This story is short, but I like to think you'll find what there is of it satisfying. It's part of a fanfiction that i was writing, but chose to scrap.

What happens when the Dragonborn begins the Dark Brotherhood questline is, of course, well known. As is the fact that nothing happens until they take action, one way or the other. But what if that were not the case? What if the Dragonborn did not investigate the cursed house in Windhelm, and the chanting went on... and on... what would have eventually happened? I present one possible answer here.

Justita est Commodatum is, FYI, Latin for "Justice is Served".

*~*~*~*

It was just another night at Honorhall Orphanage. The children had been in bed for over an hour. Constance was in her tiny chamber keeping the books. Grelod slouched past the younger woman without saying anything. She only spoke to her aide if she had complaints about her or a given child, which was a frequent occurrence. She walked into the children's bedchamber, hoping that there would be a child out of bed that she could threaten, or maybe worse, but they were all lying peaceful and still. If they weren't asleep, they had the sense to pretend to be so. It was the safest thing they could do, especially when Grelod was in a bad mood.

The day had passed like so many others, with only one thing to break the relative monotony. A little after sunset, there had been a knock at the door. Constance had answered it, and ushered in a child of about ten winters, Breton by the look of her. She had explained that she was from the faraway town of Old Hrolden, and that her mother had died in a dragon attack on the town. Since she had no one else to turn to, the jarl had dispatched her to the orphanage. Dragon attacks were a common enough event these days.

With no other place to put her, the new brat had been settled on Aventus's old bed. It looked like that was probably going to be a permanant thing. It irritated Grelod to no end that the boy had escaped. With him gone, the other kids would dare to hope for some form of deliverance as well. She would need to clamp down on any hint of that the next day, she knew. Maybe she would start with the new one. She needed to be shown who was boss. She had intended to do that right away, but the rotten little brat had not given her any pretext. She had obeyed all instructions, helped the other children with their evening chores, had not spoken unless someone spoke to her, and had been polite when she was spoken to. However, tomorrow it would happen. If the brat didn't provide her with a reason, one would be made up.

Grelod the Kind was a sadistic and unhinged individual, and she had come to regard a newly arrived child very much in the same way that an artist regarded a new, unsullied canvas. There was nothing like looking into the tear-streaked face of a new inmate after delivering his or her first real thrashing, seeing the horrified realization that this was what their life was going to be like until they came of age, and that there would be no hope of escape through the usual route of being adopted or apprenticed. Well, tomorrow, she promised herself as she entered her quarters and set about getting ready for bed. Tomorrow, it would be the new girl's turn to...

She sensed movement in the corner of her eye and spun on her heel. She had not heard the door open or close, but though it was closed now, she was not alone in the room. Outrage surged through Grelod like flames through a barn full of dried straw. Nobody came into her room! Not even Constance was stupid enough to enter her quarters without permission. And yet, here she was, that rotten little Breton. Silent, serene, and totally unafraid, standing around like she had every right to be there.

"What in oblivion are you doing here, you little brat?!" she shrilled at the girl. The savage look on her face would have terrified any child, and many an advlt. Grelod had fond memories of the time Hroar had wet his pants at the sight of it. And after that, she had taken a belt to him for wetting his pants, getting additional satisfaction from the incident.

The girl, however, showed no sign of fear at all. Indeed, a slight smile split her pale face. "The Dark Brotherhood has come for you, Grelod."

"I don't know what you think you're playing at, but you've just earned the beating of your miserable life," Grelod snarled, snatching up a long stick from the bedside table. She always had at least one or two appropriate pain-inflicting implements within reach. "Now turn around and bend ov..."

The child sprang then, with incredible speed and accuracy, and Grelod know a sudden, piercing pain in her neck. She struggled fiercely, but her legs collapsed under her and she went over backward, the girl coming down with her, teeth locked on her neck. Grelod had been bitten before, many children had tried to defend themselves against her, in various ways. But she had never been attacked with such swiftness and dead-serious purpose, and the only weapon in her hand was the stick, which she flailed away with but without any apparent effect. She was dimly aware of something warm and wet spurting from her neck, and tried desperately to reach up to stanch it, but her right hand was pinned under the girl's knees and... her left would not obey her. And something was wrong, the room was spinning, and getting dark and blurry. And then, blackness and increasing confusion, and then oblivion.

And then... Oblivion.

*~*~*~*

Babette continued to eagerly feed until the spurts of blood faded to bubbles, and then quit altogether as the old woman's heart finally stuttered to a halt. Then, she released and wiped the blood from her lips. Quietly, she left the room. The murder had been relatively quiet, and the sound had not penetrated the heavy wooden door. Runa and the boys snored on, and Constance continued her work. Babette lay back down on her bed. She could see that Constance genuinely cared for the children, and therefore would probably check on them one last time before retiring for the night. Once that was out of the way, Babette could sneak out, then leave the town through one of the unguarded side exits.

Constance would of course raise the alarm when she woke up the next morning and found that one of the orphans was missing. However, given Grelod's mania for the sanctity of her chamber, it might be some time before Constance dared to actually open the door. By that time, Babette would be safe in Eastmarch. After that, it was just a matter of collecting her payment from the Aretino boy, and making her way back to Falkreath.

Another successful contract. Astrid would be pleased.

Hello. I would tell you what a wonderful piece of writing this is but there is one problem... I can't read it .

Would you mind changing it to a color other than white? People on mobile, like myself, can't see the print.

Thanks.