got that right. Only a matter of time before we're roasted alive. Come on!”

Assassins ran into the room that contained the coffin of the Night Mother in hopes of finding a way out. “Damn it! It’s a dead end. Come with me, Listener!” Nazir shrieked as he stormed out of the room. When Mael was about to move to the exit, the voice inside his head arose once again, forcing him to pause.

Listener. I am your only salvation. Come. Embrace me.

Upon realizing that there was no other way out of the room as the only exit was blocked by enormous boulders, Mael concluded that there was no other option. Heeding the voice inside his head, the Listener entered the coffin and closed the doors. With his eyes closed heavily, he could feel everything around him crumbling, his Family in disarray, the betrayal that had been perpetrated against them all. Yet despite all of that, he could sense that there was a fresh start that lay ahead of him.

Sleep…

In the moment that Mael managed to open his eyes, he discovered that all he could see was darkness, and realized that he was still inside the coffin. He was startled to feel the coffin moving, and then he heard Babette and Nazir bickering. 

As the coffin lids unfurled, he squinted as if he were seeing the sun for the first time in a long time, but he was still delighted to see the little vampire girl and the Redguard. Despite the suffering and anguish they endured, the Family persevered. Hearing the voice of the Night Mother again, this time it did not bring him chilling terror, but rather a glimmer of hope.

You must speak with Astrid. Here, in the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. It's all right. You've been through a lot. Maybe you should just sit down for a bit...” The old Redguard spoke softly, knowing that the boy had gone through a great deal, from killing a copycat of the Emperor to rushing to the Sanctuary in an effort to save them..

Mael, poised and determined more than ever, rose from the coffin to his feet, his eyes beaming with confidence. “Astrid’s here in the sanctuary, follow me.”

A smile appeared on Nazir's face as he heard Mael's words, evoking a feeling of hope. “She's here? By Sithis, I thought we'd lost her. Let's go!” he exclaimed as he walked alongside Babette, following the Listener behind.

Mael was able to lift the large boulder blocking Astrid's room with the assistance of Nazir. Their first sight of the scene made the blood of all three surviving assassins run cold. There were numerous candles burning around Astrid as she lay on the ground, among a heart, a skull, and a nightshade. After realizing that there were no bones, Mael became more distressed because he knew that Astrid had performed the Black Sacrament on her own behalf.

Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.

A signal was given by Mael for Nazir and Babette to remain back. He then approached Astrid who was lying on the ground. She was still breathing, alive, but her body had been horribly scorched, with not a single inch of her once stunning appearance left unaffected by the ravages of the fire. Mael was meant to be sad, to hate her, to be enraged. In spite of this, he was surprised by the fact that he did not feel any of these. The flames seemed to have washed away the pain caused by regret and betrayal.

“Alive.... You're alive... Thank Sithis...” Under the pressure of the gas filling her throat from the flames, Astrid managed to utter a few words.

I wish I wasn’t. Mael thought. He was left with nothing to offer since he had witnessed the treachery of Maro and Astrid, which had caused tremendous damage to their Family, threatening its existence. “Why?”

Apparently aware that minutes remained before her demise, Astrid shushed him quickly. “Please. There is much... I have to say. And... not much time... I'm sorry. So very sorry. The Penitus Oculatus... Maro... He said that by giving you to them, he would leave the Dark Brotherhood alone. Forever. By Sithis, I was such a fool.”

Sadness washed over Mael by the way her chest thumped between words, thinking that no one, not even an enemy, should be subjected to this kind of punishment, never mind the woman he had foolishly assumed to love. 

“All of this... it's all my fault. You are the best of us, and I nearly killed you... as I've killed everyone else...” Astrid sighed, closing her eyes, trying her hardest to remain calm, but the tears ran down the sides of her face as they filled her burned cheeks.

I expected as much. Mael wanted to use the words of sincerity to hurt Astrid, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so, seeing how much pain she was suffering at the very moment.

“Don't you see? It was me. I set you up, wanted you dead. I betrayed you, the Night Mother... everything I hold dear. And now Maro has betrayed me...” Astrid wept in sorrow, although she knew in the deepest part of her heart that regretting all those mistakes she had made would be futile and pointless. “I just wanted things... to stay the way they were. Before Cicero, before the Night Mother. Before... you.”

