A/N:Ok same story as nearly every other fan-fic writer, I was attacked by a random barrage of plot bunnies, sorted through them, and came out with three story plots that are very similar. The first two stories are already up but I had more ideas than I could've used, hence this story. Not sure how good it will turn out, or where I will go with it but its begging for release from my mind, and pounding on the walls of the room it was locked in. Also there is a major spoiler for hearth fire sinse my sister is so obsessed with her new slaves… um, I meant children. (lyra gave me a well deservered slap in the face for writing that so, hope you people think I'm funny.) but no she really is overloading their chores, and I think its funny that she gets away with treating the other characters like dirt. Anyway on with the story.
Ps; I own oc's,. anything recognizable is not mine.
A figure danced lightly atop the roof, feet silent, steps light. Suddenly the figure stopped altogether, nearly invisible against the dead blue tone of the nighttime sky. A halo of dark hair surrounded her features, like that of some dark forgotten creature: vengeful, hidden, closed off from the world. She stepped down off the house's top, silent, unharmed by the sheer fall. She crouched low, a sliver of grayish steel held firmly between her fingers. She slid the pick into the lock on the doorway, turning it, so very careful of her fingers movement. The lock clcked once as she proceeded to slide the door open slowly certain she was unseen, unheard. But she made a mistake. I saw, I watched as the famed hero committed the atrocious act. Watched as she slipped into the room, follwed her light traipsing steps as she slid about the house, not making a sound. She reached the room she had been searching for, the door made no sound as she pressed lightly against the fragrant wood, pushing the entrance open. She pulled out a bow, a very smooth bow made of some ebony colored metal, hollw for extra spring and lighter weight. Glowing carvings ran down on either side, they whispered of things no sane mortal would ever dare use. One was a soul trapping curse. The other would paralyze the innocent victim. She was not the same little mer I remembered. The arrow flew, soaring silently over the air in a light, beautiful grace. The miniscule projectile hit its target, exact precise. I expected no less frpm her, after all,she had the blood of a dovah within her veins.
I had taken a leaf from Karliah's book. That arrow was not meant to kill, but to torture. My target had been set, I'd trained, practiced, planned. Everthing was exactly precise and perfect. My plan was flawless. It worked. I walked swift but silent to the bed the target had been asleep in until a small moment ago.
"Sven. I have waited to long for this, Faendal asked me if I could you know. First day I met him. I would've done so sooner if I had known what you were to do. Now you will know the pain you caused me as your soul rots in the void, and you're will is bound to the dread lord. And Sithis does not know mercy." I arched my blade up, watching the gleam of the frost, and fire runes inscribed on the sides. As the daedric weapon plunged down, thrust into his soft flesh by my own hand, I laughed. Satisfaction filled my head, and I watched the dark crimson flood and pool about his body. Truly I had learned much from the mad jester. The fool of Hearts, my sweet brother of darkness. He taught me so well. Poor Cicero, the humble keeper must be scared for my safety. I slipped out of the sanctuary so fast that Cicero couldn't see me leave. I turned to head back, but stopped cold as I felt a light pressure on my arm. It trailed upward slowly, soft yet firm. As the feeling reached my shoulder I fell helpless. A hand gripped my shoulder so tightly. I couldn't help but feel trapped. I rose up into the grip, as the dagger tip caressed my throut. "What do you want?" I asked uneasily. The hand gripping my shoulder trailed up to my chin, graspinging it lightly, but a threat hung about it. The gentley threatening hand turned my face around. I complied with the guiding touch, acceptant that violence would not get me out of here soon. I looked up into those glowing eyes, so familiar to me. I was completely facing him now, for it was a male. One whom I knew I stood no chance against in battle. Not now, not ever. I looked up calmly, accepting of my defeat. None came, however. Instead to my surprise he merely answered my previous question.
"You. Plain and simple, that's what I want." I looked down into hopeless cerulean eyes, triumph and dominance filling every inch of me. "You haven't been living up to you legend. I wonder how many of the joore are angry that a mere mer even has claim to such power. Tell me, does it anger you when those foolish nords mock your race, when thay ridicule you, when they denie you, say that you aren't the hero of legend?"
