The Dark Brotherhood: A Listener's Tale, The tale of what it takes to become the merciless Listener of the Dark Options

[allshallfade]

This is a fanfiction that I started over a year ago as of last month, and it is something that I am still working on today. It's basically the storyline of the Dark Brotherhood, told from the point of view of a cold-hearted woman who enjoys nothing more then to kill. I know that the plot is not original, but I feel that the character's thoughts and emotions, along with her interaction with other character's, sets it apart from the blandness of the plot. Anyways, I know it's long, but please, just bare with me!

If you read and review, I can't thank you enough- it really means the world to me. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: The Old Woman and the Cottage

I killed the old woman. I don’t know what made me do it; I still can’t understand it to this day. I suppose that this is where my tale starts; where my life gets interesting. Oh boy, does it get interesting. And I don’t generally mean that in a good way. You’ll see. I had been hunting down up North, by the Nordic-fashioned city of Bruma, when I felt a presence nearby. I guess you could call it a sixth sense. I crouched down, bow in hand, and slowly crept over a small hill. When I reached the top, I saw a little cottage nestled in the mountains, with a patch of flat land serving as a single person farm. An old woman was there, working in the farm, raking down new rows for what looked like fresh potato plants.

How could I know then that this house would be the location of so much pain and misery in my future? Looking back, I wished that I had simply turned around and never glanced back. However, my instinctual curiosity, useful in so many aspects of my life, was my downfall here. I sat to watch the woman, mystified, as I hadn’t seen a human, elf, or beast race for nearly a week. I had become a rather solitary being, making my living off of the land, sleeping where I felt it was safe enough, whether it be cave or slab of rock.

Squinting against the setting sun, I saw the woman’s graying hair and wrinkling face, her movements obviously displaying the aching and grinding of her old bones. After a moment of her work, she straightened, shielding her eyes from the sun with a callused hand. She must have decided that it was enough for the day, as she collected her supplies and headed toward her thatched-roof cottage in the slow, shuffling, achy pace of the elderly.

I don’t know what came over me at that moment, but I suddenly had the overwhelming desire to kill the woman, to drive my dagger into her flesh. I felt a sudden…rage at her, such inexplicable anger that I needed to act upon. I’m not sure if my fury was against her, or against the world. But at that moment, all the feeling I had in me was focused on her. I have had such urges before, to strike, to kill, but always in public, surrounded by many. My impulses had always been controlled by necessity. Now, however, I was in the middle of nowhere. I guess that’s the reason I couldn’t stop myself.

And before I knew what was happening, everything around me became silent. Time seemed to slow as my senses were heightened. Her breathing was a slow, rhythmic rasping in my ears, and an eternity seemed to take place in the dull thudding of two of her footsteps. I started to feel faint as I tried to control the desire to stop the noise of her footsteps, to eternally end the sound of her breath. I was fighting a loosing battle. After what seemed an eternity, but was in reality were seconds, I had put my bow on my back and was reaching for my dagger.

The sound of my dagger sliding out of its sheath was intoxicating; it made my lust for the kill even stronger. I started to creep toward her, my worn leather boots padded against the ground as I silently trod upon leaves and twigs. As I grew closer to the woman, my pace increased, until I was nearly sprinting at her on bent legs. My heartbeat was like a war drum, pounding out a fast steady beat, making my head felt like it was going to explode any second. It was overwhelming; I had to end it. When I was within yards of the old woman, I stood straight, getting into a full-out sprint at her.

She didn’t hear me until I plunged my dagger into her back. With a choking gasp, she spun about to face me, her eyes meeting mine. I saw them fill with a fleeting look of surprise, before quickly turning to one of intense pain and fear. However, her pain did not last long, as I leaned behind her and yanked my dagger out of her back, and slitting her throat in one smooth motion.

She crumbled to the floor on her very own doorstep, breathed her last gasping, gurgling breath, and became eternally still. I stood over the dead body for a moment, panting slightly. Once my heart rate had started to slow, and my senses seemed to return to normal, the reality of what I had just done crashed into me, physically staggering me.

My eyes widened, and I slumped against the side of the cottage. I still held my dagger, glistening in the fading light. It was smeared with a line of blood, dripping noiselessly to the ground, joining the pool of red liquid forming steadily at my feet. Staring at her motionless body, I felt a strong mix of emotions. First, I felt disgust in myself, but I also felt an almost disturbing sense of pride, and…fulfillment. My desire for blood had been filled; the desire I had held back for so long. I had killed livestock and beast for food, but this was different. This was…murder. However, as quickly as it had come, the disgust started to ebb away, and a small smile formed on my face as I stood up straight again.

At that moment, I felt a prickling sensation on the back of my neck; a feeling that someone was watching me, that someone had seen what I had done. I whipped around, dagger at the ready, but saw nothing. The sun was nearly lost behind the mountains to the West, but there was still enough light for me to see the landscape around me in detail. I shuffled in full circle, but could pick out no one in the surrounding forest. Even so, I still could not loose the feeling of being watched, so I kept my dagger and bow at easy access.

