The Assassin of Shadows

A cool breeze rustled my tangled mess of hair, and the sounds of the plains lulled me into a comfortable peace. I crouched comfortably by a stream. River water lapped over my hands, loosening a layer of caked blood. The grime and dirt from days of hunting had taken its toll on my appearance, but at the moment I cared very little about that. Instead, I focused on the chorus of nature that hummed around me. I was in no hurry to dislodge myself from this spot.

Today of all days, I had the right to take my time. Being the third of Heartfire, I was celebrating my twenty-sixth year. Honestly, I found that I was often surprised by how many years I had managed to survive. In my line of work, there were very few who lasted for very long without being masters at our trade. I did not consider myself a master. In fact, I was far from it, but I still had plenty of life to live. Just as long as I did not take any unnecessary risks…which were my specialty.

Once my hands were finally devoid of all but the most stubborn dirt, I turned back to my kill. It was average compared to my usual haul. Four pheasants, two rabbits, and two small deer. I had cleaned and skinned the does on the spot. The animals were much too big for me to just toss over my shoulder and trek home.

I stood and stretched my legs. Having paused to rest for as long as I had, it was past time that I returned home. I had already sent a courier ahead to my mother—who managed my contracts—so that she could in turn contact the clients. My message was half coded just in case an Imperial or Stormcloak envoy were to intercept him. We had long set a system in place for circumstantials such as these. This system was now more important than ever since Helgen had been razed to the ground almost a month ago. Now the crumbled city was inhabited by bandits; very few remember that my mother and I lived beyond the town and into the mountain, and so all but the bravest couriers declined the job.

The route around the town was dangerous and it required both stamina and knowledge of the land. While I had both, the roads around Helgen had fallen to disuse after the town was left smoldering.

The trek to Whiterun was tiring, but I had long fallen into this routine. In fact, I had been stopping here for so long that, even with the entire country in high alert of dragon sightings, the guards greeted me like a long-time friend.

"Ho, Huntress!" The guard to the left of city gate greeted me, "It's dangerous with dragons about. Mind yourself."

I gave him my friendliest smile, "I've heard; though, I thank you for your concern, friend."

"Go on inside," He motioned to the gate. I gave him a polite nod, pushing past the large wooden doors.

Once inside, I allowed muscle memory to guide me until I reached the marketplace in the plains district. Anoriath, whom I had been trading with for years, always gave me a good deal on my venison. As an experienced hunter and butcher, my shots were clean and my meat was premium. Which meant I was supposed to charge more.

His face lit up as I approached. I had a soft spot for the Bosmer, so—despite my mother's constant protests—I never allowed him to pay more than twenty septims for a good cut of meat.

"Huntress!" He chimed, "In town to trade, or are you going to stay for a while?"

"I have to make my way home, so I won't be staying in the city long." I said.

"That's too bad," He sighed, "I was going to see if you'd finally allow me to buy you that drink I've been promising you."

My cheeks warmed. I allowed a charming smile to slip onto my face. "Not today, but thank you." I finished my dealings with him in short order. He was impressed—as he always was—with the amount of meat I had managed to bring after a single hunt. He bought both deer skins and the meat from one of the deer. What I might have charged others over a hundred, I only charged him half. He tried to protest, but I shut him down quickly, reminding him that he likely could not afford it, and that I was not badly in need of coin. He was still thanking me when I turned to leave.

I allowed myself a brief trip to Arcadia's Cauldron to replenish my mother’s depleted stores. That would keep her from complaining too much at how little gold I had charged Anoriath. While I wanted to stop by Warmaiden’s in order to buy more arrows, I was already hard pressed to make it back home before sundown.

On another day, I promised myself.

After finishing my business in Whiterun, I made haste down the south road. This path would take me through Riverwood, but that too was another stop along the road home. My business in the small trading town was brief as I only stopped briefly at Sleeping Giant Inn to wet my throat and delay my hunger. Once I finished, I was on my way once more.

