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]

Thank you everyone for your kind words! Reviews are really what keeps me writing, so I truly can't say enough to show my gratitude.

And without further ado, I give you the newest chapter!

Chapter Nineteen: Self-Control, Self-Contempt

Lucien Lachance sighed with satisfaction, carefully placing his quill back into the finely ornamented ink bottle at his elbow. He looked down at his piece of parchment fondly, the elaborate script still moist upon its surface, shimmering softly from the glow of the fire. Leaning in closer, he gently blew over the parchment, drying it with the utmost care. This was an important letter, he thought with a sardonic grin- he had to make sure it was in perfect condition for delivery.

Scanning the page quickly, he reread its contents with pride, cherishing that even the first line had its dose of subtle hostility. Well... on second thought, maybe it was not quite so subtle; he chuckled maliciously as he read on. Nonetheless he was quite confident that the one who was to read this letter would be incapable of parsing through the large vocabulary and overzealous praise to discover the true insult intended. And so he felt no trepidation when he folded the parchment up neatly and sealed it shut with the insignia on his ring- two L's intertwined elaborately around a dagger, a symbol of the Black Hand framing the scene. Teinaava and Ocheeva had had this ring made for him upon his promotion to Speaker, and he had used it religiously ever since.

Looking at the ring brought back the flood of thoughts he had been working so hard to keep at bay, for the letter had been a distraction, as intended, from such musings... Teinaava and Ocheeva... the Sanctuary... and with them came a reminders of the Purification... and of Adrienne. Since the letter had arrived from Ocheeva detailing the circumstances of Telaendril's death, Lucien knew that Adrienne had decided to go through with the Purification for the Brotherhood... and for him...
He was experiencing something that he had not encountered in quite some time- and that was intense emotion. And the emotion that it had currently taken form as was worry. He was worried about her- worried about her efforts to complete the Purification, and he couldn't control it. He thought his feelings had been tiresome before he had received the letter... but now he knew she was going to, on his orders (or, more likely, already had), attempt to kill several of the Brotherhood's most skilled assassins- but not only that, she would be killing those she had come to call “family”. It would be difficult, and she would have to overcome many obstacles (not merely physical, but those emotional as well- he reminded himself) to succeed. She was one of the few people who was actually capable of such a task... but for some inexplicable reason, the sensation of an unnatural weight in his stomach remained; a feeling almost like he had eaten something unsettling.

He found the entire concept quite unnerving, to worry over someone other than himself. Yes, he felt anxiety sometimes, for the going-ons within the Brotherhood, for its future under the leadership of the fool Ungolim- but this was something quite different. This was feeling for one single person, someone not himself, and it was nearly overwhelming to his inexperienced psyche.

He shook his head slightly- his thoughts were running away from him, and he gave a grimace of disgust at his lack of self discipline. Lucien was a man who liked to be in control... of everything. He was powerful, intelligent, and arrogant, and these traits resulted in him being very good at influencing a situation to turn out the way that benefited him most. He was in complete control of those around him, as well as himself, in nearly every aspect possible.

He had trained himself to be so- he had taught himself to be capable of regulating even his very emotions. The process had been treacherous, and not all of which had been through entirely intentional methods- yet the outcome had been that he could choose when and how he would let an event or a person effect him. But not now... Adrienne had found a way through these defenses that had taken him years to construct, and it seemed she had done so effortlessly- and even unintentionally.

He had even had the notion to go down to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary himself already- but he knew he should wait until at least the end of the week before taking such drastic action. And that was a ridiculous notion, anyways. What was he going to do, aid her in her task? The Black Hand had sanctioned this mission to her, and her alone. No matter how ridiculous, an order was an order- he served the Dark Brotherhood and its matrons with the utmost conviction and loyalty- and Lucien had been told not to interfere. Yet he still found himself fighting the urge to throw back his chair and make his way through the clouded night to the Sanctuary....

Lucien sighed, tenting his slender long fingers against his furrowed brow. After a moment he closed his eyes tight with frustration, trying to clear his mind once again. The courier was due soon, and the Speaker was awaiting this arrival to send off his parcel to Ungolim. The thought of the letter brought a slight smile to his features, and he opened his eyes and drew his hands away from his face, shifting his muscles in the creaking chair. Lucien looked down at the old wooden seat, fingering the armrest thoughtfully- it had been here for at least decade, and he knew it would most likely remain there for another one after this. He really wasn't one for redecorating, he thought grimly...

Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck rose and a chill ran down his spine, his blood running cold- there was someone else nearby, and close. Lucien leapt from his chair and whipped around to find a figure standing in the center of the room, covered by the shadows cast from the blazing fire. His hand went for his dagger, but he paused in mid-motion as the silhouette moved forward. Icy blue eyes met his, and he felt his blood run frigid at the emptiness he found within their depths.

The woman stepped into the beam of light shining down from the open trapdoor, her pale, alabaster skin reflecting brilliantly off the gathering moonlight. Her black hair was down loose again, thrown back from her face and flowing softy in the slight breeze that snaked down into the room. Glowing from the starlight, she was like a vision, a goddess- and Lucien was at first stunned into speechlessness at the sight of her, his eyes locked in hers.