Having witnessed Astrid's desperation to sell him to Maro and rid herself and 'her family' of him, the young man could appreciate her view of him as an intruder. The sight of Astrid fading away before his very eyes tore at his heart despite the fact that he wished things had not reached this point.

“I thought I could save us. I was wrong. But you're alive! So there's still a chance. A chance to start over, rebuild. That's why I did... this. Don't you see? I prayed to the Night Mother! I am the Black Sacrament,” In her blurred sight, Astrid saw Mael that was adrift, confused and desperate, and her heart ached for his life, for all that she had forced him to endure. Her hand reached out to the Blade of Woe that lay beside her. “The Night Mother was right. The old ways... they guided the Dark Brotherhood for centuries. I was a fool to oppose them. And to prove my... sincerity, I have prayed for a contract. You lead this Family now. I give you the Blade of Woe, so that you can see it through. You must kill... Me…”

He finally gathered enough courage and willingness to approach her, bending down on his knees beside her, and cradling her head in his arms. His heart wanted her to suffer a terrible death as punishment for the stupidity and unforgivable treachery that she had committed. The other side of his heart dictated that it was too harsh, even for a woman of her stature. “I can’t,” he muttered, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Please, Mael. Release my soul, and let Sithis be the judge.” Tears glistened in her eyes as she cracked a smile, the warmest and the most genuine she had ever managed to muster up to this point. “If you loved me even a little, I beg you to kill me.”

As Mael hunched down to meet her in the eye, he kissed her gently, before tears streamed down his cheeks. As he gently accepted the dagger from her hand, his smile remained intact. “Farewell, Astrid.” Slowly, he lay her on the ground, and raised the dagger, piercing through her heart, eyes closed shut not to witness the deed. As he opened his eyes, he winced at the sight of the blood gushing from her mouth. Amidst the emotional turmoil of this moment, Mael was suddenly jolted into consciousness to hear the Night Mother's voice.

Astrid is dead. It is as it should be. May she find redemption in the Void. But while you live, the Dark Brotherhood lives. We must fulfill our contract. Emperor Titus Mede II must be eliminated. Speak with Amaund Motierre at the Bannered Mare in Whiterun. He will know the true Emperor's location. But first, inform Nazir of your plans. For you are the Listener, and must bind this Family together.

Recharged with a sense of purpose, Mael knew he had to leave behind the treachery, the flames, and Astrid. The Listener drew a deep breath and took with him the Blade of Woe, hoping that it would serve as both a catalyst and a driving force for him in fulfilling his task. 

“By Sithis, what a mess. I guess this is the end,” His gaze fixed on the ground with desperation, Nazir sighed as he realized that this was the end of their journey.

“Not exactly. The Night Mother has spoken to me again,” Mael said with a smile as he shook his head.

“What? Well - what did she say?”

“I must speak with Amaund Motierre once more.”

“Amaund Motierre?” Nazir's eyes widened in surprise. It was at first his strong suspicion that Motierre was in collusion with Maro and his henchmen and was the perpetrator of Penitus Oculatus' attacks. “But that would mean…”

“The contract is still on. The true Emperor must be assassinated,” Mael assured, placing his hands on Nazir’s shoulders.

“You mean... there's still a chance? But how? Our plan has gone to ruin, everyone is dead, the Family…”

“Our Family lives on, Nazir. You have to trust your Listener,” Mael smiled, hoping to convey the sense of hope and spirit in the old Redguard.

“Hmph. All right, then. Go. Go, my Listener. Find out what that slimy bastard Motierre has to say, then send the Emperor to Sithis.” Despite his initial optimism, Nazir's smile soon faded as he considered living in Falkreath. Nothing could be done to repair the sanctuary as it had reached the end of its usefulness. “Ah, but when you're done, there's no use returning here, is there?”

“I have a better idea. Take Babette and the Night Mother and journey to Dawnstar Sanctuary while I resolve this contract.”

“Brilliant, Listener,” Nazir chuckled.  “Now go. And come back with a barrel full of gold, hmm?”

“Don’t worry about it. I got this,” Mael smiled back. He left the Sanctuary with a hope that he would be able to restore the equilibrium of his distorted Family.

With 125 legionnaires and agents, and one Emperor now added to the list of those he had slaughtered, Mael immediately headed for Bannered Mare in Whiterun. The fulfillment of his promised destiny was a source of relief, but exhaustion had taken hold of him so severely that he had barely been able to get from the horse to walk to the city, his soaked armor still dripping water.