Casting one last suspicious look into the immediate area, I turned back toward the body. As I looked at her corpse again, I felt another overwhelming feeling of disgust, but this time not at what I had done- now at the fact that I didn’t feel any remorse for my actions; no pity for the defenseless old woman. I wanted to- I genuinely wanted to feel bad, to feel guilty. But I didn’t. I…couldn’t. Sighing, pushing the unsettling thoughts out of my mind, I squatted down and started to search her for valuables.

I found about 4 gold, which was quite a sum to me at that time, and a letter to some gift-giving service listing the locations of all of her kids. I pocketed the list, not really sure why. I also found the key to her cottage. I looked back up at the sky, finding that the sun had almost disappeared, so I decided to spend the night in her house. I dragged her body into the tall grass surrounding the home before slipping the key into the lock and opening the cottage door.

Upon entering, I found that the old woman (Perennia Draconis, according to the letter) had a dog when it started barking incessantly, but it seemed as ancient as she had been. I tossed it some old boar meat from my pack, and he eagerly started gnawing at it, completely forgetting my presence. I quickly scanned the interior, looking for valuables, but not finding much. According to the sign over the mantle, the place was called “Applewatch”.

My stomach growled, so I looked into my pack and pulled out some venison and various vegetables I had stored for my trip. I cooked them in the fire place, petting the content dog while stoking the fire. Looking back, I didn’t even feel uneasy spending such a pleasant time in the home of the woman I had just mercilessly slain. My thoughts at the time were only of the food I was cooking. After my meal, I felt a wave of fatigue sweep over me, so I stripped out of my leather greaves, boots and cuirass and pulled on a long coarse shirt to sleep in. I slipped my dagger under my pillow, placed my quiver and bow on the bedside table, and slid into the warm recesses of the covers. It was extremely comfortable, compared to my recent sleeping arrangements, which had consisted of rock slabs and leaf piles. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I was woken not four hours later when my blood seemed to turn to ice, the air still and silent. In one fluid movement I had sat bolt upright and pulled my dagger out from under my pillow, holding it menacingly out into the dark room. I sat there, panting for second, trying to peer through the complete darkness, when a deep, sinister voice spoke to my right.

“You sleep rather soundly for murderer. That’s good. You’ll need a clear conscience for what I’m about to propose.”

I leapt to the left, pulling the covers off the bed as I swung my dagger wildly into midair, attempting to defend myself. I pressed my back against the wall, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. Across the bed I saw a man, clothed and hooded in the darkest black. His deep brown eyes were studying, assessing every move I made, always calculating. He seemed to be almost…amused at my reaction. His lips were curled up ever so slightly at the corners, and his intense eyes were gleaming with laughter.

“Who-who are you?” I demanded, mentally assessing my options. Listen to him talk, charge and attack, or run. Talking seemed to be the most favorable of my options; he looked quite skilled with a blade, and his athletic form could be seen even through his robes and the way he moved; he could probably outrun me. Besides, I wanted to see what he had to say. He was…intriguing.

“I am Lucien Lachance, a speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And you, you are a killer. A taker of life. A harvester of souls. Your work, your deathcraft, pleases the Night Mother. And so, I come to you with an offer. An opportunity to join our rather…unique family.”

I had no idea what to say. How did he know I had murdered the woman? And how had he known so quickly? Could he have been the presence I sensed after her death? But how had he known I was going to kill her? And what- My internal bombarding of questions was cut off as he continued, looking at me in a way that seemed to convey that he knew exactly what my thoughts were.

“So, I have your rapt attention. Splendid. Now listen closely. On the Green Road to the North of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen. There you will find a man named Rufio. He is an old man, his body frail, and he sleeps his days away. You could kill him before he woke, if you so chose. In whatever way you choose, kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete. Do this, and the next time you sleep in a location I deem secure, I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love of your new family.”

I thought about his last statement, and some of the possible implications one could interpret from it, and was suddenly extremely aware of the shortness of my shirt, and how much my legs were showing. I colored slightly, embarrassed at my own thoughts, which were most likely completely unfounded. He continued on, seemingly undeterred by my silence.

“Please accept this token from the Dark Brotherhood. It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve you well, as does your silence,” he said with his slight smile, handing me a gold-decorated dagger.

‘The Blade of Woe’ was inscribed on its gold and black hilt. I stood digesting this

for a moment, before I looked him in the eye and said questioningly:

“The Dark Brotherhood?”

“Have you not heard of the Dark Brotherhood? Of the remorseless guild of paid assassins and homicidal cutthroats? Join us, and you’ll find the Dark Brotherhood to be all that, and so much more. We are, more than anything, a union of like-minded individuals. We kill for profit, for enjoyment, and for the glory of the Dread Father Sithis. We are a family, with bonds forged in blood… and death.”

Deep in the recesses of my mind I found a distant memory; of my early teen years, working at the linen shop with my aunt. The daily routine involved scrubbing fabric clean in the back room, while gossiping with the fellow workers. I remember my aunt leaning conspiratively over her scrub board, eyes wide and her voice fearful:

“They say that when you murder someone, the Dark Brotherhood visits you in your sleep. It’s how they recruit new members.”

