A/N: Okay, this is my first Oblivion fanfic so please, be nice! Until now, I've only been doing Harry Potter fanfics.

Okay, this is a fanfic that basically tells the story in every NPC's eyes but the PC. I'll have to see how this goes. And the timeline's completely warped too so, be warned!


Broken Daggers

Prologue: The Dunmer

Martin

The Sanguine Rose on his back, Martin crept through the halls of the ruin. His orders from Sanguine had been to accomplish what the others had died attempting. There was an 'excruciatingly dull' (as Sanguine said it) ceremony going on within the confines of the ruin. What kind of ceremony, who was attending, how the others had died and why in Fort Farragut was a mystery. His friends had died over the last week trying to sabotage the ceremony, quickly and brutally as far as their bodies could tell. This made Martin all the more determined to get to them, to get revenge for their deaths and the favour of Sanguine (that would no doubt be much greater since he was the only one who came back alive)

A nice little platform opened up on a wide room lit by torches with many outlines of people dressed in black. The people were moving, they were leaving the room, Damn, they've finished! He scowled. If he hadn't stayed behind to examine the bodies, then he might have got there in time! He glared at the black mass mutinously then noticed that a couple were staying behind, Excellent! I still have a chance!

But, after the door was closed, it was far too dark to get a good aim. Before he could do a Night-Eye spell, however, this was remedied by one of the figures lighting a torch. Four people came into view, all wearing the same black robe with the same pale sheen that suggested some enchantment on it. Three stood in a group while one stood apart. Since they all wore hoods, it was too difficult to get a clear view of their faces but he could pick out their races. One Altmer, one Imperial and two Dunmer. The Altmer and one Dunmer were female. The female Dunmer was the one that stood apart.

The Altmer carried the torch to a bracket dangerously close to Martin's hiding place and affixed it there. Moving back ever so slightly, Martin readied the Sanguine Rose. The air was chokingly sombre, Sanguine had been right about that. The silence was gloomy and made Martin restless. Just as he contemplated starting now, the Altmer spoke, "Do you need a moment, Listener?"

Listener? Martin frowned. He had never heard that form of address before, Some unknown guild, maybe? His curiousity got the better of his impatience and he stood still to watch. The Dunmer who stood apart turned her head to the others, "Yes." She whispered. There was something about her voice that tugged at Martin's heartstrings. It sounded broken and, sure enough, he saw the glinting tears upon her face.

The other three inclined their heads respectfully. The Imperial spoke first, "I'll to my Sanctuary in Chorrol. May the Night Mother be with you, Listener."

"And, I'll to Bravil." said the Dunmer, "May you always walk in the shadow of death."

"I'll be waiting outside with Shadowmere." The Altmer added. With that, the three left.

Martin's heart had stopped when the Imperial had spoken, The Night Mother...the shadow of death...Azura preserve me, I've just walked into a Dark Brotherhood lair! Terror gripped him. Even reckless daedra worshippers feared the Dark Brotherhood and knew when to avoid them, No wonder the others got killed! If I'm caught...He began to slowly back away, fearing every step would be heard and every shadow contained an assassin waiting to pounce.

He had not taken five steps before the now alone Dunmer put back her hood. Martin blinked, amazed. Beneath the dark hood were thick locks of amazingly bright orange hair, falling to just past her shoulders, and standing out spectacularly against the darkness of the room. He found his eyes affixing themselves to the bright colour, all thoughts of escape vanishing.

He had never found Dunmer attractive before. Their red eyes had unnerved him since they were so similar to vampires. But, this one...It was only when she crossed the room did he see a stone tomb raised on a platform covered with a pale cloth emblazoned with a black handprint. It looked very recently erected; the edges were not worn away by time and the cloth was fresh.

The girl knelt beside it and reached out her hands to touch the smooth cloth. Her head drooped and her brilliant hair fell over her face. But he didn't need to see her face to tell that she was crying. Her whimpering, distraught cries echoed around the stone room. Martin felt a wrench in his heart for her. Though he was a daedra worshipper, he could not bare the sound of crying, let alone this.

It was strange. Everything about her made him want to reveal himself, to comfort her, She'd probably kill me on the spot if I did that. He reasoned but still, his pity for her stayed. It increased when her sobs became words,

"Oh, Lucien...Lucien...I'm sorry...I'm so sorry it had to end like this..."

A grave of someone she loved? Martin tried to get a good look for any indication of a name on the tomb but the cloth covered every inch. Then, another wrench in his heart threw him into a whole new mind altogether, She's a member of the Dark Brotherhood and yet she mourns her friends...like you should. She's a merciless assassin, crying for the dead, and, here I am, a worshipper of Sanguine, not showing any respect for anyone who died today. I just walked past as if I didn't know them. What kind of person am I?

The Sanguine Rose suddenly felt tainted, evil, the proof of his sins, Sanguine actually wanted me to disrupt a funeral? He was disgusted. He had disrupted or 'livened up' dinner parties, guild meetings and even an Elder Council meeting but he drew the line at funerals. Even if it was the Dark Brotherhood. The reality of it all came crashing down on his head as hard as though the ceiling had caved in.

He drew the Sanguine Rose for one last time, cast a Chameleon spell on himself and dropped the staff from his hiding place. By the time the Dunmer had looked up to see what the clatter was, Martin was long gone.


