As many of us know, Lucien Lachance had another Silencer before the Hero of Kvatch finally earned his trust. This had me wonder: what was this person like? What kind of relationship did they have with Lucien? What if they were more than simple colleagues? As predictable, these questions have inspired me to write a story.

This fanfic will deal with themes such as death and violence (after all, it's a DB story) and will contain my first, embarrassing attempts at writing smut. I probably won't update very often (I'm already busy enough with my other Skyrim story), but I'll do my best to give this fanfic a decent plot.

Feedback, constructive criticism and reviews are always welcome.

Thank you for reading!

As he brought the goblet of wine to his lips, Lucien Lachance eyed the woman curled under the blankets of his bed. It was shortly past dawn and his Silencer was still lingering in Vaermina's realm.

Hélène had arrived at Fort Farragut the night before, tired and sleepy after fulfilling the usual, impressive string of flawless kills. Lucien had welcomed her to his table, then he'd made space for her in his bed. He had enjoyed the feeling of her soft body pressed against his own, then he had carefully studied the peaceful expression she wore whenever she was asleep, the way her breathing softly tickled his chest, the light scars that marred her right shoulder. Unfortunately, the time for tenderness was now over.

Had he been with someone else, Lucien would have already started working at his alchemy lab, without minding the effects that the noise of the pestle and the other devices could have on his guest' sleep. Yet, Hélène was no common guest – the Breton was his personal assassin, his Silencer, his right hand. But most of all, that lethal murderer was his lover.

Sighing at that thought, Lucien got up from his seat and walked towards his bed. He slowly peeled the blankets away from Hélène's body, then eagerly took in the sight of her naked form. Although he had slept with many other women, her perfect body never ceased to amaze him.

The assassin carefully eyed Hélène's blonde hair, her pale skin, her long and slender limbs. With careful movements, he got the woman to lay on her back, so that he could give her the awakening she deserved. Oblivious of his wicked plan, Helene stirred and whimpered, but kept on sleeping despite the cold air that was now brushing against her skin.

When the woman finally relaxed, Lucien mischievously smirked. Whenever Hélène spent the night in an inn or in the wilds, she woke up at the faintest noise. Yet, whenever she was at Fort Farragut, the Breton lowered her guard, forgot her worries, finally managed to feel safe and protected. Lucien couldn't help but smile at the irony of that: every time she slept in a comfortable tavern, his lover was always on edge; every time she was with the most lethal killer of Cyrodiil, she slept as soundly as a log.

As soon as Hélène resumed her calm breathing, Lucien grinned and lent down towards her. He brushed her hair away from her eyes, then he skimmed his hands over her bare sides. Eventually, he lowered his face and enveloped one of her nipples in his warm mouth. Hélène whimpered, but didn't wake up.

Fueled by that light reaction, Lucien swirled his tongue against the bundle of nerves, then used his teeth to graze the soft skin. Meanwhile, his hands travelled lower, past her navel and between her thighs.

When Lucien started stroking her, Hélène involuntarily began to buck her hips in time with his movements, to breathe in time with his kisses, to whimper softly at the wonders he was doing to her body. Eventually, she opened her eyes to find Lucien kneeling between her legs, his lips on her breast and his dark eyes settled on hers. With a smile, the woman tilted her head backwards and reveled in the feelings that were running through her body. Lucien had been rough and cold at first, but over the years he had learned to take his time with her, to adjust his rhythm to hers, to focus on her pleasure as well as his own.

As that dangerous man took her over the edge, Hélène couldn't help but whisper his name and feel like the luckiest woman on Nirn.

Lucien looked at the Breton who was now having breakfast at his table. Hélène's blonde hair were loose, whereas her green eyes were still sleepy. She was wearing one of his robes and looked extremely sensual as she stretched her spine, allowing the clothes to reveal the pale skin of her bosom. The Breton looked completely oblivious of the effect those movements had on her Speaker, and Lucien couldn't help but smile at her natural grace.

"I take it that you're going to spend the whole day with your beloved alchemy devices", Hélène suddenly said while looking over her shoulder. "Has M'raaj-Dar run out of poisoned apples already?"

Lucien nodded and focused once again on his work. Unfortunately, Hélène's presence always affected his attention, preventing him from finding the concentration he needed to create his complex potions. The woman seemed aware of that and soon distorted her gaze from him.

When they fell into a comfortable silence, Lucien smiled. It was hard for him to feel at ease when someone was intruding his personal space, but Hélène knew exactly how to treat him: she could tell when he needed silence, just like she could tell when he was willing to talk. Her ability to read his mind never ceased to surprise him.

After she had eaten her breakfast, Hélène stood up and walked towards her knapsack, which was still laying on the floor of the room. She had thrown it there the previous evening, as she'd walked through the trapdoor to find Lucien reading in his bed. The man had immediately helped her down the ladder, then had been quick to seize her mouth in a fierce kiss.

When Hélène noticed that the Speaker had repaired her weapons and filled her knapsack with clean bandages, health potions and different kind of poisons, a wide smile appeared on her face. She loved the way Lucien silently took care of her: although he'd never admit it, he loved her almost as much as he loved the Brotherhood.

"I'm going to the sanctuary to have a talk with Ocheeva, then I'll leave for the next contract", she told him. "Is that okay with you?"

"You can do whatever you wish, Silencer. The only important thing is that you fulfill your contracts and please our Dread Father".

"I'll be gone for a while".

Lucien turned to look at her. Hélène was still wearing his robes, but had her newly repaired cuirass in her hands.

"I am well aware of that, Silencer. Each of us has a duty to fulfill".

Hélène smirked.

"Always so serious", she teased him in a low purr.

As she talked, the Breton walked up to Lucien and looked him right in the eyes.

"I haven't taken my usual potion". When Lucien frowned, the woman added: "You know, for what we did yesterday evening".

The Imperial immediately understood what she was referring to.

"You may have to check in with an alchemist, then".

"Do I have to?"

As he understood what Hélène was asking him, Lucien stiffened. He had known her for years and had been his lover for more than he could remember. Although he still saw her as the young heiress he had been asked to kill, Lucien suddenly realized that over the course of time Hélène had become a mature woman, a loyal murderer, a sensual lover - and by asking him that question, she wanted him to know that she was ready to enter a new stage of their life together.

They'd talked about their chances to create a family more than once, but Lucien hadn't expected Hélène to bring up that topic again.

"No, you don't have to", he whispered after an unusually long moment of silence.

Even Lucien was startled by his reply. Yet, as Hélène smiled and placed a long kiss on his lips, the Imperial felt part of his uneasiness disappear. With a shiver, he realized that the weird sensations he was experiencing could only be described by the four-letter word he loathed so much.

He was in love with his Silencer.