The road from Riverwood to Helgen wound off into the mountain. I kept to the path, stepping off only when a group of Imperial soldiers passed by. They greeted me curtly with a, "carry on civilian” before passing me by. This was a frequent happening due to Helgen's proximity to Fort Neugrad, and it had long stopped making me nervous. I trekked onward.

It was late afternoon by the time I could see Helgen's barely intact gate. Once I was close enough to make out one of the fur-clothed bandits that lazed by the front gate, I ducked off the path. I had thought about clearing the bandits from the town's ruins before, but after voicing the idea to my mother, she had told me that she would rather let them stay. It deterred curious travelers. While I was inclined to agree with her, their presence was—though momentarily overlooked—an inconvenience to say the least. They had a bad habit of wondering too far up the mountain, and it was my job to remind them that the small cabin was not for open for them to loot.

Sometimes I worried that they would decide to ignore the bodies that piled up when they ignored our demands. Not that ma was exactly helpless, because she most certainly was not. I just feared that they would one day pluck up the courage to test their luck when I was not home. Of course, mother would just wave away any of my protests, irritably stating that she was not a "feeble old bat" and that my worries were baseless.

Once I had circumvented the town gates, I continued up the dirt path. Our small cabin was only a mile or so up the road, past the first sign post, and right before the heavy snow fall. After about fifteen minutes, the cottage came into view. Ma stood outside, hunched over the plants in her fenced garden. She sat erect, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. She noticed my approach before I had the chance to call out to her.

My mother, who went by the name Silstina Arcael, was a relatively tall woman, standing almost an entire head taller than me. Her ebony curls were pinned from her face, and her cobalt eyes narrowed upon my approach.

"It's about time." She said, her velvety purr stern, "I thought you would never make it back in time for supper."

"You know that I always stop by Whiterun and Riverwood on my way home." I reminded her.
"Yes, yes. I know." She said, "You have your little routine, but if you remember correctly, you wrote me that you would be home before supper."

"I am, aren't I?" I huffed. She always had this irritating way of making me feel like a misbehaving child.

"I don't want to hear any cheek. Get inside and clean up. You're a mess." My mother ordered tersely.

With a roll of my eyes and a dramatic bow, I followed her snippy command. "Yes, whatever you say mother." Ignoring the pointed glare, I jogged the rest of the way to our front porch and through the front door.

"Put the game on the table, and for Mara's sake, brush your hair. You look like a beggar." I acted as though I had not heard her jibe and continued on with what I was doing.

Our cabin was one floor with low-ceiling loft where our beds lie. Directly across the room from the door stood a stone fireplace with a pot simmering over top of it. No doubt, she had been waiting on meat for a stew. I placed the wrapped venison, rabbit carcasses, and pheasants on the rectangular, wooden table along the wall and to the left of the hearth. After making sure that the three jars worth of ingredients for my mother were visible, I climbed the ladder to the loft upstairs and began to unpack my knapsack.

I was in the middle of putting away what few articles of clothing I had not worn when I heard the door open.

"You had better be washing up." My mother chirped in a singsongy voice, "Oh, canis root and fly amantula! Good, I was almost out."

"That would be why I got them." I said. By her lack of response I knew the exact expression I had earned.

I went back to unpacking before she could rip my head off about not having cleaned up already. When I finished, I clambered down the ladder. My mother said nothing as she stirred the contents of the pot hanging over the fire, she merely pointed a wash basin across the room. Since I was already headed that way, I said nothing as I tread across the room. I dipped my hands in the warm water, splashing it on my face. Scrubbing until I no longer received unsatisfied glares from my picky mother, I scrubbed the stubborn grime off of my hands that still lingered from hunting.

"Once you're finished, see to it that Nala is fed and watered. Then chop the leeks and carrots." I followed her instructions with little more than a huff.

Nala was a large, dark brown and black bay. She was my mother's prize mare. Sweet-natured, sturdy, and eager, she was a very good steed. She shook out her ebony mane as I approached.

"Hello, beautiful." I smiled genuinely for the first time all day. I stroked her nose, and she let out a contented huff. I checked her water trough and grabbed a few apples from a nearby barrel to feed her. Once she had finished with those, I stroked her nose once more before I sauntered back into the house to chop vegetables.