There was a brief silence, Adrienne watching Lucien with an expressionless gaze while he tried to mask his surprise, swallowing deeply. How in Sithis's name had she gotten in without him knowing? He must have been deep in thought, that must have been it... yet it still left him feeling uncomfortable that she had been able to do so, and he found himself starting to doubt his own abilities for the first time in years...

But those same years of practice let him hold his composure, his eyes not letting any of his alarm show. He continued to hold her gaze, seemingly as collected as ever.

"Ah, Adrienne," he finally spoke, keeping his voice nonchalant.

She inclined her head in response, and when she raised her eyes all that he was met with was the hollow shells of one who has not only just witnessed great tragedy, but also been the cause of it, for he had known the moment he had seen her darkened eyes that the Purification was complete.

She was...different, and there was no other way to describe it. Her stature was as tall as before, her shoulders squared defiantly to the world- but her normally proud chin was lowered, framed by a face paler then customary while her very aura radiated grief. And there was something else different, but he could not quite place it...

Yes, the grief was to be expected- yet Lucien could not help finding himself feeling... proud that she was in such considerably good state. There had been a silence while he had been pondering this, and he realized she was waiting for him to speak.

“And so, I take it that the ritual of Purification has been completed?” he said, only a slight hint of question in his voice.

“It is done,” she inclined her head once again, her voice toneless.

“They are dead, yes...but it is not done...” Lucien murmured, while Adrienne looked up at him, a sense of alarm in her eyes. He was not looking forward to this... it was something he knew would be difficult; something he had not had thought to tell her of during their last meeting, so enraptured with her presence he had been... He turned suddenly, pacing away from her for a few steps, his posture showing that he was thinking furiously. After a moment he swiveled on his heel, finally having prepared his words.

“Have you heard of something termed as the 'Ritual of Descent'?” Her eyes, which filled with vague recognition, gave him his answer- and so he continued, an ominous sigh in his voice. “It is a sort of funeral, if you will, that must be performed for a servant of Sithis to travel safely to his side in the Void,” He watched her carefully, and saw that the calm, collected air she had been grasping to was starting to dissemble before his very eyes.

“Oh!” she let out a soft gasp. “I... they are all...dead... but I did not know of a Ritual that was necessary in order to join Sithis!” Her eyes were darting around frantically, despair radiating off from her very body. He knew that the very notion that her family members may be lost forever in a state of limbo, never reaching the destination that should await those who had loyally served their dark matrons was terrible enough- but that now it would be her fault... “Is there still time?” she finally asked, her voice breaking.

He placed a large, strong hand firmly on her shoulder, staring intently at her lowered face.

“The Ritual may be performed up to several days after death- it has not even been long enough since I last saw you for there to be worry,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “It will be taken care of, I assure you.”

He watched her, eyes carefully scanning the contours of her face- and after a moment of silence Lucien felt her shoulders sag as she let out a deep breath, and he let his hand slide off down her arm, lingering for just a moment on her soft skin. She raised her downcast head then, her eyes looking up into his with an expression that Lucien could not interpret. He found himself transfixed, mystified- she held his gaze unwaveringly, something she had never been capable of before...

And suddenly a dull pounding was all he heard, enclosed in the otherwise eerie silence encompassing the two of them; he was aware of how close they now stood, mere inches separating their flesh... her gaze was so intense, he could not stand it, he had to look away; and so with a great effort he tore his eyes from hers, and let them drift downwards, where they stopped at her mouth... her lips, so soft, so inviting... her eyes were fiery now, he could sense it.... he felt himself starting to lean forward, and as he drew even closer he felt the warmth of her body engulf his own... his stomach suddenly felt light and empty, as though a gust of wind had lifted him into the air while he inhaled her scent... Nightshade... a rush of feeling warming his very core... they were very close now, so close....

No!

Lucien drew his body away from Adrienne, taking a hasty step back into the shadows. She was watching him in alarm, her eyes wide- he raised a hand and pressed it against his brow, closing his own eyes tightly. What had just happened? Why had he done that? It had been so unexpected, so unlike him... What in the name of Chaos was he thinking?

That was just it- he hadn't been thinking, he berated himself. Disgusted in his lack of control, he started to prepare himself to face her, for he was dreading her reaction to his idiocy; he took a breath and opened his eyes again to look back to Adrienne- but instead his gaze was drawn to her cheek, where a thin line of blood was starting to drip down to her neck. He was confused- hadn't this same wound been bleeding upon her last visit?

But she had noticed his focus on her cheek, and was watching him with a look of perplexity and bewilderment. Untrusting of himself to speak yet, he raised a hand to his own face, not risking moving close enough to touch hers. A look of dawning comprehension in her eyes, Adrienne followed his action and touched her bloodied cheek, wincing slightly at the tenderness of the wound.

“Yes... well, it wasn't the skeletons this time,” she said, her tone slightly sardonic. He didn't quite know what to make of it- and he found himself wondering about the Purification, what she had done. He wondered what tactics she had used to kill the ones she had loved, who had died first, and why- he wondered if she had killed them all at once, or if their deaths had been each a separate, sacred to her- he wondered if she had cried for her fallen family members, if she regretted her actions now-and he wondered who had been the one to injure her how fiercely she had struck back... but after a moment of silence she did not elaborate, so he decided it was time for him to speak.