His ears echoed with the words of the old man as he stepped inside the inn. Mael was surprised by the Emperor's quick acceptance of death even though he was an assassin. The thought of his most sincere dying wish continued to reverberate within the confines of his mind.

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?

That was the only reason he had come here in the first place; to fulfill the dying wish of a man who had spent decades fighting for his Empire; in war, in politics, in keeping his country in existence.

An energizing atmosphere prevailed at the inn, where skalds sang and patrons spilled mead everywhere. In the midst of all the noise, one could only realize, once silence had taken over, that someone had been killed; just to his liking.

Amaund Motierre was beyond mess. The matter of assassinating the emperor had clearly messed with his mind, as was evident from his appearance. He wore an unkempt appearance and his hair was tossed erratically left and right. It had been too long, he thought, since he shaved his facial hair, so he looked like a vagrant. Upon seeing the man who would bring an end to all of this interminable waiting game and the insufferable hardships he endured in this frozen land, Motierre jumped up enthusiastically and greeted him. “Aha! You’re back!”

“Titus Mede II lies dead.” As he spoke indifferently, Mael appeared to be surprised at himself, as he had usually been enthusiastic about the killings he had performed. The death of the Emperor did not make him feel whole, on the contrary, it tore a huge black hole in his heart. To kill such an honorable man who was responsible for ensuring that the Empire survived on, and that the Dominion wasn't able to enforce elven rule on human kingdoms... and he was felled by his dagger.

“I know! I know! I received the news not moments ago! Ha ha! This is glorious!” Motierre was in such elation that he grabbed the assassin by the shoulder and shook him with excitement. “My friend, you may not realize it, but you have served the Empire, indeed all of Tamriel, in ways you cannot possibly imagine. Ah, but you care little for politics, am I right?” Witnessing Mael's smug grin and nodding, he gave his own smile. “You want money! And money you shall have! Your payment waits for you at a dead drop. It is inside an urn, in the very chamber where we first met, in Volunruud.”

"Thank you, Mr. Motierre." Mael extended his hand.  As best as he could, he kept up the façade to such a high level of perfection that Motierre's head was in the clouds with delight. “Long live the Empire.”

“Long live the Empire, indeed,” he smiled. “Now please, go. Collect your money, and let us never look upon one another again. Our business, thank the gods, is concluded.” Watching the assassin near the door, Motierre became tense as the Listener suddenly stopped.

“Actually, Motierre, there is one more thing...” Mael gave a malignant smile as he glanced over his shoulder at the Elder Council member.

“And what might that be?” His voice was hesitant, and fear crept up inside his body as he tried to come up with a response.

Mael rushed over to Motierre within a blink of an eye and smothered his mouth with his hand in order to cut down on his screaming and pushed him back into his chair. Unsheathing the Blade of Woe, he brought his lips closer to whisper death into his ear. Just a favor... for an honorable man. Then, he struck him on the throat with his dagger, cutting a deep swath, making him let out a torrent of blood. 

For the assurance that he wouldn't blow his cover, Mael held his hand tight to his mouth, suffocating him, until he stopped moving. 

The Emperor may not have deserved to die; rather, perhaps someone more powerful, bright, an idealist with a pure heart would take his place and the Empire would thrive once more. Nevertheless, Mael was not a politician or a monarch brave enough to be burdened with the problems of a country. In his mind, he had always been a puppet of the gods in a game that they called fate, and he had always done what he had been commanded to do. Simply put, he was happy with his job.

Mael turned to look at Motierre again, his eyes were empty as he had drawn his last breath. With a chuckle, Mael left the inn's cheery atmosphere behind. The gold was his utmost desire, and he knew it was his turn to be the head of this Dark Family.

“You magnificent son of a bitch!” Nazir, amazed at the sight of two barrels clattering with gold, gave a hug to The Listener and laughed out loud.

“Yeah. Two barrels, each ten thousand septims.” As he patted the Redguard on the back, Mael smiled.

“Now, might I offer some advice-” Nazir's words were interrupted by the Breton, who looked weary and was shaking with fatigue and raised a hand to silence him.

“Don’t offer anything to me Nazir, please. You may redecorate the place to your heart's content. The coin belongs to our family.”

“Well, since you put it that way.” Nazir nodded. He felt a chill run through him as Cicero, who he thought had been killed by The Listener days earlier, appeared from behind the rocks. “Listener, w-what is the meaning of this?!”

Ta-daa! It was impossible for Cicero to contain his joy at the prospect of reuniting with his family once again, dancing and kicking his feet in celebration.

“You were all fools, but Jester was both smart and loyal,” Mael affirmed, placing a hand on Cicero's shoulder. “Why would I kill someone so obedient?”

“Oh, yessss. Poor Cicero would never dare raise a blade against the Night Mother’s favored child, would he, Listener?” His tone was ever melodic as he spoke, placing a kiss Mael on the cheek.

“Yeah, I know you wouldn’t…” The insulted Mael roared in absolute fury, his eyes blazing in anger, glaring at Cicero, who was already wincing at the sight of it. “And if you try anything like that in the future, I'll gouge your fucking eyes out. You hear?”

“Forgive the idiotic Cicero, mighty Listener,”  Jester bowed his head in shame as he clasped his hands in front of him. “But I missed you so much…”

“Feelings are mutual, Cicero,” Mael said with a light punch to the Imperial’s chest before turning back to the old Redguard. “Nazir, I would really like you to make sure that whatever this place lacks is taken care of. No expense will be spared.” After receiving a nod from him, Mael set his sights on the Dawnstar Sanctuary, his new home, his seat of power, with the idea of sleeping for three days without waking up.

"Welcome to your new family, Tacitus." Mael murmured with a cold look on his deep green eyes. Taking a step away from the Imperial who knelt before him, he gestured with his hand to stand. "Keep your commitment to the Dark Brotherhood, and to the Five Tenets, and you will be rewarded richly."

“My Listener, I promise to never let you or my Family down,” Tacitus bowed in reverence and fear before leaving the master's chambers as he was gestured.

Mael thought to himself as he placed his hand on his chin, that Nazir's assertion seemed to be true. It was a pleasure to see these new additions to the family. They were eager, willing to learn, and not afraid of getting their hands dirty. Upon noticing Nazir waiting at the door, he approached him. "Is that all, or is there someone else?" he asked, while holding Jarrin Root in his hand. A remembrance from a friend. A wistful smile adorned his lips. There had been a great deal of change in the last two months. This was the beginning of a new era for the Dark Brotherhood, in which they had a new sanctuary to call home, a new mission of spreading terror and enriching themselves with gold, and fresh recruits who would carry on the will of the Dread Father and serve The Listener, their absolute and infallible master.

“Oh, we have another assassin-to-be, Listener,” Nazir smirked as he walked inside with a young woman wearing a mask following behind him. “This Nord girl’s the last one.”

As Nazir eagerly described the young girl's life full of hardships,  skills, and willingness to join the Dark Brotherhood, Mael's gaze was already deep in examination of the girl. At the time, the voice of the Redguard was muffled and low in his ears. He couldn't understand why Astrid appeared in the center of his twisted mind whenever he saw someone wear that damned armor. In an intuitive response, he arose from his seat and held a hand high, silencing Nazir. “This girl seems to have a voice and can speak for herself, don't you think?”

“Uh, I guess she can,” Redguard replied with a puzzled look on his face.

Then leave us alone," Mael commanded, his eyes unbroken by the new recruit, almost captivated by the ambiguity in her gaze constantly. Despite the fact that she was still wearing her hood and mask, something about her held his attention. After receiving a nod from Nazir and seeing him stroll out, he was left alone with the new recruit. He ordered her to undo her cowl. Her long dark brown hair spilled over her waist as he watched silently, an entrancing sight. Mael slowly circled around her and stopped when he noticed the sickening sight of her long scar that extended slantwise across her face. Despite her tarnished beauty and the exquisite curves of her body enclosed in shrouded armor, he could sense the malice and indulgence in her dark eyes.

“What is your name?” Mael asked, trying his hardest to suppress the curiosity in his tone.

“Kilgja, master,” she responded, her eyes glistening with confidence. Young girl took the time to examine the Listener. This man was more than she was told. She was struck by his broad shoulders, his tall stature, his athletic build, hair slicked to the side, and those beautiful forest green eyes that could take her breath away, making her feel like she were in love with him right away.

“Assuming you have killed someone before...” Mael took a moment to admire and adore her confidence in the way she carried herself. “I want to know about your first and last victims.”

“My first kill was a foolish farm boy trying to woo me,” Kilgja chuckled, recalling the moment when she slashed him across the throat and watched him bleed to death. “The last person I killed was a street scammer who ripped me off.”

He was not supposed to be surprised given killing things was his area of expertise, yet, he was in the end, finding it hard to believe and continuing to assess the girl, questioning whether this small thing did exactly as she explained. It was apparent from the flicker of her eyes that she was different, and although the girl was half the size of him, if she proved to be skillful and deadly, she could have the potential to be an inviolable killer and wreak havoc on anyone who stood in her way.

“And your age is...” Mael desperately tried to guess her age, knowing she could be in her early twenties, but he fell short.

“Twenty-two, my Listener,” 

Younger than I anticipated, Mael felt surprised deep within. Meanwhile, he was just 25 years old, making him the one of the guilds youngest members. Almost. As Mael moved slowly behind the girl, his hands brushed against her shoulders, his fingers slipping slowly to her elbows. "Kilgja," he called his name, tracing his hands along her stomach. “Are you willing to serve me faithfully, with devotion, and without reservation?”

A wave of shock and excitement swept over Kilgja as she felt the hands of her master roaming over her body. “I do.”

“Will you swear to uphold the family that counts you as one of its own, and to lay down your life in the event of need?” Mael felt the Nord’s long hair glide against his nose, and as he smelt the lavender, desire arose in him. Mael let go of the bulge that slowly formed in his pants as their bodies pressed against each other.

“I swear to kill… and die for my… family, in life… and death…” The focus was becoming more challenging, she felt shivers by his soft touch, making words nearly impossible to come out of her mouth.

Mael made the Nord look at him, their sensuous gazes entwining. “Are you willing to dedicate your weapon, your murders, and yourself entirely to me?” He extended his hands around her waist, tracing their way to her toned rear that was enclosed within the armor.

The urge to make a move was strong in Kilgja, extending her arms around the Listener's neck. “I’m yours, master,” she expressed with a wicked smile before pressing her lips against his. Though she was startled when he hoisted her up, she did not break the kiss and embraced him with her legs. She savored the darkness, lust, danger, fear, and desire in her master's tender lips.

There was disappointment in Mael's mind. There was nothing he could do, no matter how hard he tried, what lustful phrases or intrusive gestures he offered 'to entice' her, he was unable to taste, or feel Astrid on this girl's lips. Even though he regretted that his lust had the better of him, he could not help but note the intensity in her kiss, deciding to play along.

Their fiery kiss brought them to the bed, where Kilgja landed on top of Mael's rigid hardness as they clung to each other. In spite of his disappointment, he felt he had to recognize Nord's natural beauty. “You’re so beautiful,” Mael whispered with a smile, playing with the strands of her hair. After bringing his lips closer to hers, he was stunned to feel her undo the buttons on his shirt in preparation for removing it. Upon taking off his shirt, he was surprised when she pushed him onto his bed. He was filled with a sense of fear as she unsheathed her dagger and showed it to him. After she threw the dagger away and slowly perched herself atop his strained member, she could not help but groan in pleasure, clearly toying with him. She undid the shrouded armor that had concealed her accentuated curves for far too long, smirking as the Breton looked at her exquisite breasts with a look of possessed fascination.

Putting her arms against his muscular chest, she slowly ground her hips against his thighs as she smiled broadly. “I’m ready to serve you, Listener.”

Having straightened himself on the bed with her still straddling him, Mael gazed at her with a mixture of fear and reverence and smiled. There is more to this girl than meets the eye, the Listener thought. He reached out to touch his hands on the creamy texture of her full breasts and groped them, giddy with excitement. He did not, however, blind himself to reality. Not now, not ever. Kilgja was not Astrid, and she would never be Astrid. And Mael, despite what may seem to be a hopeless undertaking, was willing to devour every woman's lips to satisfy his craving for Astrid. He knew it wasn't going to happen. The Sanctuary he called home two months ago was burned to the ground with his love. While returning to the present, he reflected that savoring the moment was much more logical than lamenting. When Mael brought his lips to Kilgja's ear, he spoke softly. “You and I are going to get along just fine.”