Hi! New author to the Elder Scrolls fandom. Most of my work will center on Dark Brotherhood characters. I hope you enjoy and please review! Thank you.
~Z
Red eyes flickered listlessly over ingredients spread out upon a wooden table. Deathbell, nightshade, canis root, countless others that the small form counted and sorted dutifully. It was not a pleasant task, but a necessary one for an alchemist such as herself. Each pile, once finished and tallied in her black book, was scooped into its basket or urn and placed upon the shelves for storage.
After the last pile was cleared away, she hopped off of the chair and stretched. She seemed a child, hardly taller than most adults' waists and having the outward appearance of an innocent girl. But behind the forced façade that vampirism bestowed her, she was anything but a child. Several hundred years old and an assassin besides, little of innocence remained to her.
Brushing a few strands of wayward brown hair from her face, she stowed away the containers and listened, her body utterly still, a statuesque pose only a vampire could maintain. No footsteps, no hushed words nor snoring, no gleeful laughter or quiet whispers. No sound pervaded the stillness of the sanctuary save for the soft echo of a bottle being lifted and emptied, the sound of lips brushing against the glass rim and muted swallows.
The Listener was gone, and Cicero with her, some contract or other. The newest recruits left earlier as well, one on a supply run, the other trying their blade.
The only ones inside the sanctuary were the remaining members of the original family (if one did not count Cicero, and frankly she did not), herself and Nazir, the Redguard who had been working tirelessly to rebuild what had been destroyed.
She stole down the steps on quiet feet, stepping to his side and placing a tiny hand on his shoulder (thankfully he was seated, so she could reach). Nazir did not jump or speak a word of surprise; he was too used to her habits. "What is it, Babette?" he asked in his pleasant voice.
"Please." She answered with the single word, a syllable weighted with begging.
"Babette… we should not. It is wrong."
"No, Nazir it only feels wrong," she argued softly, her high voice making her angry. "Please," she repeated, not begging, as her pride would not allow it, but asking.
The man sighed and stood. He looked down at her with dark conflicted eyes. Without a word, he lifted her tiny body into his arms and took her to her quarters, closing and barring the door. His paranoia was unwarranted. Even in the event of discovery, he did nothing so terrible as to inspire punishment, but his own shreds of conscience willed him hide their moments like this.
He sat down upon her stone bed and she sat quietly in his lap for a time, her head resting on his shoulder like the girl she was not. Babette was a woman, a woman confined to a child's body and forced to traverse life being treated as the age she looked. Her Family was a bit better, knowing the truth, but even they often bought into the outward illusion. All but Nazir. He called her "my girl" but he treated her as an equal, more than any other.
It was this difference in behavior that allowed her to finally voice the desires she had so long suppressed. He had been more than reluctant at first, but eventually had conceded, if only to end the misery he glimpsed in her shadowed eyes.
"Just one," he spoke softly, but the words were firm.
She nodded her head in agreement, despite wanting to argue. Pulling back she looked up at him and tried to pretend this was natural, that they were a man and a woman, even if they never would be. "Close your eyes," she said as she did each time, to ease his shame.
He complied and let dark lashes fall to rest against ruddy cheeks. But a single hand moved from her back, up her shoulder, and came to rest below her chin. He was careful and gentle, as she wished he would not be.
Leaning up on small knees, she moved her round face before his. His hand pulled slightly, bringing her closer which made her smile thankfully. It was not happiness, but an expression of being relieved of pain, given mercy. Just that simple gesture that spoke willingness and want made her still heart constrict within her chest.
A breath of space separated them and she closed the distance before he could pull away and listen to his better judgment. Small delicate lips pressed to full ones in an unbearably desperate kiss. Her little fingers lifted to circle his neck, sliding beneath the cloth to keep him close.
He shivered and returned her affection, moving his mouth slowly with hers. But then he stilled and broke away.
A cry of wordless disappointment escaped her lips, eyes pleading for more.
"I said one," Nazir rasped, his voice unsteady.
"I…I know," she said softly, trying not to cry at how heartbreaking these moments were to her. So close to what she craved, yet never enough to cease the desire.
Sighing heavily, he leaned in a pressed another brief kiss to her lips. This time it was rough, made so by the frustration and guilt in his heart. She did not mind and even welcomed the firm caress of his kiss.
As quickly as it began, it ended. He stood and sat her on the bed, gazing down at her with a slow shake of his head. "Babette, I cannot keep doing this…" He always tried to argue once it was over.
"They are only kisses, Nazir," she murmured. "Even true children receive such affections. I am no child, you know this."
"But it feels…,"
"It is not wrong if I want it from you. Please believe me. I am a woman trapped inside this tiny vessel, denied all the pleasures of adulthood. I could beg of you so much more, but all I ask are kisses." Her eyes are wide and would be filled could she cry. "Do not deny me what little tenderness you give."
He clenched his jaw, but debated no further, a silent concession.
"Thank you," she whispered, as he fled the room once more.
Babette touched her lips as she sat upon the bed.
And thought of next time.