“In any case, it seems that the wound is much deeper then last we met- I'm going to assume that you've already used some sort of wizardry in an attempt to heal it?” He relished in the change of subject, allowing himself to forget what had just happened- or nearly happened, rather. She considered him for a moment before answering, her eyes dark.

“Just your basic health spells; unfortunately my skill in the art of Restoration is far too sorely lacking to have allowed for anything complex.”

That was what he had expected, and he responded with a grim face. “I'm afraid that it wouldn't make much of a difference- there are some wounds that magic cannot heal, and it seems this may be one of them. I do have a special salve, crafted from rare and rather... dangerous ingredients, that may lessen the scaring...” His face remained grim however. “...but I'm quite sure that you will carry this mark for the rest of your life.” And he watched as her eyes filled with hatred then, a flame in them so intense that he could feel the very heat radiating off of her- and he knew that whoever had done this to her must have paid dearly. He saw her jaw muscles grate, but she kept her tone even.

“I suppose there's no hurt in trying.”

Lucien nodded curtly and turned away from her, striding purposefully from the room and around the corner to his storage area. Once out of sight of Adrienne, he breathed in a lung-bursting breath and ground his teeth, holding it a moment before letting himself exhale slowly- he could never let himself lose control like that again, he thought forcefully. Ever.

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What had just happened? I replayed the scene over and over in my mind's eye, recalling the heat from our bodies, the intensity in Lucien's eyes as he drew closer, the thumping of my racing heart- and then, finally, his abrupt withdrawal from the scene, shattering whatever spell had been cast over us. What did it mean? He couldn't possibly... no... could he? What had he been thinking? I wondered with a hint of frustration, my thoughts full of doubt and disbelief. What was I thinking?

I touched my cheek again, finding a fresh stream of blood following my jawline. After killing the one who had given me this cursed wound, Antoinetta Marie, I had almost immediately left the Sanctuary to come to Lucien's own sanctum- I wished to put the Purification behind myself as quickly as I could, to allow myself to move forward with the smallest amount of grief and mourning possible. As I had exited the well and made my way to the city gate, I felt the eyes of a dark-haired man who was standing across the town square upon me- at first I was alarmed, but then I realized my cheek was still bleeding (despite the healing spell I had cast to assuage my wounds), and that was the reason his eyes had followed me.

My healing spell had worked on all of the other injuries, but my cheek had remained injured... my cheek... I raised my hand to it again, and as I touched the wound a memory flashed violently throughout my thoughts without warning- Antoinetta's face after slicing my skin, full of loathing and triumph- and I found myself almost physically staggered. How long would this go on? I wondered in anguish. How often would I be haunted with the memories of my most heinous, my most painful, act?

For as long as you let yourself, a voice in the corner of my mind spoke. It was dark and menacing, but also cool and comforting, and I felt my body starting to calm as it spoke again- It will effect you only for as long as you let it effect you- you are in control… I felt my mind clear, and I listened to that voice- it was so soft, so intelligent, so enigmatic… and I felt that everything would turn out for the good, if I just listened to the voice... My thoughts returned to my cheek, but no flash of Antoinetta came this time.

I was still pondering what Lucien had meant about injuries that could not be cured when he returned, a sealed container held delicately in his cupped hands. He came to a halt in front of me and opened it without a word, placing the clay top down on the table. Remaining silent, he dipped two fingers into the substance that lay within the bowl and raised them to my cheek, his eyes intent upon his task- and nothing else. I saw that there was no expression in his gaze, only that of a man at work upon something broken.

There was something different about him, something that I couldn't quite place- a change in the way he stood... it was much more rigid, and proper. His movements were very deliberate, as though he was careful about each and everything he did. And finally his eyes- they were empty, devoid of any emotion, so unlike just moments before. What was going on? I asked myself again.

“There you go,” he said, his hand leaving my cheek. He wiped his fingers on the side of the bowl, letting excess salve drip back into the rest before putting the top back on. “This is probably the most helpful thing one could do to prevent scarring- at least for a wound of this nature.”

“Thank you,” I said, looking him straight in the eye- he nodded, yet his eyes did not meet mine. Instead, they seemed to be directed at a point just above my hairline. Before I could say anything, however, he spoke first.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked, gesturing towards the table where a few bottles lay. I had a flash of Gogron, holding up a bottle of ale and grinning ruefully as he suggested a drinking game- but no! I couldn't think of that... I couldn't put myself through that...

Lucien was watching my reaction curiously, so I simply shook my head in declination, turning my attention back to him. He did not pour himself a glass either, instead beginning to speak again, his voice confident and clear- as though reciting a rehearsed speech.

“Sithis has been appeased, and the time has come to acknowledge and reward your unwavering loyalty. The Black Hand is most pleased with your progress. You have been invited to share in secrets that few within the Dark Brotherhood even know exist. Your life in the Sanctuary is over- those contracts are behind you.”

I looked at him, confusion in my eyes- what other life was there for the Dark Brotherhood? I had never heard of any work, besides that of couriers, and the Speakers and Listener – that took place outside of a Sanctuary's walls. He seemed to ignore my gaze and continued on.

