Vignette: One Last Look at the Brotherhood as He Knew It

by nodeerskulls

He takes one last look at everyone before he leaves. Not to soothe his nerves, he tells himself, but out of curiosity, out of a need to know that some things are meant to last forever.

Originally posted on the Elder Scrolls Skyrim Kink meme here:

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No sexual content in this little ficlet, though. Just a small snapshot of Luka's last day with the Dark Brotherhood as he knew it.

In the shadows, no one can sense your feelings, nor hear your heartbeat. And as long as this night passes and nobody figures out there's something going on in his heart, Luka will be fine.

Truth be told, he has no idea why he's doing this. He's seen them a thousand times before, and he'll see them a thousand times after this. And yet...he can't shake this feeling of displacement, as if his sanctuary has left his grasp and comprehension overnight. Everything seems alien. He looks at everyone and, for a moment, they all look like his victims: one fleeting snapshot in time, so full of life, so beautiful, ephemeral. And that to him is odd, because ever since he laid eyes on them, they had been immortal. It was unusual for an assassin to see someone and not being able to imagine them dying, but that was the charm of the Dark Brotherhood. You end up seeing family as yourself: infallible, untouchable, precious.

But this feeling he can't shake off, so he takes one last look at everyone before he leaves. Not to soothe his nerves, he tells himself, but out of curiosity, out of a need to know that some things are meant to last forever.

Astrid, who is the most like a blade, delighting in murder, precise, quick even in her movements, sticking to the shadows most often than not, lurking and protecting her family. He catches her movements, commits them to memory. Her cat-like gait, the way her hair flickers in the light, her nimble fingers snaking across Arnbjorn's shoulders in a gentle touch, ever so subtle.

Veezara, friend and companion, his tail flickering in the candlelight, making his scales look like a thousand different jewels, a thousand sharp blades. He'd miss Veezara the most, if he were gone, he thinks. Often he'd stay up at night and listen to his stories about the Shadowscales and a world alien to him, but with the same tenants of murder and honour. Veezara, with his sharp teeth and even sharper wit.

Gabriella, a wild forest fire of a woman, a burning coal of a dunmer whom you can't touch, and if you do, you get burned. Gabriella, whom he'd often listen to with rapt attention, watching the movement of her lips and her fingers, imagining her doing wicked things to him with her tongue and her blade. Dear gods, but he could kiss her just before he left. He shook his head. You don't kiss family, and you don't bring murder in your bed. There certainly wasn't enough room for all that crazy under his furs: he had all the crazy he needed in himself. No, Gabriella was untouchable, reserved for utter respect and midnight fantasies.

Babette, in a corner with Lis, undead but more alive than all of them, delighting in her kills and instilling her own sense of justice upon the world. He still wonders how she did not heed Aventus' call, she who was the protector of children and young women, stunted as she was to be both until she turned to dust. Lucky him she did not, else he'd never have this family, this beautiful, big family, just as crazy as him.

He smiles. He keeps these images in his mind, wraps them tightly and puts them in a safe corner for him to look at, again and again and again. Astrid and Arnbjorn in a rare display of affection, Veezara with his chainmail-scales under the light, Babette and Lis in an embrace, Festus working on his papers, Nazir smoking his pipe. He imprints this in the back of his mind, and never lets it go.

But he feels it calling, somewhere from the pit of his stomach: the void. And he doesn't know if it's good or bad, but he looks at them one last time.

He closes the door after him.
It feels like he closed a chapter in his life.

-

There is no light, only darkness and the breeze of the void. He feels like he has transcended, gone beyond what he was before. He feels empty, empty. It's not guilt - he's killed enough to not know guilt any more. But it's as if Sithis himself has settled in his stomach. It's probably how it's meant to be.

The memory is kept, but hidden. He turns it over and over in his mind often, and he wonders if that's what the Dark Brotherhood is meant to do all along: empty one singular vessel of Sithis' will, purging him or her of all feeling so all that remains is the darkness of the void