"I am no hero. I am not Tiber Septim, or some burly companion with a beard past my knees. I am not the avatar of a divine, or even a worshipper of any of them. I am an assassin, the thumb of the black hand. I serve Sithis and mother. That is all." she was calm. Her tone Icy. Yet her eyes were widened and round with fear, uncertainty, and a little bit of dread. "nor do I ever wish to be anything else. I gave up that battle a long time ago, first-born."
"But does it anger you? That was my question. Do not skirt around it. Your tongue may be quick, your words a light silver, but that it not the voice that will deter me."
"I pledged to my self never to speak a word of your langue again. I plan to hold on to that promise. I do not see why it matters if nords infuriate me or not. Why do you even care?"
"Is it your business why I do or don't? I will tell you when you are ready to know, and as for your first comment, you will not last two seasons. You are too saloh, too weak, to fight of your own insticts." More level and icy. She had no response other than to sigh in defeat.
"What happens to me now then?" I asked it in a voice that insinuated a lack of care for the answer, or anything in general, but I knew he saw throught my careless tone. He always had. I waited calmly for a reply, knowing he sensed my hopelessness, possibly relished in it. I looked down, examining my nails.
"You will either resist and fight me like you were meant to, or you will go against your purpose and fall into your instict. Either way I own you." so smug. I wished I could retaliate, but sadly I could not even bring myself to want to fight it. I felt myself fall into his grasp so easily, no matter where I hid it wouldn't be enough. He would find me.
"Then you will not face any resistance until I am ready to come out. I don't have any hope but I will still fight the only way I know how."
"Then you won't fight? Good." He won. He knew that already. "Meet me where it started. Next turdas in the mortal reckoning. You have until the to decide where you Stand. Saviik, aar it makes no difference to me dovahkiin.
"I shall be there." It was all I could say. His hand went back to my shoulder, possessive now. He had me under his claw, and he knew it. Pale skin was showing where a black hand once occupied. Sithis was granting me the choice. If I chose to continue serving the dread lord it would come back. If not, a dragon's head would replace it. Or a flaming wheel of cheese. Sheogorath might be willing to take me back, even after all the time I spent running from my childhood. The mad-god would understand, as my grandmother was part of him now. What would I say to Cicero? Oh how big of a mess this was, and I was caught in the middle. If my grandfather was anyone but Martin, as Lucien had informed me that it was the old emperor and not him, how I wish the assassin was, but it wasn't my luck. I was a half elven Septim, only daughter of a priestess of Mara, who's mother was listener, nightingale, and champion of Cyrodil, as well as a servant of the mad prince. The worst part was, I was raised by my dead ancesters, and a daedric prince, and a couple divines. I ran from that. I despised it. I took uncle Lucie's hand and followed the dead assassin to Skyrim, left my future as Emperess behind, and with it the title of dragon born. Sadly the second caught back up with me. I tried to run, and all I found was a death sentence and a large black dragon, the one who's father created me for the sole purpose of knocking the World-eating monstrosity back in line. I gues fighting that training as child was a decent option. I already made up my mind. I would fight my purpose and give in to the will of the first born. H e confidently stalked off, and barely reached the corner of the house before I called out to him. "Wait, Alduin!"
"Yes?" he questioned as he slowly turned back to face me, smirk already present.
I inhaled deeply.
"I've already made up my mind." I couldn't believe I was really doing this. He merely glanced at me and the smirk grew wider. He was planning something. He knew my answer but he wanted more. I could tell.
"I know already zaam. Say it anyway, but not in this foul langue. My native tongue is all I will take." his answer didn't surprise me one bit. I knew he'd want everything. If I gave in that would be the end. The words sat tantalizingly in my mind, but I was afraid to say them. I could just as easily summon an atronach to distract him, and use the sign of shadow to attempt to get away. He could see my aura for miles though, and atronach's can turn randomly hostile. I swallowed my fear, and my miniscule pride. This was it my descision. "zu fen aav…"
"Continue." he was excited. I could tell. He knew I would say this, but he had not expect it."
"Zu fen aav hin grah. Zu'u hin aar." I bowed slightly in submission. It was all I could do.
"Perfect." was all he said. "I will see you in a week, zaam."
Translation;
Zu fen aav hin grah. Zu'u hin aar- I will join your battle, I am your servant.
Yep This time they gave in. Kurayami will still fight, Tsuki is undecided, so here it is. I promise I will do a lighter theme next time.