The understanding must have shown on my face, for he nodded briskly and said:

“Now, I bid you farewell. I do hope we’ll meet again soon.” And with one last lingering look, in which he took in my scantly dressed form with a slightly raised eyebrow and an amused gleam in his eye, Lucien Lachance vanished. Literally. The door to the cottage opened and closed, seemingly on its own accord, and a cold draft sweeping into the room. The sounds of night filled the room, embracing me.

I stood for a moment, perhaps more, rigid in astonishment. I realized now that I had often heard of the Dark Brotherhood, but these were always tales of evil and heartless murder. And I had just been asked to join them. To ‘join their family’, as Lachance had put it. Did that make me evil? Was I evil? I thought of the body lying cold outside in the tall grass, and still didn’t feel a pang of shame or guilt. I realized that I was just that; a cold, heartless murderer. Maybe not evil, but I was a cold-blooded murderer. I wasn’t ready to admit myself as evil. Not yet.

When Lachance had spoken of them, he made the Brotherhood sound like they were…close. A family. A loving family of cold-blooded assassins. The idea seemed so preposterous that I almost laughed out loud. My first inclination was to forget the whole prospect- to never even go near the Inn of Ill Omen. Best to disregard the whole thing. But as I lowered myself back onto the bed, picking up the comforter and pulling it over my body, I couldn’t stop replaying Lucien’s words in my thoughts.

For my whole life I had felt almost overpowering urges to kill, to murder. But I had always resisted, always controlled myself. At sometimes I had barely contained myself, but I had never given in. Until now. Since my desires did not seem to be shared by any I knew, I had always considered myself a freak of nature, a one of a kind outcast. I felt that my only option was to just conform to fit in with society. But now it seemed that there were others like me; those who embraced their gifts for murder. And these people wanted to accept me as one of their own.

And what about this ‘Speaker’, this Lucien Lachance? The way he spoke of murder- he seemed to feel the same way that I had felt about killing the old woman. It was…intoxicating. I had not even accepted his offer, yet he was already treating me as family. No one had ever treated me like that, not since my aunt died when I was young. Part of me wanted to see this “Lucien Lachance” again…in the short time I had met him he had made an impression.

Maybe I would just go and check out the Inn, to see what was there. Just to see where the man lived, I thought to myself. The rest of the night continued in the same fashion, with internal arguments and self-objections. Finally, after a sleepless and thought filled night, I set out at dawn for the Inn, fill of determination and purpose. I was going to kill that man. I was going to join the Dark Brotherhood.

[allshallfade]

Chapter Fifteen: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Lucien Lachance eyed the city of Leyawiin with obvious distaste, his lips slightly pursed and eyes narrowed. The sun was finishing its descent, only the last golden rays remaining to shine out over the mountain peaks. But at least he could see the sun, he thought ruefully- this was his first visit to Leyawiin where the weather had been completely free of rain.

Lucien’s pace was swift as he made his way toward the city gate, his stride determined and resolute; and his mind was working in such the same manner. He had much to ponder on, for he brought information of events that would alter the course of Dark Brotherhood’s history… and, it seemed, not in a necessarily positive way.

When he had received word to meet with Ungolim, Lucien knew it could not bode well for himself. He had been right, in a sense- only the truth had turned out far worse then anything he could have anticipated. But then again, he mused; he should have expected this outcome. It was reasonable, in the circumstances, to choose this course of action- if you were a rash, foolish man. Which was the very core of Ungolim’s being, Lucien thought with a sneer.

Ever since Ungolim had risen into power, he had made a great many changes in the manner in which the Brotherhood was run- and a most notable change was that any form of ceremonial meeting between the Black Hand had been completely eradicated. Instead, everything was now handled by courier and letter.

Since the Brotherhood had been formed, there had always been assemblies that took place under the greatest secrecy between the Black Hand- for they were the organization’s ruling body, and decisions were made after each and every member’s opinion had been heard, with the Listener’s word being the final. Now, however, Ungolim had removed any chance of his own decisions being contested by disbanding these meetings, for the Black Hand would now receive news only through letters.

These letters typically bore most grievous news, often of the newest and most recent nonsensical scheme that Ungolim had concocted and carried out, without the advice or permission of the Black Hand. And yet most agreed that the Listener was simply a cautious man, and that his actions showed he only wished to keep the integrity of the Black Hand intact.

However, a select few (such as Lucien) realized the complete truth of the matter, and it was thus; Ungolim was a fool. He was not worthy of the position of Listener, and he himself realized that. Yet he was power hungry, and did not wish to lose his position because of incompetence. So he rarely allowed anyone from the Brotherhood to speak with him directly, except for his lackey Alval- the Apprentice of the Listener. Most of the decisions Ungolim came to were absolutely ridiculous, but because the Black Hand was not permitted to meet anymore nothing could be done about it. And that was exactly the case with Lucien’s orders presently.

The meeting had been everything Lucien had dreaded it to be, and far worse. After Ungolim had shared his plans, Lucien had been nearly stunned into silence by their rashness, their severity. But not for long was he quiet, for he knew this opportunity to argue his opinion would not arise again.

He had tried to reason with the Bosmer, tried to make him realize that there were other options that could be carried out before taking such drastic measures- that there were other leads that could be followed. But no, he would not listen to such rationale. Ungolim felt he could do whatever he pleased, and damn everyone else’s thoughts or opinions. And unfortunately, this was quite true. Ungolim (for whatever unknown reason) was Lucien’s superior, the Listener of the Black Hand- and that meant Lucien had to follow his orders, no matter how completely unreasonable and utterly ridiculous they were.

And now Lucien had been sent by Ungolim like a common courier to inform Alval Uvani of the situation. The apprentice traveled all throughout province of Cyrodiil under the guise of a merchant, making weekly trips to all of the members of the Black Hand. This meant that the Black Hand would get an almost weekly update of the going-on’s of the Listener’s decisions. However, this week, Ungolim had informed Lucien that he (the Listener) would be going to Morrowind to meet with their sectors there. As a result, Lucien would have the lovely task of informing Alval of the news as soon as possible, by riding down to Leyawiin and catching the apprentice before he left for Bravil.

Lucien carried with him a satchel, filled with the letters Ungolim had prepared for each member of the Black Hand to receive. At least Lucien had only been given the task to give these letters to Alval to deliver, and he himself would not have to do so. Yet even this was trying his patience; the Listener had known he could have sent a courier to do this task, but sent Lucien instead, as an insult to his worth and abilities.

Lucien’s expression was taut and his eyes hard as he brooded over the situation, his pace slowing as he approached the city wall. He had left his steed about an eight-mile up the road, as she was an easily distinguishable creature and he would rather she was not sighted near the city.

His expression became even sourer as he slipped into the Leyawiin city gates, glaring distastefully down at his muddied boots, his black hood pulled far over his face. But there was no need for this disguise, for the streets seemed to be deserted. The sun had all but disappeared behind the mountains now, and the air was cool and dark. He walked cautiously down the muddied road, his footsteps soft and silent.

He was heading towards the home of Alval Uvani, on the opposite end of town. He placed a hand on the satchel of letters at his side, and was smiling darkly at the thought of forcing them down Ungolim’s throat when he heard something up ahead of him, causing his musings to come to an abrupt halt. In a flash he darted into the alley between the church and a cottage, pressing his back against the slick stone. There was silence, and then he heard it again. Lucien slowly tilted his head around the corner, looking down the road toward the source of the sound.

He could see nothing in the darkness, but he knew there was a pool of water ahead, surrounded by a cluster of cottages. He was quite certain the sound he heard was splashing, and when it rang out again he breathed a soft sigh of relief. It was merely someone out for a nighttime swim. He leaned forward, pushing himself gracefully form the wall, and started to head back into the central street.

He had taken barely two steps before he had darted back into the shadows, for he had heard another startling sound- only this time much closer. He need only search for a moment before sighting the source. Across the street, at the establishment called the Five Claws Lodge, the shutters of a window lay open, clanging against the wall with the breeze. He could make out the faint silhouette of someone poking their head out, checking up and down the street. And then, to Lucien’s utter astonishment (and a bit of amusement), the person disappeared for a moment back into the room, and seconds later instead of a head popping out, someone stuck their leg through the window.

Lucien watched as the person (who he could now tell was a woman, because of the skirt she was wearing) pushed the other leg out of the window, followed by her body. He shirted closer the edge of the building he was concealed behind, watching as the woman quickly adjusted her clothes and looked about warily. He could tell, as if with a sixth sense, or perhaps recognition in how he himself acted, that this person was about to commit a crime… or just had.

Lucien could not make out the face of the figure in the shade; all he could glimpse was long ponytail of straight, jet black hair, and pale, alabaster skin. The woman was of average height, and had a slim, light frame. From what Lucien had seen of her legs whilst she was climbing out the window, they had been toned and muscular, like that of one who spends much time outdoors or traveling. As she started to walk down the street, towards where Lucien was concealed in the alley, he could see that her steps were calculated and silent- so she was a thief, or a murderer, Lucien concluded.

And as she brushed past the alleyway in which he still stood, she seemed to sense his presence, as she turned her head slightly in his direction, her frame becoming stiff and wary. A ray of moonlight shone down upon her, and Lucien got a clear view of the woman’s face. The recognition nearly physically staggered him as her eyes met his. Those chilling, blue eyes…

One could not forget those eyes, and Lucien certainly had not. Adrienne… the woman with no last name, whom he had welcomed into the Sanctuary just under a year ago. He still remembered his first meeting with her, when he visited her while she slept in the house of the very woman she had just mercilessly slain. He remembered when she had opened her eyes after he had awakened her, that even in the darkness they stood out. Such a piercing blue, such a sharp and steady gaze… the eyes of a born killer.

He felt a shiver run involuntarily down his spine at her stare, and his breath caught up in his throat as he felt the breeze from her walking past, and he inhaled her scent; it was something like Nightshade, his favorite flower. She seemed not to notice him in the darkness, even though he could swear she looked right into him. He breathed out a sigh once she had made her quiet way further down the street, and he chanced a look out. She was heading straight for the pool in which he had heard splashing, and as she drew closer she slowed her steps.

She seemed to spot the person in the pool, and dropped down into a crouch, her body becoming still as a wolf stalking its prey. And as she did this, Lucien was hit with a sudden wave of dawning realization.

“Of course…” he murmured, letting out a soft breath of silent laughter. He should have understood the situation immediately- but then again, he reasoned with himself, his mind was already filled with other consuming matters. So Adrienne was here to kill the Imperial scum, Adamus Phillida… and that must be him, there in the pool.

His lips were upturned at the corners as Lucien watched, entranced, as Adrienne reached over her shoulder and drew her bow, gripping it firmly but almost tenderly, followed by a long shafted arrow, still slightly moist from the rain days before. She slipped silently between a row of houses to her left, slinking off into the darkness along the city wall. She rounded a corner and disappeared from Lucien’s view.

Lucien let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding; he had become caught up in the thrill of the hunt, the ecstasy of a slow and steady stalking of the prey. He had to keep watching, he had to keep going- he could not stop now.

He carefully made his way from the hiding spot behind the church and glided over to an alley facing the pool, pressing himself against the wall. He started to search for Adrienne again, his very soul reaching out to join her in her hunt. It only took a moment of carefully scanning the shadows of the castle wall for him to spot Adrienne, her dark form blending in with the shade so that she was nearly invisible to those without a trained eye.

He admired his fellow Dark Brotherhood member as she pulled closer to the pool, her steps all carefully controlled; and yet, Lucien could see through all of this. He could feel her lust for the kill, could sense her need for blood, how she craved for the high, the ecstasy of taking life from another… for he knew and understood this feeling all too well. It was a feeling he was right now sharing with her, whether she knew it or not.

Adrienne had pulled in close to the pool now, cautiously manipulating the shadows to stay hidden. He could almost feel her heart beating hard within her chest, for his was now as well. The thrill was rising within them as the prey remained unaware of the danger it was in.

Lucien’s eyes were wide and his expression almost hungry, carnal, as he watched Adrienne’s eyes light up as his were, the moonlight reflecting off of her eager face. She too was caught up in the moment, for nothing else seemed to matter, just the target at hand, what they both were longing so deeply for.

His breath caught up in his chest as she made a misstep, causing a stone to tumble into the pool with a very clear splash. She froze, as did Lucien, muscles perfectly still, not breathing, as Adamus stopped mid-stroke, straightening his back and listening intently. Time seemed to suspend itself as Lucien watched on, eyes never leaving the scene before him, the tension almost unbearable. After a moment that lasted immeasurably, Phillida appeared to disregard the noise and continued his leisurely swim.

Lucien let out a silent sigh, echoing Adrienne’s own as her shoulders sunk down and their bodies’ released some of the stress. But it was right back to the hunt, and he felt the now familiar rush flowing through his veins, a building of such powerful tension that it was barely restrained. But they must contain it; they must, for when the release came, the kill, it would be all the more powerful.

Watching on, Lucien saw Adrienne positioning herself behind a large boulder, gripping her bow with white-knuckled fingers. He felt her attempts to keep her breaths long and steady, but it was no use. Their breathing started to come in short, shuddering gasps of barely contained lust. He fervently wished that he was beside her, about to aid in the kill, his hands upon the weapon preparing to fire!

She was fitting the Rose of Sithis into the bow, slowly sliding her hand along its shaft as she drew it back carefully. Lucien could not have looked away if he wished. All he had, all he felt, was with the scene before him.

The arrow was pulled back to its furthest point, Adrienne holding it as steady as she could. He felt a thrill rise up from within his soul, holding his breath and his heart racing, nearly bursting from anticipation- he watched her, sensing the same feelings with her. It was an almost electrical stimulation, one that was building and straining until the very second of the kill, the only time it could be released… it wouldn’t be long now, they couldn’t hold it all in much longer…

In that as second, as she took her final aim with the Rose, she leaned her head back and the moonlight suddenly illuminated her face. Her features were still, no expression, not even the slightest upturn of her lips. Yet her eyes; her bright, glowing eyes… he had seen her before, but never like this. She looked so… alive. And he knew that if someone had been watching him at this moment, they would say the same of him.

Finally, in unison they took one last deep, shuddering breath, eyes sparkling maliciously and hearts soaring as one, as Adrienne slid her fingers off the shaft of the arrow, in a second that seemed to last eternally.

Time slowed as they watched the arrow glide gracefully towards its target. The tension was all but unbearable; they felt the familiar rush and wave of desire rush throughout their bodies… it was coming, soon now. They had passed the point of no return. As though in a dream, all they felt, all they were, was with that arrow, waiting to penetrate the flesh.

And after an agonizingly long moment, the arrow pierced through Adamus Phillida’s throat with a satisfying “thunk”.

The release! Oh at last, the glorious, blessed release! Their bodies exploded as one, eyes closed in the final moment, only able to recognize the inexplicable feelings coursing through their bodies, from their very souls. The stalking of the prey, the preparation of the strike- this had been a build up to this final moment, the moment of the kill, of the release. There was little that could surpass the feelings engulfing the pair of them at that moment.

A period of hard breathing and vague awakening of the senses, eyes fluttering and smile upon their faces followed. Gradually, with a slow spreading warmth, they began to have full control of their bodies once again. Their breath was still coming in short pants, as though they had been running a marathon, adrenaline rushing. The after-effects of the kill were still tingling throughout their veins, and it left a suspended state of elation that neither could shake.

After a moment, Adrienne stirred herself and started to wade into the pool, her eyes still aflame from the kill. Lucien watched her intently, wondering what her intentions were, his chest still heaving as he breathed in hard. She flipped over the body, lifting his arm up- Lucien then remembered the second part of the contract, to bring the finger to the Imperial City- but suddenly she stopped, dropping the arm back into the water. Her body was unmoving, stiff, and her expression was perfectly still. Only her eyes betrayed any emotion- the normal icy blue now turned to an almost stormy gray, as though her inner self was in conflict.

He watched on, his expression bewildered as she stood in silence for near a minute. He wondered at first if she felt some guilt, some remorse over the act; but no, he thought. Something completely unexpected, something that she had not anticipated had just happened, Lucien decided. All of a sudden, he heard something that made his heart stand still.

Slurred voices, the sound of armor grating together, of clanking boots- the unmistakable alarm of the approach of guards… yet Adrienne still sat unmoving, her eyes fixed upon the face of the man before her. What in the name of Sithis was she doing? Didn’t she hear the guards approaching? What was so interesting about that old fetcher’s face? Lucien thought, frustrated beyond belief.

He closed his eyes, releasing a deep, exasperated and foreboding breath when the guards stopped in their tracks as they spotted Adrienne, who had looked up a split second before. There was an instant of silence as the guard’s took in the scene before them, but it was over quickly and they started to shout and wave their arms, for they had no weapons. Immediately she started to sprint out of the pond, heading up towards the road- but the guards were going around, intending to cut her off. She quickly realized this and veered her course. Lucien’s eyes widened as she saw where she was headed- straight at his alley, straight at him.

He was starting to back away, so she could move through the alley without running right into him, when he heard a resounding crack, followed in quick succession by another. He saw it in the way that Adrienne’s eyes widened that they were throwing something, probably pebbles or rocks by the sound of it, at her. He realized he wouldn’t have time to move, she was coming at him too fast…

And then, just as she was about to enter the alley, Lucien’s gaze focused upon her face. He did not think she could see him yet, but she would any second. All was silent as he gazed into her now fearful eyes; he didn’t hear the shouts of the guards, he didn’t feel the moist air around him, he didn’t hear the footsteps…

But this moment was shattered when her head suddenly jerked violently to the left, her eyelids crushing shut in pain. Adrienne fell to the ground, right at Lucien’s feet. She was unconscious.

He was stunned for no more then a second, at which then he realized he could either save her, or leave her to her fate.

Lucien’s mind was racing- what in the name of Sithis was he supposed to do now? She had made a mistake, she had stood there like a fool, staring at the dead body, and been caught unawares when the guard came. She should have to face a fate befit of her actions. Yet she had executed the man perfectly, finally completing what three other Dark Brotherhood members had attempted. Albeit she did have an easier job of it, because Phillida was now retired, but still… she was valuable to the Brotherhood, and may become even more so in the near future. Her contracts before this had been flawless. Ocheeva always spoke highly of her abilities, along with her mental state. She was strong, she was skilled, and she was important.

Yes, that’s why. She was needed for the guild. He would save her because of the Brotherhood’s need for her. Satisfied with his reasoning, Lucien bent down and scooped up Adrienne’s light frame without another instant’s hesitation, and cast an invisibility spell on the both of them.

He was at the city gate before the guard’s had started to search the alley where her body had lain, balancing Adrienne over his right shoulder. She was no heavy load, and he was not slowed down much by her weight. He was to the place he had left his horse, Shadowmere, in a few moments.

As Lucien hoisted Adrienne up onto the steed, a piece of parchment fluttered out from the folds of her skirt. It seemed as though it had been folded and unfolded many times, and by the coloration looked as though it had seen better days. It landed next to a small puddle in the slightly muddy ground, a corner instantly saturated.

Lucien bent down swiftly and scooped it from the ground, wiping the dirt and droplet of water with a black gloved hand. His eyes darted to Adrienne’s unconscious form, slumped over the neck of his dark steed, and back to the parchment. He couldn’t deny his curiosity, for this piece of paper obviously held some importance to the girl if she kept it on her person, and it seemed very old because of its condition…

After sending one last furtive glance at Adrienne, and a quick look down the road, Lucien carefully peeled apart the edges of the parchment with lean and steady fingers, wary of tearing the fragile material. It was a long bit of parchment, and was filled with writing. He scanned it, quickly bored when he realized it was a letter to a gift giving service, requesting presents for the writer’s children. He was bewildered- Adrienne did not have a family, or children… or could she?

But as he skipped to the end of the letter, to the signature at the bottom- he then understood. It was signed “Perennia Draconis”- the woman who Adrienne had murdered up in the little cottage up North. She had carried this with her, since the day she murdered her? Adrienne carried this letter on her person? Was this a sign of weakness, of guilt? Or was it something else; a reminder, or a comfort?

He thought once again of her hesitation, her moment of weakness after the killing of Phillida- there was no denying she had enjoyed the kill, that had been quite evident. Yet she had stared into the man’s face and been engrossed in thought, so much so that she had been caught completely unawares by the guards. Could she really have felt guilt, even after killing for so long? Lucien did not think this was the case, although it would be the most straightforward explanation.

There were those who looked at killing as simply a profession, a way to earn money; some who killed for the feeling of being completely in control, of playing god; some who killed on impulse, without control or thought- but most had something in common- they killed without emotional attachment. Lucien had found, however, that those who murdered with passion, with emotion- they could be just as effective. He thought of killing as an art, each death a masterpiece on the great canvas created by Sithis, and his Night Mother. He could not help how he felt, it was just what he believed, what he was. And he was starting to wonder if Adrienne was the same.

Now pensive, Lucien carefully folded the letter up again and slid it into the folds of Adrienne’s dress, patting it into place- and he could not help but note the firmness of her leg muscle as he did so. He was still for a moment, his hand upon her leg, before he suddenly turned about, looked down the ominously misty road, and pulled his black hood far over his face. He hopped lightly onto Shadowmere’s high back, reining her in and turning the horse about, keeping Adrienne balanced between his arms.

The black mare reared, pranced in place a bit, before setting off in full gallop, heading East around the city of Leyawiin. Lucien leaned far over the horse’s back, holding firmly Adrienne against his chest. He reckoned this horse was the fastest in Cyrodiil, and that was no light claim. At this rate, they would be in Cheydinhaal in less than five hours. Lucien was bringing her back the Sanctuary- he felt that she needed to be taken far away from the crime, and the most obvious safe place for her was the Sanctuary. And, part of him did wish to visit the Sanctuary, for reasons he would never admit too.

And so he sped off into the night; his dark eyes gleaming as the wind blew his hood back and his freed hair whipped back in the breeze, with arms tight around the limp form of Adrienne.

* * *

Four and a half hours later Lucien brought Shadowmere to a halt outside the back gate into Cheydinhaal. He swiftly slid from the horse’s back, robes billowing in the midnight breeze, and slipped Adrienne off into his arms. Balancing her carefully, he gave Shadowmere a whack on the rump and watched as the horse ran up a trail to the West.

He turned about quickly, his hood still hanging loosely at his shoulders, and slipped into the city, making his way to the Abandoned House as swiftly and silently as he could. He slipped between shadow and shade, dodging the eyes of the patrolling guardsmen.

Lucien opened the door to the Abandoned House awkwardly, straining not to drop Adrienne as he stepped into the thin door frame sideways, her feet bumping roughly against the stone. He stopped in his tracks, holding his breath as she gave a little moan and shifted her muscles- but he let out a relieved sigh when she did not wake.

He descended the stairs into the basement quickly, and shuffled through narrow tunnel leading to the door. He hastily uttered the password, not letting the door finish its words before he shoved it open roughly and strode to his right. It was very late at night, and he fervently hoped that all of the Sanctuary’s members were asleep in their beds…

Lucien walked softly down the corridor into the Living Quarters, his feet treading gently upon the stone floors. There was a sudden noise that sounded almost like an explosion, causing Lucien to nearly drop Adrienne in alarm- but as he stood dead still, leaning against the wall of the corridor, the sound came again seconds later… and again… and he grinned ruefully to himself. It was simply someone snoring- and by the sounds of it, the only one who could create such a ruckus would be Gogron Gro-Bolmog.

When he finally came to the room, he found that three of the beds were filled- and by the shape and size of the lumps he could deduce that they were Gogron, M’raaj Dar, and Antoinetta. They all seemed to be sleeping soundly, despite the absurd volume of Gogron’s snores.

Lucien went to the bed next to the smallest lump of covers, which he now knew for certain was Antoinetta because of the mess of blond hair poking out from above the rim of the blanket. He laid Adrienne down tenderly on the mattress, pulling aside the covers and placing her beneath them. Had he been concentrating more on his surroundings and less on ensuring Adrienne’s comfort, he may have noticed two eyes snap open behind him, watching him intently as he leaned over Adrienne’s motionless form.

Lucien swept a stray hair from Adrienne’s forehead with his thumb, cupping her face with his hands. After a moment, he leaned down and pressed his lips softly against her forehead. He pulled up quickly, but hovered inches above her face, and murmured: “Blessings of the Night Mother, my dear Child,” before standing straight again.

He did not see as the eyes behind him narrowed, or the white-knuckled fist that clenched a fold of blanket in response to his actions. Lucien walked to the center of the room and paused; a flood of memories hit him quite suddenly, and most unexpectedly. He remembered the times he spent in this room, when he was no more then a Murderer for the Dark Brotherhood… he remembered those who he had spent his time with, his fellow assassins... most were dead now, lost during contracts. An assassin should expect such things, but it would take a lot before one would become used to them. And, as he had learned, there was no use thinking of such things, for you could do nothing to change them.

As Lucien stirred himself from such foolish meditations, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. There were two pairs of feet, he decided- and they sounded very much alike in gait and step… and Lucien recognized the walks, out of familiarity. Ocheeva and Teinaava were approaching, and he was cornered. It wasn’t that he feared them, or that he had any reason not to see them, Lucien reasoned. It was just that their knowing of his deed could complicate things. That’s all he cared for, he convinced himself.

But there was not anything he could do now, except face the twin Shadowscales. He could hear that they were talking in low voices, but their tone was excited. Lucien continued to walk, meeting them in the doorway to the Living Quarters. They did not seem surprised to see him, for they had both probably heard his approach as he had heard their’s.

“Dearest Speaker! It is an honor to have you among us- tell me, have you come to celebrate the news of Phillida’s demise?” Teinaava exclaimed, affectionately clapping Lucien on the shoulder.

“How do you know of Phillida’s death?” he asked sharply.

Teinaava looked taken aback at his tone, but Ocheeva answered smoothly.

“I felt my heart soar with Sithis’ love the moment the pig drew his last breath. And it seems, by your reaction, that I am not wrong…” she trailed off, gazing at Lucien expectantly. Teinaava, however, was looking around Lucien, at the bed where Adrienne lay. Lucien did not answer Ocheeva, but watched as Teinaava recognized the bed’s occupant.

“Adrienne! She’s back! But how…” but Teinaava too trailed off. He raised his eyes slowly to Lucien, and then darted back to Adrienne, and to Lucien again. The unmistakable signs of dawning comprehension appeared on his face, and Lucien gave a silent sigh. Ocheeva sensed there was something she was missing, and followed her brother’s eyes from the bed and to Lucien. They both started at him, their eyes perplexed, but in the same sense an understanding within them. Lucien knew he had to say something.

“I brought her here to keep her safe- I’m sure she will fill you in on the details. One thing before I depart however; do not tell her it was I that brought her here. If she asks, as I’m sure she will, simply inform her that a Brotherhood courier was responsible, or any other suitable story you can think of.”

There was a silence, in which both Ocheeva and Teinaava nodded their heads obediently- but Teinaava was fidgeting, and Lucien knew he wished to speak.

“But won’t she know it was you? Won’t it be rather obvious?” he blurted out. Ocheeva sent him a dark look, and then turned to Lucien apologetically. Lucien’s expression turned hard at the question, but his tone was even when he replied.

“She was not aware of my presence, so no Teinaava, it will not be obvious; quite the opposite, really…”

At these words, Teinaava looked at Lucien with such a maddening sense of understanding that Lucien felt a sudden fiery anger ignite within him- the Argonian’s expression was one of a parent who understood the dilemma of their child, but could only watch and let the child learn for themselves what the outcome would be. He, Lucien, was no child, and there was nothing in this situation that should illicit such a reaction.

Yet Lucien kept his expression neutral, knowing from experience that there was no use arguing with the pair, once they had made their minds up about something. He instead pretended to ignore the implications of Teinaava’s look, and spoke again in a more business-like tone.

“Now I really must be going, I have important business to attend to this night, and I’m behind schedule already…” Teinaava’s face fell as Lucien nodded to the two and started to walk away; the Shadowscale’s expression seemed almost disappointed, as though he felt pity… but then a sound came from behind them.

All three turned to find Antoinetta sitting up in her bed, putting on a great show of yawning and stretching, before drowsily speaking.

“What’s going on?” She asked, looking at the group of them. She then dramatically widened her eyes and tilted her head. “Speaker! What a surprise! Tell me, what brings you here?”

Lucien ground his teeth; if he wanted to reach Alval before the Dunmer left for Bravil, he would have to leave now. He had not wanted to be seen by any of the member’s of the Sanctuary, yet now here he stood with three of them waiting to hear the story of Phillida’s demise, and his explanation for being at the Sanctuary. He did not wish what could be his last meeting with them to be ended harshly, but he really needed to be going…

Antoinetta had climbed out of her bed and was making her way to the group, her eyes set eagerly upon Lachance. He knew he had to extricate himself now, or be stuck with the woman’s incessant chattering for hours.

“Teinaava and Ocheeva will explain. And now I really must go- Night Mother be with you all, in this life and the next” Lucien said briskly, and he swiveled on his heel, marching up the corridor with long strides before any of the three could reply.

If he had waited just a moment, he would have seen the crestfallen face of Antoinetta turn to one of resentment and bitterness, her eyes narrowed and lips tight. And then he might have noticed how Teinaava and Ocheeva exchanged ominous looks.

Things that had been brewing long beneath the surface were starting to emerge, and that strain would only make the outcome more explosive when finally unveiled. Dark times lay ahead, even darker then Ocheeva, Teinaava, or even Adrienne could conceive… and they were fast approaching.