A figure stood on White Gold Tower, lit up in the moonlight. He wore a long dark robe, and a hood obscured most of his face, save for a bit a blond hair. He was obviously human, though what type could not be distinguished in the dark night. At his hip sat a small, beautifully crafted dagger, its obsidian blade decorated with gold.

He looked out over the Imperial City. The temple district was still badly damaged, but in repair. Most of the other districts seemed fine. He was glad for that, but the memory brought a sudden crushing feeling in his chest. Martin was gone, and it was because of him. The people he had known always died, although usually by his own hand. He looked at the blade at his waist, its power a gift from the Night Mother when he became the Listener of the Black Hand, and thought of the other one, buried deep in the head of a friend, they had taken so many, many lives, many of them people he had cared about...

But it had been for the Night Mother. For Sithis. For gold. It had to be done, for them, for those. He thought back to his first kill, his first murder. At least, the first completely-cold blooded one. Davide Surille. He regretted that deeply. He had known Davide in passing. Not well. But his wine was good. And he had been a good person. And you murdered him for a thousand septims from an insane elf.

But then there were others... So many others... He had been killing others for so, so long. He was shedding the first tears he had shed in years. Perhaps it was time he finally killed for himself.

With that he did something no one ever expected. Not the Night Mother, not Sithis, not Akatosh, not Talos. He threw himself from the tower.

The tears streamed down his face as he thought of those he had cared for, and slain in cold blood. The first was his brother.

When he had been sixteen, the Listener's father and brother had gotten into a fight, with the brother fleeing the house. His father ordered the Listener to go out and kill his brother, on threat of beating, and his father's beatings… it could kill him. He had never been quite sure why his father wanted to go so far as to kill the boy.

But he had done it. He had tracked his brother down, his fourteen year-old baby brother. He could still remember the look of horror on his brother's face, backed into a cave wall, while the Listener had his axe raised above his head. He had survived that only by knowing he had done what he had done from self-preservation.

He could feel the air, rushing past his face. It blew back his hood, exposing his eyes to the wind. It stung.

It hadn't happened again, killing someone he cared about. Not until Martin. Martin was a good man. Leader of the Empire. If it wasn't for the fact that there had been another heir, he would never have done more than give the amulet to Jaufree. Never would have become his errand boy.

It was the Listener's fault Martin had died. If not directly his fault, then by consequence. If he had just gotten the Great Welkynd Stone quicker, or gone to meet Bauras earlier... Then Martin could have been saved. He would have gotten to the Temple of the One quicker, in enough time to simply light the dragon fires.

Then, there had been the Purification. He had joined the Brotherhood shortly before the Defense of Bruma, and after Martin died he had not wanted the attention he did not deserve. He had faded into the Brotherhood for a time. Until he had become a Silencer... The purification haunted him.

Gogron had been the first to go. Eventually, he had realized, he would get into a fight with at least several of them at once, and he did not want one of them to be Gogron for obvious reasons. He had dropped a poison apple near Gogron's plate just before they had all sat down for dinner. As they ate, his face had suddenly become flushed. His throat clenched up, and no matter how hard they tried to stop the choking, he couldn't breathe. He had fallen. The lovable, homicidal oaf had fallen, a look of hatred on his face as he realized what had happened. And realized he could tell no one.

Rushing air, his body was becoming numb with the wind.

The second to die had been Telaendril. She often left the Sanctuary for some time, and if she vanished, no one would notice for a while. He had followed her, tracking her for two days to make sure she didn't realize she was being followed. Then, one night as she slept, he had crushed her throat. He couldn't bear to see he face as as realized its family had betrayed them, not after Gogron.

There had been only five left then. Ocheeva, Antionetta, M'raaj-Dar, Teinaava, and Vicente. Vicente was next. His nocturnal habits had proved useful. Alone in his room, he had suspected nothing that late at night.

Simply going in to talk to him, the future Listener had shoved his torch against Vicente's clothes, lighting them aflame. Vicente had lashed out at him with his fists, sending him hurtling into a wall. But whatever Vicente's lack of drinking may have done for his strength, his weakness against fire was huge. He had become a pile of ash before being able to throw another punch. The rage in his face at betrayal... it was worse than Gogron's.

M'raaj-Dar had been... difficult. The Listener had been looking forward to that being the only one he wouldn't regret, but the son of a bitch had denied him that.

When he sat down for breakfast the next morning, he had almost burst into tears. M'raaj-Dar had said that he respected the man now, and that he was glad to call him brother, and sorry for the things he had said before. They were alone in the living quarters, Teinaava was in the main hall, reading, and Ocheeva was doing administrative things in her room. Antionetta was training. He had quietly removed Sufferthorn from its place on his hip and sent it flying into the Khajiit's head.

He couldn't feel anything now, but his limbs flailed out. He was spread-eagled.

The ground was coming up fast.

He had crossed the hall next, into the training area, and closed the door silently. He had crept up behind her, and as she raised her dagger hand to strike the dummy, he prepared Sufferthorn to enter her skull. Almostly silently he whispered, "Goodbye." That had been all she had needed. She turned swiftly, and her blade skimmed across his chest as he jumped back. She had cursed him as they fought, but the walls were thick, and with luck Teinaava had not heard their duel. It was swift, it was tidy. It ended with him sending her blade sailing across the room, and Sufferthorn digging its way up into her chin. That was where he had left it. He could never stomach the thought of removing it from her.

The Argonians had followed suit as one. Teinaava had entered the room and found her dead body. He had fled, calling Ocheeva. The Listener had drawn his bow as the Argonians came running back to the room, weapons drawn. In the end, Teinaava had an arrow sticking out of his throat. Ocheeva had been coughing up blood, several arrows pinned into her chest, asking him over and over why he had betrayed them. He had no answer for her.

He had to shut his eyes. The wind was too powerful... the impact was coming.

The final, in theory, had been Lucien. Lucien was innocent, they had both known that. But he had put off searching the traitor's home. He had put it off, and when he finally had gone to the farm, there was a fresh, desecrated body. Lucien. He had been given Lucien's place.

And now, here he was. Six months later. Lying in a pool of blood at the base of White Gold Tower. No one realized who he was. He could steal hear the guards calling for a healer. But he knew it was too late. And he was glad. Because, for once in his life, he had killed someone for himself.

A/N: Finally. First thing I've written in a while, I hope it's pretty good, and I've been assured it's not crap. Tell me what you think.