“Now, you will serve the Black Hand. You will serve... me.” I felt my heart beat wildly in my chest, my breath short- I saw him swallow deeply and his jaw muscle tighten before he continued , his voice sounding a bit strained, as though he was finding it difficult to keep his tone devoid of any and all emotion.

“From this moment forward, you will walk the shadows as my Silencer. You will receive contracts only from me. Your new life has begun.”

He looked at me expectantly, fondly- as though watching a proud creation. For I was his- he was in possession of me, I was under his control; and we both felt it.

But all I could do for a moment was stare blankly back. What in the name of Chaos was I supposed to say to that? My mind was racing with questions, from why Lucien was acting so strangely, so distant, to what life outside the Sanctuary would be like. His constant switch of personalities, from an intense, passionate and desirable man to cold-hearted, emotionless Speaker- what did he want from me? And, more importantly, what did Iwant? I found it difficult to concentrate on his words; however, he seemed quite insistent that I be the one to speak next, so eventually I found it in me to pose a question.

“But... but what must I now do?”

“It is quite simple, really,” he replied, his tone businesslike. “No longer will you receive orders directly. Instead, you will visit dead drop locations scattered throughout Cyrodiil. Your next contract can be found at the dead drop on Hero Hill, southeast of here. A hollow in the moss-covered rock contains all you need to know.”

I wondered why we would not be speaking about the contract- why go through the trouble of writing out letters when it could easily be exchanged through conversation? I was about to ask this, but he continued to speak, his voice steely.

“When you leave here, we will not speak again, unless I deem it necessary.” His eyes were cold, hard, and unwavering- and I looked at them in dismay. Never to speak again? We were not to see each other, unless he deemed it 'necessary'? What the blazes did that mean? He was all I had left! As I felt my eyes widen with despair, I thought once again of our earlier encounter- was that why he was pushing me away? What was he playing at?

“I will do whatever you ask of me,” I said, my voice hollow, raising my eyes to his.

As soon as our eyes met I could see within them a conflict arising, and he drew his gaze from mine after an instant of contact. He started to seem unsure, anxious even, about my reaction- and I saw that he was on the verge of saying something, teetering on the edge of oration. A moment passed, and suddenly he burst into speech, his words released in a rush- the light was back in his eyes.

“There is one last thing- I have for you a very special gift… Just outside there is a magnificent steed named Shadowmere; she has served me well, but I present her now to you, as a token of my trust and-” our eyes met, a shock like lightening- “...love.”. I felt a shock wave run down my spine and low into my stomach at his words. Love? His eyes were intense, a fire that was not of anger burning within them, and I felt a similar flame ignite within my own.

But then Lucien drew back, stepping towards the table to pour himself a glass of wine. I lowered my eyes and pursed my lips slightly as I saw him raise the goblet to his lips, taking a sip of the liquor. Calmed by his words- words that had restored my faith in his confidence and... love for me- I was silent for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts, for it was obvious that he wanted to return to business again.

“Your silencer?” I finally asked, sighing. He paused, the glass halfway to his lips, and placed it back down on the table before beginning.

“The Black Hand is the Dark Brotherhood's ruling council. That hand consists of four Speakers and one Listener. Four fingers and a thumb, as it were,” he said, raising his left hand and spreading his gloved fingers, while I nodded.

“This you already know. What is not commonly known among our family members is that the Black Hand employs a few... additional numbers.” I raised an eyebrow at his slightly roguish expression.

“As every hand has fingers, does not every finger have a nail? A claw? A talon?” His voice was deep and eloquent as he lifted his right forefinger and slid it across the tips of his fingers on his raised left hand, slowly and deliberately pressing the fingernails that lay beneath the glove, his hands steady and perfectly controlled. I watched with transfixed eyes as he then started walk away from the table towards my left side, as though circling me, his eyes never leaving my face as he spoke.

“Every finger of the hand, every Speaker, has such a nail. These are the Silencers. Each Speaker employs his or her own private assassin, to extend their reach and strike forth as necessary. My previous Silencer perished while fulfilling a contract…” I had not moved a muscle as he had circled me, my eyes focused on the table in front of me. Lucien paused at my right side, and I could feel his body heat close behind me. My breath caught up in my chest as he leaned in closer, his lips very close to my ear, his hot breath upon the nape of my neck-

“…that emptiness has now been filled by you. It is an honor without equal,” he finished in almost a whisper, his voice husky. I felt a shiver down my spine, my body warming as shots of fire filled my soul; I felt my eyes shine with pride, love swelling up within my very heart. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight as I could feel him smile. I bit my lip, a thrill rising up in my stomach; but then he pulled away, coming to stand in front of me again. There was a mischievous glint in his eye, and I could see that the enigmatic man I was accustomed to had returned, at least for now.

“Now go, and may Sithis guide you in this new stage of your life's dark journey,” he said, holding his hand out and gesturing towards the rope ladder. I looked him in the eye, holding his gaze for just a moment, before I finally willed my muscles to move again. The air felt thick and I found it difficult to draw myself from his presence- I saw his lips twitch at the corners at my expression as I turned and climbed up the ladder, and I felt his eyes hot upon my back until I had exited the trapdoor and was out of sight.

