(This is potentially a spoiler; if you haven’t done Whitehelm yet, you might want to skip it.)
I got your note.
Look, the lady deserved to die. I went in there figuring it was all a misunderstanding and she was actually a good person; that we could talk it out, bring the boy back home. But she was in fact mean. More than mean. Legitimately evil. I listened to her verbally abuse those children. I told her she was out of line. She told me to piss off and to leave. I did leave. But not before I put her down. Watching the children celebrate her death was a bit twisted, but at least now they can live in peace and experience the love that the other patron obviously wanted to give them. All thanks (they think) to you. But really, it’s thanks to me.
I was their hero. You got the credit.
I don’t trust the Stormcloaks. I don’t trust the Empire. The Thalmor are the real problem, so I picked a fight with them. I killed every elf in that fortress before setting the prisoners free. Must’ve been one of them that ratted me out, because nothing with pointy ears and a stuck-up attitude walked out of there alive. I sewed panic and death from the shadows, delivering perhaps a message so clear that it was alone enough to identify me. Maybe it wasn’t a prisoner. Maybe they know it was me because there is no one else in Skyrim who can take down a fortress solo like that. Nobody.
They know it was me. You know it was me.
But look, I’m not in this for the killing; and, don’t get me wrong – I like the money – but that’s not the why either. I’m in this for the people who are under everybody’s god damn thumbs. The farmers. The orphans. All the poor saps that you, the Stormcloaks, the necromancers, the Imperials, and the Thalmor walk all over. I am their Dark Robin Hood. I am the god damn Batman. And you, Dark Brotherhood, are on my list.
And now you know.