Eldamil

"Here, I've got some deer." She was still there when he came back, dragging the bloody, just-killed animal. She looked up at him, a complete relief in her garnet eyes, as though he had been gone for days let alone less than an hour, "I put it on the fire, shall I?" No answer. As always. He swiftly speared the dead flesh and set it on the cooking props above the still-burning campfire.

The Dunmer was quiet; she had barely spoken a word to him through their three-days stay at the camp. Not that he blamed her. Anyone who had gone through what she had gone through with no one to truly support her would no doubt have that effect. She probably thought he would attack her any minute. Even though he had changed out of his Mythic Dawn robes, she could not forget who he served. Still, he could see that she was glad of his company. In her case, any company would have been better than nothing.

Knowing that staring at her would not help the little trust he had managed to gain from her, he attended to the meat, trying to coax it to look edible. However, the sluggishly-cooking meat would not hold his interest for long. He found his eyes glancing back at her, who was bent over parchment with a piece of charcoal picked up from the fire whizzing over the page of parchment. Only her amazingly orange hair was visible. Trying to repress his curiousity, he turned back to the now slightly-darkening meal.

He couldn't resist the question for long. When she started on a fresh piece of parchment, he asked, without really meaning to, "What are you doing?"

She looked up, her eyes guarded, probably judging whether he was worthy of knowing. Eldamil swallowed, wishing he hadn't spoken. Then, the girl spoke, "Sketching. Just sketching what I can see." She turned back to her work, now looking like she was shading something with quick straight lines. The meat still showed no sign of wanting to cook so he felt he could leave it for a while. He stood up and took a few steps towards her,

"May I?"

Again, she judged him before slowly handing over her previous sketch. Eldamil took it and surveyed it. He nearly dropped it. He had been expecting some kind of landscape picture but, instead, an Altmer with a drooping mouth and pale hair oiled back to the nape of his neck. Underneath was a little caption, Eldamil, "Wha...why are you..." He struggled to find a question that wouldn't sound threatening and got the answer he wanted. However, the girl made such worries unnecessary by saying,

"It's so I don't forget. I never want to forget."

Eldamil, shocked by this statement, silently handed the drawing back to her. He could not fathom her. She had many secret she hinted to but he was half-scared to ask her directly. He had been nervous of saying anything to her, in fact, in case it triggered a violent reaction. One had to come soon. She could not just sit there quietly after what she had gone through, Had she gone through even more? She is a Dunmer, after all. There is a chance she was on the receiving end of prejudice from the stuck-up Imperials around here. No one can take this much pain in their lives and simply say nothing. No one.

He contented himself with sitting on the log some other tennant of the camp had placed by the fire and thinking. Subconsciously, he turned his head north to the cavern shrine of Mehrunes Dagon. He had been there when it had been first built. He had helped kill its past settlement of bandits and sell all the treasure there to afford the building tools. He had seen prisoner after prisoner sacrificed, even gaining sadisitic pleasure from watching in the shadows.

So, why stop now? He wondered, Why did I turn my back on it all? Just when I was starting to enjoy it. All for what? To save a young Dunmer prisoner from sacrifice. Not that the sacrifice would have been something so terrible. After what she has endured, it may be even considered a blessing to her, Eldamile didn't know why he was questioning himself so much. He knew fully well why he had done it, To save my own skin. If I didn't save her, I would no doubt be killed by the Dark Brotherhood with the rest of them.

He gave a subtle glance up at her, She looks too young to be an assassin. Too young, too innocent to ever by capable of killing anyone. It seems impossible that she's the leader of the Dark Brotherhood to boot! How on earth did she reach that status at such a young age? Are all assassins as young in years as she?

His whirling thoughts were interrupted by her glancing up and giving a small gasp. Eldamil looked up and around for any intruder, "What is it?" He asked, after a moment of searching around and seeing nothing,

"I sense someone coming. A good distance away but they are coming this way."

Eldamil listened hard and, sure enough, he could hear faint voices and fainter footsteps. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he pointed at a tent, "Get in there. You'll be out of sight. I'll hold them off if it comes to it." The girl hurriedly obeyed. Eldamil realised with an unspoken groan that her brilliant orange hair was still visible even in the shadows of the tent. He drew his dagger and tensed himself. The voices were growing louder. They were shouting. Shouting a name. A name he didn't recognise. But the girl did.

She leapt from her hiding place and grabbed his shoulder, "It's my family!" She whispered. Eldamil was confused by this statement for a moment and then, realised what this meant, The Dark Brotherhood! Just as expected, an Altmer in dark robes came running into view. What little he could see of her face was flushed and sweaty as though she had been running for a long time. In her dark robes and the bright sun, he wasn't surprised. As she got closer, he realised she was referring to the girl.

The newcomer clearly cared very much about the girl for her questions of her whereabouts for the last week bombarded her without pause. Remarkably, the Dunmer managed to stay calm and not crack. She answered the questions with short, evasive answers, She will not talk about it. I will probably have to tell her, "You!" snapped the Altmer, pointing at Eldamil, "What is your business in this? Are you involved with this twisted cult?"

"Don't, Arquen." said the Dunmer, laying a hand on her shoulder, "He saved my life. He rescued me from that place. Let him go."

Arquen looked like she did not like this idea at all. She scowled at him. An unpleasant sight with her face. She must have glared at him for a whole minute, as though committing his face to memory (and she probably was) then spat, "Get out of my sight."

Eldamil didn't need telling twice.


A?N: So? Was it good? Was it terrible? Should I go back to HP fanfictions? Please tell me!