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Only after he had heard the dull metallic thud of the trap door shutting did Lucien let out the breath he had been holding- and not until he felt as though his lungs were empty of any and all breath did he inhale again. He closed his eyes as he did so, his eyebrows furrowed- but then his expression relaxed and his features softened, and a faint smile appeared. His licked his lips, thinking hard.

He had nearly lost control in the beginning, he knew- he had been very close, so close that he could not remember a recent instance like it. He had been irrational for a moment there- giving her Shadowmere?- but he knew that in the end he had been in full command of the situation. He had felt her longing in those final moments, he had sensed her desire- and it had pleased him in that he had created it, and also in that he could control his own passions.

For he could no longer deny the heat he felt when in her presence, the shivers that ran down his spine when their eyes met- and he could not deny what he had nearly let happen. He had felt the fire in his eyes, and had seen that same flame in hers. But he had almost let it consume him, let his desires control him past all thought and reason.

But what was wrong with it? He found himself asking. What was wrong with her? Nothing! Nothing was wrong with her… it was him. He could not let himself do this, it was wrong. She was his inferior, his Silencer… she was his…but for the very same reason, it wouldn’t be right. He could not let himself have anything more then a very cordial relationship with her. Or with anyone a snide voice in the back of his mind said. Which is what he had always intended for himself, it was what he liked! he thought forcefully.

But even in the dim light it was clear that his smile had faded.

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Only after the trapdoor had closed shut behind me and I had cleared the hollow tree did I take a deep, shuddering breath, a shiver running down my spine. That had been… interesting, to say the least. I remembered the feeling as his body moved in nearer to mine- I could almost still feel him so close to me, the heat from his breath upon my bare neck. I smiled as another shiver ran down my spine- but my smile fell as I remembered his withdrawal, the way he had pulled back, closing himself off. It had confused me, for I knew what I had seen in his eyes, in his body, in those moments… I wondered what he was thinking, if his thoughts were going to the same places that mine were…

As I made my way into the clearing outside the front entrance to Fort Farragut, my fantasies were pulled to a standstill as I lay my eyes upon the gift from Lucien. The most beautiful horse I had ever seen was standing majestically at the door, unbound by any rope but standing still, tall and proud- and almost… haughty, so like Lucien himself that I almost chuckled.

The mare was certainly larger and stronger then any other horse I had seen, and far more handsome. Her coat was the darkest black, the impeccable fur shimmering slightly in the fading sunlight. Her legs were strong and sturdy, and her back defined and lean. One could see that she would be able to carry a heavy load far and fast without growing weary with just one glance. Yet the most distinctive thing about this horse, this Shadowmere, was her eyes- for they were a glowing blood red, bright and intense. I walked closer, and as I held eye contact with the horse I got the clear impression that the mare understood me, that she comprehended far more then a horse should…

But I had not long to ponder this rather disconcerting notion- for suddenly I heard the distinct sound of approaching footsteps. Human footsteps. In an instant I was behind a pillar, my hand upon the ever-present dagger at my waist. I stared down the pathway leading out of the Fort, westward to Cheydinhal- there was definitely someone approaching, but I could tell that they were trying to remain stealthy by the way their steps sounded- light and calculated, slower and uneven. My mind instantly came up with a thousand theories on why someone could be sneaking up to the Fort- but the first one, the most prominent, was that they were here to assassinate Lucien Lachance; who was, after all, quite an infamous murderer. And I certainly wasn’t about to let that happen.

Staying close to the walls, I slid with my back against the stone to the entrance, listening carefully. Not wanting to risk sticking my head around the corner, which would be very exposed and rather stupid, I looked upwards- the next level of the fort looked stable, if a bit collapsed- but without further thought I leaped up softly and grabbed the ledge, my arms straining to lift my body up. I pulled my dark hood over my hair and crouched down below the low collapsed wall, peering over with sharp eyes. I spotted who I was looking for within seconds- a short man (presumably Bosmer), with auburn hair and dark eyes and dressed in leather greaves and a hunter’s shirt, was approaching. There was a lethal looking dagger at his waist and an expensive quiver and bow upon his back. Just by the way he moved one could tell that he was certainly assassin material… and the manner in which his eyes darted around, always aware and ready to react to any small movement, only confirmed my suspicions.

He had not noticed my presence, so I dropped back down under the cover of the wall and drew my dagger as the blood started to rush to my head. The man was close, about to walk under the archway into the Fort- I prepared myself, crouching lower, my eyes intent upon my target. As soon as I felt his presence directly beneath me I tensed my muscles- and an instant later I sprang, dropping down from above and landing on the man’s broad shoulders. The man let out a cry of surprise and anger as we tumbled to the ground. I felt him trying to fight back beneath me, his assassin reflexes at work- but I had my dagger at his throat before he could make a move, his short arms pinned under my leg and held down by my own other arm. Luckily for me, the man was even smaller then I was- for if it had been otherwise I doubt I would have been able to keep him under my control.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” I hissed, my eyes livid. I looked at him expectantly but he was silent, so I pressed the dagger menacingly against his throat and he winced in pain. “Answer me quickly or die!” I spat out.

“I was just… I’m just a hunter, please, don’t hurt me!” the Bosmer exclaimed, his voice cracking and eyes darting about in fear. I had no doubt that he was lying.

“A hunter, eh?” I said slowly, the cynicism clear in my voice. I looked closer at his apparel, and noticed a leather shoulder bag. “If you’re a hunter-” I said scornfully “-then I should find skins in here, no?” He watched with wide eyes as I carefully removed my hand from his arms and slid it into the bag. I felt the round rolls of parchment without surprise- they were most likely assassination orders.

But when I pulled them out triumphantly and rotated the cylinders for a look at the seal, I saw something that I had not expected- for the seal was that of the Dark Brotherhood. I stopped in mid-motion, staring at the dark wax in alarm and bewilderment.

The man sensed my moment of distraction and exploited the weakness, leaping upwards and shoving my body off of his. I fell off of him, dropping the parchment to the ground. Before I had time to react he had snatched my dagger from my grasp, swinging it threateningly towards me. He was quick- but also, in an odd way, clumsy. His hands shook and jerked almost spasmodically at any movement I made. He was still a slight threat, however, when he had the higher ground.

And so without thought and through pure instinct I rolled backwards, slipping my hand to my leg where my hidden throwing knife rested, while I avoided his attack. I was on my feet with my knife ready before the Bosmer could draw back; I struck forward and sliced, just a thin line of blood appearing against his right index finger. He cried out and I knocked the dagger from his grasp, catching it in my spare hand.

He started to back away but I raised my leg and kicked him square in the chest, sending him falling back into the stone wall. I pinned him there with my dagger against his throat once again, smiling slightly at the expression of indignation and fury upon his delicate features. I was still for a moment, breathing hard- but after a moment I had regained my composure, and I returned his look of hatred with one of cold irony. I leaned in close to his ear and spoke, my voice soft.

“We have the same Mother, you and I.”

His body instantly went still, his muscles rigid- I looked him in the eye, and I knew he could see the truth in them. I slowly pulled back my dagger upon his neck and held my hands up, showing I meant no harm. And as I leaned back my hood fell completely from my face and my hair blew back in the wind, and the Bosmer, looking deep into my eyes, seemed to come to a sudden realization.

“You- you’re Adrienne!” he sputtered. There was fear in his voice.

“How do you know this? Who are you?” I asked harshly, my surprise coming out as anger as I took a quick step forward. He fell back against the wall away from me, his body stiff.

“I’m- I’m Aengoth,” he replied hastily, stuttering a bit. “I’m a courier for- for the Dark Brotherhood.” I ground my teeth.

“Yes, I have gathered that much- but how do you know of me?” I asked again, the impatience evident in my voice.

“Ah… I work for Lucien Lachance most of the time- and… well… “ he trailed off, and averted his eyes from mine.

“Well, what? Spit it out!” I said, getting frustrated. He visibly started, breathing quickly.

“Yes, yes of course- well I share blood with… with Telaendril. We're c-cousins.”

I felt all my muscles freeze up, a dull sensation of detachment descending throughout my body. Telaendril… My vision blurred until I no longer saw the scene before me, for I was somewhere else very different- behind a stone wall, the air thick with rain, an arrow ready to let fly…

It will only effect you as long as you let it!

I shook my head, focusing on Aengoth once again. He had pushed forward from the stone a bit, watching me with perplexity and wariness. I stepped back, my eyes cold.

“Telaendril?” I repeated, slightly questioning. “Then you know…” I trailed off, but he only lowered his eyes and nodded. Ah- well that explained why he feared me so.

And I lowered my eyes as well, working on pushing my thoughts far from the Purification. I looked at Aengoth again, at his guise as a hunter… when I was suddenly struck by something- didn’t couriers of the Dark Brotherhood wear dark robes and hoods, like the Speakers? But then I was confused- where had I heard that before? I thought back to conversations in the Sanctuary, at passing words with Teinaava, Vicente, Telaendril… but I could not place where I had gotten that notion of courier uniforms; until I looked at the scroll of parchment still upon the ground. It all snapped into place then as a memory of Ocheeva, handing me a roll of parchment with a heading of...

The Black Horse Courier! The issue after I had killed Adamus Phillida, that detailed my near-capture. It had spoken of a man rescuing me at the last moment, a man hooded and cloaked in the darkest black- and according to Teinaava and Ocheeva, that man had been a Dark Brotherhood courier.

“If you are a courier, why do you not wear a cloak or hood?” I asked Aengoth suspiciously, eyeing his dusty garb. He looked at me quizzically.

“Why would I dress like that?” his tone a bit indignant. “Couriers are supposed to travel freely, to blend in with the crowd- it wouldn’t be sensible to run around in a black cloak if that’s what you’re aiming for.” He spoke with more confidence- he seemed more comfortable with my presence now that he realized I wasn’t going to slice his throat where he stood.

“You mean… there are no couriers that dress way?” I said, my voice hesitant. He nodded slowly before speaking.

“I am sure they would never- most of us are respected members of society, and we wouldn’t want to tarnish that useful reputation with such dubious outfitting. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if only the Speakers still dressed that way, and even of those only a few.”

Just Speakers? My mind replayed that line over and over. Just the Speakers…Lucien was a Speaker. Could that mean…? I recalled Teinaava’s and Ocheeva’s odd behavior when they told me of a courier who had saved me, how I had felt that they were not being truthful… could they have known? What did this mean? How-

“Could… could I go now?” My thoughts were interrupted and I looked at the wood elf, who was inching towards his fallen scrolls of parchment and leather shoulder bag. “I am in a bit of a hurry…” he added, as he leaned down to pick up his bag- though his eyes never left me.

“Yes, yes- go ahead,” I replied, waving my hand indifferently as he nodded and made his way hastily to the entrance to Fort Farragut.

I walked slowly towards Shadowmere, my mind racing. It had to have been Lucien, he must have been there, seen my fall, and been the one to save me. But why? Could it be true? Things that I had dismissed as preposterous not so long ago were suddenly flooding back into my thoughts; and this time I let them stay there, churning in the unstable waters that was my mind. And as I pulled myself up onto the high back of Shadowmere, I remembered his mesmerizing stare as I left, and his words “…we will not speak again, unless I deem it necessary…”- and I had a feeling that that meeting would be sooner then I had imagined.

But for now, Lucien had given me a task. Taking one last glance at my map, locating “Hero Hill” and memorizing a route, I nudged the mare forward with a click of my tongue. I had work to do.

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The moon was high in the sky and the air thick with night when Lucien stepped into the Cheydinhal city border. Tonight would be a long night for him, he knew- for when he had told Adrienne that the Ritual of Descent would be “taken care of”, he had not been merely comforting her. The Ritual would be performed, and by no other then himself. He could have, of course, ordered it done by his inferiors; but he had to pay his last respects to the members of the Sanctuary, to those he had known for many years. They deserved it- well, at least most of them did, he added as an afterthought.

Lucien Lachance made his way easily to the well behind the Abandoned House, sending a last furtive glance at his surroundings before slipping into the grate, noticed by none. About halfway down the ladder, he suddenly became aware that the rungs were not only moist with well condensation- he pulled a hand away and found the scarlet hue of blood still upon his fingers. Someone had climbed up with blood on their hands, and recently, he deduced.

He dropped down the remaining way, landing on the slick floor with practised ease. He turned about and was met with a gory sight indeed. Lucien swallowed hard as he walked to the center of the room, looking at the bodies of Teinaava and Ocheeva. They lay together, hands almost clasped they were so close, their blood pooled together in one dark puddle of crimson. They had died together…

And suddenly Lucien eyes saw not their bodies, not their blood, not the Sanctuary walls- and he was somewhere else, somewhere from far and long ago…

Lucien strode down the dark hallway purposefully, his dark eyes flickering in the candlelight. The place was old and rotting, and smelled of dead fish- but at least he was inside now, and not outside in the blatsted swamps. Damn the Black Hand! He thought furiously. Damn them for choosing him for this assignment!

He was still very new to the guild, and had been thoroughly surprised when he had been selected for this. Despite his young age, they had told him his selection had been based off of his charm, and manipulative powers. He was asked to train a quartet of Shadowscales in the continent of Argonia, and then to bring over the pair that showed the most promise to the teachings of the Dark Brotherhood. But his experience in “Black Marsh” had not been favorable so far, and he already found himself detesting the massive swamp land.

He continued on, his mood growing sourer by the minute. Of course it’s the last door, he thought darkly as the floor beneath him dissolved into poorly kept dirt. He slid his finger tenderly along the blade of the small throwing knife concealed in his opposite sleeve, stopping the pressure just before he felt it break skin.

As he drew close to the final door he slowed, stepping more silently and cautiously. He could see candlelight flickering inside, and with a half view through its entrance he could make out the indistinct shadows of several figures. If his information had been correct, there would be four of them. Four Argonians. Lucien was creeping starting to move towards the door again he could overheard voices resonating from within.

“So what’s the name of this guy again?” A male voice, raspy and slightly disdainful.

“His name is Lucien Lachance, and I‘ve told you that at least a dozen times,” a female voice responded chidingly.

“I just can’t seem to remember such a bland, typical Imperial name,” the same male voice replied, and three sets of chuckles broke out. “I mean c’mon, what’s the Court playing at, giving us an Imperial instructor?” the voice continued, elated with the encouragement of laughter.

“It’s a well-known fact that all Imperial men are fat, spineless sweet-talkers who couldn’t sneak up on a drunken orc!” As Lucien started to fume, two voices started laughing uproariously, but the female who spoke before rang above their rancor.

“Says Teinaava, the one who awoke the infamous snorer, Master Three-Claw, when you tried to snatch ale from his secret stash! You’re more clumsy then a drunken orc!”

The laughter continued as Lucien felt his blood starting to simmer- he had half a mind to barge in and ruin their little party, but he felt he could have a bit more fun with it…

He slipped a ring from his inner pocket, fitting his finger into it with the air of repetition. Had someone been watching Lucien at that moment, they certainly wouldn’t be anymore- for he had vanished completely. Smirking slightly to himself, he started to make his way slowly to the door, silent as the twilight…

“…I am most certainly not clumsy!” It seemed that Teinaava was standing in the center of the room, a candle to each of his sides acting almost like a spotlight as he spoke. There were four armchairs surrounding him, three of which were filled- two females and a male in the seats.

“I’m quicker than a mountain lion!” Teinaava exclaimed, poking at the female closest to him and drawing away quickly.

“Brother, I’m warning you…” the Argonian started to rise from her chair, her face amused but determined- Teinaava started to scamper away, and took a step back… into Lucien, whose dagger was around the Argonian’s throat before he could move a muscle.

He stepped forward, pushing the stunned Argonian with him into the light. The others had frozen, taken completely by surprise, and were watching with wide eyes. The girl who had started to rise was frozen half-way between her chair and standing, and seemed unsure of which way to go.

Lucien reveled in the panic and disarray he had caused for a instant before he leaned forward slightly, speaking softly but distinctly into the Argonian’s ear. “Couldn’t sneak up on a drunken orc, eh?” He slid his knife back into its hidden sheath and pushed the Argonian forward in one smooth motion. “So what does that make you?”

Another moment of shocked silence followed, in which Teinaava turned about wildly to look at his attacker. His expression was indignant and flabbergasted, and Lucien felt his own features twisting slightly into a self-satisfied smirk. The spell of silence was broken when the female Argonian rose completely from her chair, a grin breaking on her face.

“So you must be Lucien, then?” she said amiably, offering a hand. “I’m Ocheeva, sister to that idiot over there,” she gestured to Teinaava. “And nicely done, he needed that,” she said, laughter in her eyes as Lucien returned the handshake.

“I’m Scartail, and by blessings of the Nine I’ve got no relation to those two,” came forward the other male, a smile also upon his face. Lucien shook his hand as well, and turned back to find Teinaava standing very close to him. The Argonian stuck his hand out, eyes stubborn.

As soon as Lucien’s touched him, the Argonian twisted his own hand and tried to whip Lucien’s arm around and therefore diabilitate him- but the Imperial had been expecting this, and he retaliated with his superior strength and spun the outraged Shadowscale back around so his back was against Lucien, who had drawn his knife and put it against his scaled throat once more.

“Quick as a mountain lion, eh Teinaava?” Lucien asked, while the others roared with laughter. He released the Argonian, who rubbed his neck with a pained look.

“That hurt!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, stop your whimpering,” the second girl scolded, tapping him roughly on the head before coming forward into the circle. “I’m Mee-sai,” she said, offering her hand delicately as the others continued to chuckle at the scandalized expression on Teinaava’s face...

…The laughter was still ringing throughout Lucien’s mind as he drew his thoughts away from the scene. That had been so long ago… his first meeting with the twins. They had been like family to him, even more so then the Brotherhood relationship had provided them with. But things had changed, and now they were what they were…

And he thought of the final Argonian, Mee-Sai. She had gone on to become a ruthless assassin for the Argonian Royal Court, along with her lover, Scar Tail. Last year, however, Lucien had received word of her death. Apparently she had assassinated a duke’s daughter in Skyrim, and the enraged father had hunted her down and kill her with his bare hands. The effect on Scar Tail had been disastrous- he had always questioned the art of assassination the most, and this event had been the grain of rice to tip the scale. He had fled from the Court, forsaking his duty, and became an outlaw on the run. His fate had been left the hand of Adrienne, Lucien knew…

Thinking of her drew his mind back to his current task, and his shook his head slightly. He had no time to let his thoughts wander. Tearing his gaze from the twins, he started to investigate the rest of the room. As he looked to his left he noticed something he hadn’t seen before.

Laying in the corner across from the well was a black heap- a body with a bloody stump. He moved closer, instantly intrigued, and quickly found the head. A blonde woman, the remnants of an eye still dripping down the face of the late Antoinetta Marie. Lucien now no longer had any question as to who had sliced Adrienne’s face. He moved closer towards the puddle of blood her body had created, and was surprised when he saw something else in its scarlet waves.

Footprints, two sets- one smaller, more feminine, but the other was distinctly male. He remembered the blood on the ladder, and how he had been sure that Adrienne wouldn‘t have been clumsy enough to leave it there… Lucien was curious, for he was getting the feeling that someone had been down here before him, and it wasn’t Adrienne. He thought for a moment, a realm of possibilities entering his thoughts- but then suddenly an answer occurred to him- Aengoth. The courier.

He had noticed that the courier had seemed more shook up then was normal, and his beloved cousin had been Telaendril… maybe he had come to view her body? To pay his last respects? He assumed the Bosmer could be daft enough to do so- he had known him before he’d been assigned the task of courier, and had not forgotten Aengoth’s rather clumsy nature. That would explain his mood, and the blood…

Lucien nudged Antoinetta’s head with his foot, rolling it back grotesquely toward the body with a slight smile upon his face. He could only imagine the fury Adrienne must have been in she had done this (and he could not blame her, for he‘d always found Antoinetta to be an incessant nag). He felt a shiver run down his spine and found himself half-wishing he had been there to witness it…

But he turned from Antoinetta's corpse then, stepping back into the center of the room. He looked around the empty, silent halls that had once been his home, and he felt a stab of sorrow for those who had died here, for Adrienne, and for himself. But then it was gone, and he was making his way to Vicente's room, where he was sure he would find the body of the vampire.

He had to move quickly if he wanted to finish by sunrise, Lucien reminded himself. He too had a lot of work to do.



Author's Note: First off, yes, I realize in game Teinaava told the player that he and Ocheeva met Lucien when they were hatchlings- but I didn't realize that until I had written this entire passage, so let's just pretend they said “when we were adolescents” xD