Reflection

A goblet of Alto wine was settled in Valmen's hand as he looked out over Skyrim at sunset. He'd built Dragonborn Overlook on the slopes of the Throat of the World, so that he could look out over Whiterun and the surrounding mountains just like this, and see the setting sun pull a blanket of stars overhead. He gently swirled the glass of wine and raised it to take a sip, thinking of all he had done in his life. His soul was promised to at least half a dozen daedric princes, as an Altmer he was sentenced to Aetherius, and as the Dragonborn his spirit was consigned to Sovengarde. He didn't know exactly where it was he would end up, though Tsun had implied that he would be free to wander all of the realms he was promised to. He took another sip of wine, wondering if he would be accepted into Sovengarde, being the Second Emissary for the Thalmor didn't exactly endear him to the Nords. His head tilted back as the sun finally slipped below the mountains, and a slim smile crossed his face, maybe he wouldn't even go anywhere. Perhaps he would simply stay on Mundus, and wander as a spirit.

His body was old, after seventy years as a politician in Alinor and nearly four hundred years of adventuring, he had finally been forced to set down his sword. He didn't have the strength to wear the Ebony Mail, and lifting the Mace of Molag Bal was far beyond him now. Even the Dawnbreaker was almost too much for him. As he set the glass down, and reached for his staff he smiled, doubting that Sheogorath would appreciate him using the Wabbajack as a glorified walking stick. The Sanguine Rose was out of the question, since city guards didn't approve of him summoning daedra in the streets even if it was by accident. A soft groan escaped him as he pushed himself to his feet, and a soft clicking sound was audible as the Wabbajack tapped against the floor with each step.

Once, he'd been able to build this entire mansion by himself, enjoying the challenge posed by the twisting corridors, and turning the entire building into a maze. Now however, he mentally cursed his younger self, summoning a clairvoyance spell just to find his bedroom. The walls were lined with his trophies as he stepped through, Dawnbreaker and the Mace of Molag Bal were crossed on a plaque over his bed, the hilts sticking out from behind Spellbreaker, a gift from Peryite. Along the walls hung the Ebony Mail and the Savior's Hide, across from the Sanguine Rose and Wuuthrad. Ah, how easily he had twirled that axe around his head in his youth, bringing it to bear against Falmer and the occasional bandit when his bound swords returned to oblivion.

He set the Wabbajack next to the Sanguine Rose, then lowered himself into a sitting position on his bed. A wave of his hand dispelled a pair of Candlelight, and the room was shrouded in darkness, apart from the dim light provided by the moons. His hands crossed in his lap as he watched the door, waiting for it to open.

He didn't have to wait for long.

A dark figure slipped into his room, a pair of amber eyes lit from within, a sign of vampirism if he'd ever seen one. The figure started into the room, only to freeze when he spoke.

"Oh come now, don't be shy. I don't plan to fight you for my life." He chuckled weakly, "As you might be able to see, I don't have all that much of it left to miss. Hurry up, or old age might steal your chance to kill me."

The figure blinked in surprise, then straightened from their crouch, "You were expecting me?"

Valmen nodded, "I've lived for a long, long time young one. I've made my share of enemies, frankly I'm surprised that it's taken this long for someone to contact you lot. The Dark Brotherhood," he shook his head slightly, "Back in power. And what better way to keep yourselves feared than killing the Dragonborn? Even the way you lot offed the emperor way back then wouldn't compare to slaying me in the safety of my own home."

The Assassin didn't move forward, "If you thought we were coming for you, then why stay here? Why not move somewhere else? We know you have houses all across Skyrim. Why throw away your life like this?"

Another chuckle, "Like I said, I don't have that much life left in me anyway." He tilted his head back, "I just have one question to ask before you kill me."

The other person narrowed their eyes, "What?"

"Who was it? Who worked up the nerve to order my execution?"

There was a long silence, then, "A High Elf by the name of Ondolemar, in Markarth."

Valmen thought for a long moment, then laughed, "That old scoundrel is still alive? And having me assassinated to advance his own position! I can't believe it took him four hundred years to do it!" He laughed a moment longer, then shook his head slightly, "Well, do me a favor and cut his throat when you deliver the news of my demise, would you? I'll make it worth your while."

The assassin thought for a moment, then nodded, "Why not? Seemed like a self-righteous jerk to me."

Valmen nodded, "That sounds like him. In that case, once you've killed me, take the key on my bedside table. It unlocks the safe in my study, and that will more than compensate you for your services." He leaned back, and let his head fall gently against the wall, "Now then, if you would be so kind as to make it quick."

There was a whisper of movement, and then Valmen let his eyes close.

I wonder where I'll end up?

This story just popped into my head while I was doing my homework. My muse was feeling neglected because I haven't been writing nearly enough recently, and so it started bugging me with this. After repeatedly telling my muse to shut up and let me work, I relented, and here is the result. Hope you guys like it!

Undeadmonkey8