When I entered, my mother was admiring the slab of venison on the table. She weighed it in her hands, turning it over. She seemed to deem it worthy of entering the stew because she started slicing the meat into steaks. She did not take notice of me until I reached around her for a bundle of carrots and leeks. I did not flinch from her scrutiny, but I did raise my brows, as if to ask, “Good enough?”

“Much better. A little make up would do wonders, but at least you no longer look homeless.” Only my mother could make a compliment sound so condescending.

“Thanks ma.” I muttered, turning my attention to helping supper along.

When we finally sat down to a table of food, the atmosphere was calm. Evening meals were usually hurried. I was in and out so often that I rarely had time to sit and eat. Tonight, we sat there in comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company for once. Only when my mother finally spoke did the atmosphere change.

“We’ve received a notice of a new contract.”

Her words were nonchalant, as though they belonged in normal conversation. Though, between the two of us, this sort of talk was normal. This sort of news did not usually bother me, but that meant that—after several days of almost non-stop travel and contracts—I would not be able to sleep in a warm bed that night. The prospect did not sit well with me.

“Already?” I groaned. “I’ve only just returned from my last one.”

“Yes,” My mother agreed, “but our client is willing to pay half up front. It’s quite a lofty sum.”

“Does that really mean that I have to set out right away?” I sounded almost childish in my complaining.
“Why wouldn’t you?” She asked, as if I should want to do nothing else.

“It’s my birthday, I would like to sleep in my own bed for once. Is that a crime?” I retorted curtly.

Her arched brows rose, “Oh. That’s how it is?” Her lips pursed, “I was going to inform you that the amount of gold we would make off of this contract alone would be enough for you to retire for an entire year, but it seems as though you would rather continue with your trivial small jobs instead. I’m sure that the Dark Brotherhood would love a contract of such importance.”

I had to pick my jaw up off the ground as I took in her words, “What do you mean an entire year?”
“And here I thought you would rather stay home. Of course, you can, if it’s that important to you.” She stood, her chair making a horrible scraping sound, “Were today any other day, you would be in a hurry to leave me here alone. I guess can arrange other contracts so that you won’t have to be home for so long. A year is a long time to spend with your lonely mother, and I could see how it might seem like a burden.” She began to clear off the table.

The longer she went on, the more guilty I began to feel. My outburst had been very clearly misconstrued. She had taken my objections as though I did not want to be home. She had lost a great deal in the last month. She was already lonely and restless, but when the dragon leveled Helgen, she lost her beloved apothecary. Now, she must have thought that I wanted nothing more than to be away from home. I admit, the thought crossed my mind at times, but it had never been true.

“Ma-” Her ranting continued, “Ma-” still undeterred, “Ma, what’s the contract?”

“Now you want to know what it is?” Her voice was full of resentment.

“Look,” I sighed, “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m tired, and I wasn’t looking forward to moving out right away. It was not because I want to be away from home.” She paused, as if to consider my words, so I continued while I had the chance. “I miss home terribly when I’m away. I only wanted to spend the night at home, in a warm bed, and with you by my side. That’s all.” She turned back to me, her head held high.

“That is why I mentioned the gold in the first place. I know you care very little about finances, but I thought that the prospect of a year off might appeal to you.” She said haughtily.

Relief washed over me, “It does.” I said earnestly.

Her eyes flooded with an emotion that I could only place as triumph, “Good.”

“The contract?”

“Yes, that.” She produced a piece of parchment from within her apron. I took it from her extended hand to read it for myself. Our clients mostly correspond directly with my mother. It is through her that I receive the bulk of my contacts—the rest through friendly contacts in the Dark Brotherhood. I usually have little to no control over what contracts my mother approved. Some might consider her to be too controlling, but I never minded it, at least, in these circumstances. It turned out to be easier in the long run.

The contracts were usually letters explaining the details and pouches of coin. Sometimes the letters were detailed, but other times there was a single sentence. One this particular scrap of parchment, there was only a name: Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak.