Chapter 1
The Unknown Observer
The Speaker perched himself high above the moving group, on an overlooking rock on the side of the snow-covered mountain. High enough for him to remain undetected, but in the perfect position to observe their every move, and to strike accordingly when they appeared at their most unwary. Despite the deepest midnight colour of the hood and robe he wore, the bandits, as they had become not an hour ago, had hardly noticed their tracker in the steadily falling snow, making their way back to Skyrim through the Dunmeth Pass. This was a good sign. It was almost time.
The five of them were powerful, but unlike the Speaker above them, they relied solely on brute force and threatening words rather than tact and careful planning, but the art of stealth was the main difference between them and their unseen hunter. Today, as he had witnessed, most Nords were rather predictable.
The contract received had meant to go to the Falkreath Sanctuary, to the South West corner of Skyrim, but it had been agreed that each group operate within their own province, and these particular targets had unfortunately been taking a brief trip to Cyrodiil on their little raiding travels. 'Unfortunately' only for them, the Speaker thought.
He had followed them from Cheydinhal, through a pass in the Valus Mountain range, leading him across the border into Morrowind. Judging by the large empty sacks they had brought with them, the mass of weapons as well as the known Nord prejudice against the Dunmer, the Speaker had worked out their plan probably before they even discussed it themselves.
They appeared as though they were amateurs, either robbed a few camps, unwitting Khajiit caravans, or simply craved the thrill of ruining the lives of people they didn't even know. Ironic, the Speaker had contemplated, that the Dark Brotherhood could do the same thing, but not punished as this group were going to be. No. The Dark Brotherhood were different. As it said in the Black Sacrament, 'the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear': only an individual who had done such wrong to another was worthy of such treatment. This elevated the Brotherhood's reputation to a far superior cause than these lowlifes, who did not seem to care who was targeted.
The Speaker wondered at the cynicism that had entered his mind recently. It had started with a number of Family members found murdered, some within Sanctuaries. Trust of the current recruits was beginning to waver for him, but this should not cloud his judgement of the cause he served, or Sithis and the Night Mother themselves. He was the hardest worker of all the Black Hand members concerning this issue. Eventually, the traitor would be brought to justice.
As predicted, the amateurs avoided the paths that led to any major cities or towns, so that had crossed off any chance of moving into the central Vvardenfell. They would also want to show off their conquest to any Skyrim city they could get to afterwards, and could get back in only by the winding and narrow Dunmeth Pass that eventually led to Windhelm.
The Speaker was only too aware of the Imperial control in the city of Blacklight, and the surrounding troop camps around the Pass entrance, but the amount of them was unknown. His safest option was to fall behind a little when they entered, to sneak in silently while they boasted to each other about what they had done, what they had 'achieved'. He could simply continue on through the Pass, and later cross back over the Cyrodiil border via Riften. He had his plan. All that was unknown now was theirs.
As the journey progressed north, and the arrogant conversation of the group slowly died, the Speaker wondered whether they had abandoned this supposed raid, simply making the decision to return home. But he did not let his guard down. Nords were proud, and despised defeat. They wouldn't return empty handed.
Eventually, they'd seen it: their target. It wasn't much, but nor was this group's experience. From the looks of it, this was a family farm, though the few crops had been harvested a short time ago, probably sold on by now. Crops were a rare sight in the Dunmer province, so they had possibly gained a considerable amount for them. The only animals in sight were a few chickens, a cow and a tall black horse, already saddled, which the Speaker was sure the group had spied before anything else, seeing it only as a means of making money. The Speaker had not brought his own horse, Shadowmere, for this very reason - if they had seen him, they'd no doubt turn all force on him. Capable as he was, a pre-emptive strike from hardy Nords would put his specialty of stealth in jeopardy.
Just as the Speaker had realised their intent on the farm, they had advanced, no previous planning, no thought of the inhabitants' ability, just a pure and simple hit and run attitude in their minds.
This surprisingly swift attack had left the Speaker at a crossroads in his plan, as well as a disadvantage: he could wait for them to emerge, exhausted but running on adrenaline after they raided the house, as he only expected them to loot and threaten the owners not to try anything. Moments after this thought had ceased, a blood-curdling scream told him otherwise. This was the disadvantage.
This new knowledge of the group's willingness to attack even innocents had become clear. Simply their instinct to attack had caused the Speaker to tread ever more carefully when tracking them here. His skill in stealth had to be at its peak when he struck them down. An invisibility spell he had failed to purchase before the journey would have been highly valued at this point in time. He would have to reconsider on his return to Cyrodiil.
The Speaker was helpless to the events unfolding in front of him: if he decided to attack now, the owners would believe he was a part of the first group, so would fight back. In addition to this, the Nords would then be aware that they were being tracked, or at least found out, and would want nothing more than to dispose of the Speaker in the closed environment of the house, where they would be at a high advantage, able to outnumber and overpower him.
He had no choice but to watch as the farmstead was raided, the inhabitants putting up a brave fight despite the element of surprise from the Nord group. Two of them, just a few minutes after they had barged their way through the door, were battled out by a furious dark elf woman, whose strength went to waste as she failed to hear the third behind her, the bow and arrows in his possession his choice for taking her down. The Speaker was aware that there were, or had been others inside, the ringing sounds of clashing iron and steel a clear indicator of this.
The dark elves had given them a strong resistance, but the pure upper hand strength of their invaders had eventually won over.
By the time the house had been left bare, and the assumed fallen family of Dunmer left disrespectfully where they once called home, the bandits exited the house. The once empty sacks they carried had been filled with anything they could get their hands on while one of them stood guard outside, clutching the horse's reins until the loot was piled on to it as though it were nothing but a cart. As the Speaker had believed, they continued on their path to the North, bragging and joking on the way to their unseen demise.
It seemed as though a lifetime had passed between then and now, but their jovial mood had not changed, nor had the Speaker's attention to detail and stealth. They had to move half a mile or so before the contract could be completed, otherwise he ran the risk of the Imperial sentinels overhearing, knowing a Black Hand member when they saw one thanks to Adamus Phillida, head of the guard in the Imperial City and beyond, his life dedicated to eradicating the Dark Brotherhood. He had to lay low for a short while longer, patience and caution dictating his every action.
Though his full and unhindered attention was focused on the Nords below, he had become aware of movement to the left of his peripheral vision. The sense that he was being followed by something for perhaps a mile from the Pass had plagued him. At first, paranoia that it was one of the group had held him frozen to the spot, tense and prepared to lash out if they got close. But, glancing back down, the five of them still remained where he last saw them. Of course it couldn't be one of them.
The Morag Tong perhaps? If one of their members had witnessed what was done to that farm, the Speaker could only assume they'd be angered enough to follow...but it occurred to him that if it was a highly skilled professional assassin, he would never be able to sense them in the first place.
The unknown made him nervous. AS soon as he saw for himself what this was, he would be able to carry out the rest of his task. After all, the targets weren't going anywhere fast.
Turning his head slowly, he saw for the first time the shadow by which he had been made to feel so uneasy, but instead of the antagonist he suspected, what it really was turned out to be altogether different.
Staring with vicious determination in her scarlet eyes was a dark elf, who appeared to be shut off from everything else in the world but the same group of Nords he tracked himself. By no means was she an assassin, but so far, the skill she harboured was already high, and the Speaker hoped that she knew how to use the longsword she had sheathed beside her, as then she could get through an easy initiation into the Dark Brotherhood...but that was beside the point. What was she doing here?
The Speaker found himself distracted by this new presence, but found comfort in the fact that she was keeping such close watch on the targets on his behalf; if she had waited as long as he believed, she would possibly take them down with the same capability. In her left hand he saw the silver glint of a dagger, though he didn't believe this could do much damage unless professionally wielded against the crafted Nord armour - steel plated, he had noted previously.
Dragging his gaze (which he did with surprising hesitation) back to the group below for a moment, he realised they had moved a seemingly short distance from the height he was at, though they had reached the very point of action in his plan. The five seemed confident in the fact they had bypassed any threat, their body language relaxed, eyes hardly focused on their surroundings, ears barely in touch with any sound but their own voices. The Speaker's eyes widened a little in silent celebration as he felt a small smile of anticipation. This was it.
His sight remained fixed on his targets as one hand carefully pulled the hilt of the shortsword he carried from its sheathe, slowly as to not cause the metallic ring to reach them.
Strangely, yet automatically, his eyes darted left to the ledge where the dark elf stood, as though that one fleeting consideration of her as a Dark Brotherhood recruit now made him think of her as a detached companion. She'd hardly moved from her first arrival. She still stood in stone, her eyes fierce and boiling over with hate. Though at the first the Speaker had only focused on the weapons she carried, as he had trained himself to do with everyone at first contact, his eyes did not pull away as easily this time. She'd made him curious.
He was searching for some kind of reason, a motivation for her behaviour. She looked capable of defending herself, that could not be denied; a sellsword of some kind? Although the seemingly personal level of resentment on her face contradicted this. If not hired then...the Speaker's eyes eventually settled on fairly fresh bruising on her neck. So recent in fact that the redness of force was still noticeable, even from his chosen position of observation. Just above the gauntlets she wore were more signs of violence, here being both bruising and scratches, although whether they had been caused by a blade or nails, he could not be sure.
The Speaker's mind immediately cast him back to the isolated farmhouse, now left in ruin by the group. It was the only explanation left, and it looked as if she was the only one left in pursuit. He didn't know what they'd done, but it was easy enough to imagine. He almost wanted for her to kill them instead, to get what she came for, but this was his contract after all.
Reluctantly yet again, he faced the group below. Only a split second that movement had taken, but by the time he was focused again, the circumstances had already changed.
One member of the group was in mid-fall, a dagger protruding from his throat as blood began to flow profusely out from the wound. The rest were now highly alert, either drawing their weapons or shouting at the nothingness around them. Before the Speaker could even turn to the dark elf, there she had appeared on the path behind them, sword in hand. The Nords, their stereotypical one-track minds coming into play, advanced one by one to attack, the only one leading the horse abandoning his hold on the reins and the loot, realising what he'd done only when it was spooked and galloping into the distance.
Their gung-ho attitude was no match for her tactical approach and prowess. As the elected ringleader of the four reached her, greatsword swinging slowly and heavily in front of him, she dropped below its reach and plunged her own blade through his kneecap. Howling pitifully in pain, the first Nord collapsed in a heap on the snow covered ground, attempting to hold the wound as though keeping the blood in place. He would of course, inevitably fail.
The second in line held both an iron shield and sword, and brought the blade down with maximum strength towards her. Though raising her own sword in time, she was pushed backwards by the sheer force in his strike, almost collapsing on the ground. The Speaker could see the luminescent red of her eyes dart towards the third and fourth members of the group who were now getting closer, terrified of the consequence of defeat.
The Speaker rose in preparation to help, just as the Nord who pinned her down raised his sword again, thinking he was able to break her defence this time. With skilled agility, the dark elf rolled right, all but springing to her feet as the sword crashed down where she had once lay. She allocated only half a second of confusion to cross the Nord's face as his head raised in her direction, before allowing her blade to make a swift clean slice across his throat. A last breath was drawn in vain as he fell forwards, still and cold.
Simultaneously, the two Nords left standing skidded awkwardly to a halt on the layer of ice they ran over, staring in shock and fear at the once believed to be weak girl glaring back at them. If the Speaker's presumptions were correct, this seemed to be role reversal: their friends now lay slaughtered at their feet - though the first attacker was still writhing in agony because of his shattered knee - just as she had watched while they murdered her own family.
In their hesitation, she wasted no time in leaping towards the dagger still in her first victim's neck, and all in one movement, fluidly flung it at the closest group member, piercing the underside of his lower jaw. Staggering, he choked violently on his own blood, fear taking over as he too fell, the expression of shock on his face forever frozen.
So focused were both she and the Speaker on this certain kill, short lived as it was, they had failed to follow the progress of the last remaining member, who had put off moving forward. The Speaker's eyes had automatically been moving in her path of attack, his admiration and respect growing for her with every combat skill shown in her retaliation. It was then he noticed the missing man. He scanned over the small area until he spotted him, fulfilling his role of the coward by fleeing in the opposite direction while she was distracted by his friend. No doubt he was running for help, to the Imperial guards close by patrolling the Morrowind side of the Pass.
The Speaker was helpless to intervene now. The guards would know who he was just by clothing, and officially there was no allegiance between him and the elf, so he had no real duty to help her. If he attempted it, and the guards arrived, he would be serving unnecessary time in prison. He had grown accustomed now to being able to slip past about any security forces, including the Blades, the Emperor's personal protection. Prison had become a somewhat distant, understandably forgettable memory.
He only hoped she was as fast as she was stealthy. He was only too aware of how any female prisoner was treated, no matter what race. It hardly mattered to the prison guards who patrolled the cells; mindless and violent, believing themselves above all others and that they could do whatever they wanted to anyone they wanted, simply because of the uniform they wore. Although, the Speaker had just witnessed how she dealt with these kinds of people.
The dark elf had turned to the sound of the Nord's sprinting footfalls, the crunching of the snow beneath him hardly for staging a getaway. The fact that Nords had endurance on their side was a disadvantage, as she had no time to retrieve her dagger or to even be able to cripple him at this range and position. Dread spread across her face as he disappeared into the slow rising mist created by the forming frost crystals on the ground. The Pass now looked like nothing but the single spot where she stood, though the mist thinned with height, but heavy and thick with cold on the pathway. She had no way of knowing where anything or anyone was. Pure and simple isolation. Entrapment in the very place she had tried to free her mind of the need for vengeance. She was scared, that the Speaker could plainly see. He considered at least helping her to hide, but then what would he do with her after that? She would be reliant on him then. Even association with the Dark Brotherhood could wind you up with a life sentence or worse. Any choice he made had more disadvantages than advantages.
The Dunmer sheathed her sword, and from what the Speaker could see, she was now frantically deliberating the options of either continuing a long route into Skyrim, or attempting to climb back up the rocks and out of sight.
The Nord with the injured knee had either died from blood loss or simply passed out from the sheer pain of his wound, as he had ceased whimpering a short while ago. Seeing this, she knelt and unbuckled the quiver of arrows he carried, as well as a hunting bow on his back, equipping them for herself.
Sounds of shouts came swiftly after, causing the Speaker to look towards the Morrowind border, knowing as well as her what that meant. His attention was drawn back to her. She was paralysed in fear, knowing full well she would be neutralised in the numbers approaching. The Speaker silently willed her to move, staring intensely as though the message could somehow make its way through to her mind.
Whatever it was, life finally flooded back into her and, facing back to the slanted cliff face, she took a short run to the nearest rock and pushed herself up from the ground with all her remaining strength, barely grabbing the top before pulling herself up. Looking on, the Speaker knew that if she made the next climb, it would be a simple enough way up to where he had first seen her. She could make this, then make her escape. Only one word could hinder her.
"Fire!"
The gravelled voice bellowed through the biting air, followed immediately by the twang of bows and whistle of soaring arrows. Half a second passed between the dark elf facing towards the sound and the actual impact of the arrows on the rock. The Speaker's height was out of range of the onslaught - he approximated at most five different hits - but the elf on the other hand, was right in their line of fire.
He heard her stifled whimper of pain, knowing she'd been hit. Her face showed the fear and shock that convulsed through her body at the thought of the threat below. She still aimed to climb the rock she faced, even when the wind underneath another arrow could be heard. It shot through her lower arm, and she immediately drew back this hand from the rock. The cry could not be subdued this time. A single tormented sound tore from her throat, alerting the archers that they got what they came for.
The Speaker knew they'd carry on shooting until she was brought to the ground, and there was no way she could escape it now. She was too isolated for the guards to resist treating her as prey.
They were gathered below now, and the Speaker moved backwards out of their eyeline, but still keeping a close watch on the dark elf, who had just lost her gripping and fallen back on to the first ledge. Her gasping in terror as well as desperation could be heard even from his position, its occasional breaking telling him she was attempting to wage war against brimming tears. She was aware she couldn't fight back. Aware that she was defeated. The one thing she didn't want her attackers aware of was that she, like anyone else, had the potential to allow that skin of steel to crumble. She didn't want them aware that they might be able to win; and the Speaker held the greatest of respects for her about this.
"Get down here now, grey-skin!" the runaway Nord demanded, safe in the centre of the group of guards he had been to fetch. "Pay for what you've done!"
She rose calmly from the crouched position she knelt in, so that she sat proudly above them, although still holding her injured and bloody arm. Her head moved slowly towards him, so that her eyes burned through his.
"Not until you've paid," she uttered menacingly. "I see nothing against me but an act of revenge. I thought you, of all races, would accept that."
After the hard and almost drunk sounding voices the Speaker had heard all this while, her crystal cut accent had not been something he'd expected. Its tone was higher than many Dunmer he'd encountered, but predictably, she did not sound as arrogant as some. From the response given, she also sounded intelligent, quick-witted, and certainly not a person to shout down.
"What would you know of our race, Elf?" he spat as his expression tightened. "I suppose you and your kind aren't sophisticated enough to know better."
She must have been feeling excruciating pain due to her injuries, but yet she managed a mocking smile, her expression remaining calm in contradiction to her appearance.
"That's a bit ironic coming from you, don't you think?" she replied, raw contempt resounding in her voice. She knew that nothing could save her, so seemed to want to keep whatever dignity she had left before she let them win: in control until the end.
"Why you..." the Nord began, but his rage prevented him from finishing his sentence. Still fuming, he glared from her to the guards, who still seemed loyal to their somewhat 'commander', before barking an order at them.
"Don't just stand there! Take her down!"
Remaining absolutely in control of her actions, the Dunmer simply turned away from them, the brilliance of her crimson eyes disappearing from sight as they were shut.
The Speaker's only focus was on her. The utter strength and endurance she'd shown was admirable, her skill perhaps superior even to some of his best recruits in Cheydinhal. He did not even want to look at the faces of the people who were about to lay all this talent to waste. He expected an arrow from the guards...
...But instead she was pulled from view; a rope flung around her injured arm before she fell from the ledge down to the uninviting ice sheet below. He heard the hard impact as she met the ground, along with a short cry of pain amongst the once repressed sobs of fear.
A far more brutal guard than the rest of the group stepped towards her, the coil of attached rope in his hand, tightening and pulling it slightly in sick satisfaction. The Imperial helmet he wore shrouded his face in darkness, but under that shadow the Speaker predicted the same predatory and leering gaze as a hunter aiming a sure shot at whatever unfortunate animal had caught his eye.
The place where she lay was covered by the ledge, but everything could be heard in the echoed passage through the mountains.
"Honestly thought you could take the easy route, criminal scum?" a threatening Niben accent questioned mockingly. The Nord clearly hadn't delved back any further than fifteen minutes when explaining what had happened that day.
A further whimper came from the elf, so the Speaker expected he'd tightened the rope again. The Nord's face transformed from anger into a sinister smile.
"Oh no, you're going to take short stay in Cyrodiil, the Imperial prison no less," he continued, his tone sadistic yet ironically comforting. He was enjoying every single second of this. "I do hope you'll enjoy your visit. I know we certainly will."
She must have tried to lash out, because she was shoved swiftly away, in sight again, onto the pathway. There was no sound of hurting from her this time; she didn't want to give them the gratification. The Speaker could see that the guard had used the rope her wrists together now, partly because she couldn't fight back, and partly because he now had the pleasure of leading her around as if she were an untrained dog. She had more presence than any one of them, yet she was being shown such disrespect, almost because of it.
The Speaker still held the sword he'd carried here, and if there was ever a time he'd considered using it, now seemed perfect. But, however much personal feeling he had developed towards the girl, there was no way he could compromise the Brotherhood. It would only cause more tracking by Adamus Phillida, and perhaps success this time. Remorsefully, he sheathed it, and continued to watch the scene unfold before him.
She was yanked to her feet and pulled up to almost eye level with the guard. The Speaker peered in closely. The guard was talking to her, though nothing could be heard from the mountain as his teeth were gritted; the only thing it could be was threatening.
As the guard continued to try and stare her down, he grew quickly frustrated with the lack of outward fear he was receiving. She may have been terrified inside, but the icy glare won whatever game he was trying to play.
Clearly, he'd never experienced resistance before. He responded in possibly the only way he was intelligent enough to understand: violence.
Without a hint of hesitation, he struck the side of her face with one armoured hand, sending her back to the ground in a pitiful heap. A couple of his group stepped back in shock, but did not protest. Either they were partly used to this behaviour, or they cowered before him as much as his victims. Perhaps both.
"I'll take her to the City myself," he stated, his tone commanding submission. "The rest of you stay here. Help with the bodies."
With that, he tugged the rope hard again out of pure callousness, causing a drained and exhausted groan from the dark elf, the stamina in her spent now. She was barely standing, probably concussed as she was practically dragged back towards Blacklight, totally unable to fight back any more.
The other guards and remaining Nord were left motionless where they stood, the Nord disappointed that he had not been the one to finish her. But the Speaker had lost interest in the target. He would inform the Dawnstar Sanctuary of the contract. Emphasis on making sure it was painful would be the first instruction.
Three days later, following his return to Cheydinhal, the Speaker knew he'd spent a long time thinking of the dark elf from the Pass. More than he'd expected. It had surprised him just how much he was concerned for her well-being - deeply concerned - and he had reason to be, based on what he'd witnessed of her captor's behaviour.
As instructed, he had received word from Dawnstar of the demise of the Nord, and in homage they had sent one of their Dunmer recruits to complete the started job. Good news as this was, it didn't distract him from the fact that the girl still remained locked inside the Imperial prison, dead for all he knew. This disturbed far more than it would normally: on many contracts, he'd watched others fight for their lives, many of whom had been killed, but there was something more to her. Though he had no connection to her, didn't even know her name, but she'd earned his respect, which was not something easily given.
What he pictured was the defiant spark in her blood red eyes as she stood adjacent to him on the cliff top, her sharply soft features poised in focus of the targets. Describing her as beautiful would be strange to anyone else, anyone who knew what intentions she had at that moment, but to the Speaker, that's what she was.
He could have easily wondered about breaking her out, if she was still there, but did not even want to plan how it would be executed: she should not be his concern, should not be the Dark Brotherhood's concern, or their problem. Yet in his memory she still remained...
Despite the amount of time the events replayed themselves in his head, he had his duties with the Black Hand to attend to, so for a short while he had no need for the memory, which became just the shadow of a thought that came to him from time to time. The time spent contemplating her fate decreased over this time; the assumption of execution being the main and most realistic possibility. The Speaker did not like to ponder on such a brave act and know that one person had let it all go to waste, as well as the life of such a talented young woman. The details sometimes hazed in his mind, but the image of her face was as strong as anything. Although, for five months, he had no obligation to recognise it.
The end of this time came on the twenty-seventh day of Last Seed on a late afternoon, when the frosts began to melt away from the velvet green lands of Cyrodiil, though the Northern city of Bruma still felt the crisp cold air from Skyrim. The Speaker had no orders to fulfil this day, and had none to relay to the Sanctuary, and he certainly did not want to spend the day inside his own dimly lit residence of Fort Farragut. He had travelled the few miles on Shadowmere to Lake Rumare, which surrounded the Imperial City. Normally he would not have gotten so close to the hordes of legion members who patrolled the inside of the great white walls, but Shadowmere's restlessness had continued to increase, so the distance was only right for her.
As he surveyed the outer walls, perhaps for scouts that Phillida had planted, he saw something strange. The usually, locked and bolted gate to the Imperial sewers was swinging ajar in the slight breeze that the Spring brought with it, no attention being paid to it. There had also been no guard patrols outside the City, nor on the path tracks nearby. Obviously, something had happened inside the Imperial City for the patrols to be called back inside. Something important, to them at least: the Brotherhood did not concern themselves with political or leadership matters. Now taking down leadership, that could be interesting.
As the Speaker had begun to turn his attention to the surroundings, checking pathways again for approaching troops, the sound of impact on water distracted him. With hawk-like response, his head spun towards the source of the noise, the splash remnants still resettling in front of the pier that led from the sewer gate.
His uneasiness of this event passed also to Shadowmere, who moved backwards a little, ready to flee from or fight whatever it was. He then had a thought - if the sewers led from the passage to the Imperial Prison, chances were that one of the inmates had got lucky, pick pocketed a guard somehow in the distraction that appeared to be going on. The only thing they'd be interested in was running as far as they could from that place.
While his thoughts and eyes were still on the end of the pier, he hadn't noticed the silhouette that passed beneath the water to the shore. The deep gasp for air was heard though, and the Speaker faced the point where this person had emerged, coughing and spluttering, more out of breath that what that distance of swimming would cause. They stood, walked a few steps, but consequently dropped to their knees on the sand, exhausted and dripping wet.
The first thing the Speaker noticed was that there were iron cuffs around their wrists, confirming his suspicions of an escapist. Their build was strong but petite, so the Speaker assumed they were female. The pale grey skin tone was obviously Dunmer, but there were a number of fairly skinny dark elf men, so he did not want to jump to any conclusions.
The Dunmer raised their head, and leant back so that they were eventually sitting up straight, trying to catch their breath while gazing in silent triumph at the golden bathed hills of emerald that welcomed them to freedom. Pushing their above-shoulder length charcoal hair back, which shone crimson in the sunlight, the Speaker saw their face, and surprisingly, not for the first time.
In awe of the determination she must have shown all this time, he could not help but gaze fixedly in admiration at her. His first reaction was to scan over her for injuries or any signs of torture, but aside from a few minor bruises and scarring cuts on her arms, she appeared in good health. The last time he'd seen her was five months ago - he was shocked that she was still alive.
In one hand he noticed she held a ring of keys, answering the question of how she got out of her cell, but not how she managed to find the passage to the lake. The Speaker could only speculate about this, but assumed she had been trying to plan it for a long time.
Also attached to the same arm was a loop of thin rope, which she had now begun to pull from the water. What emerged was a sack cloth bag bulging with supplies. No doubt she'd obtained everything that had been taken from her - and anything else she could get her hands on - while the guards were distracted by whatever event taking place in the City. Of course she knew that her belongings were also drenched by now, but that was not her concern for the moment.
For the second time, she hauled herself to her feet, but found her balance on this occasion. The success and vitality in her face had given way to a little panic. She obviously had no knowledge of where she was, or what she was going to do next. As motivation, she slung the bag over her shoulder and tried to search for any signs of landmarks she could aim for.
The Speaker had been able to steer backwards to a safer distance while she was overcome with liberty. Luckily she was not aware of being watched, though he could not tell whether this was a good or bad thing based on the circumstances.
Despite the prisoner's attire she was still clad in, the aura of presence he remembered from what seemed so long ago was still in effect. She may not have felt it, but strength resonated from her, physically and of spirit; his gaze would not rip away from her, as though captivated by the fiery resolve that eventually returned to her eyes.
As a dark elf, the trait of pride could prove either to be very positive or very negative. In the case of the girl who stood just over thirty metres away, the Speaker considered it to be the best possible thing to rely on. She refused to be put down by something so trivial as geography. Her thoughts could almost be tracked: she knew the Imperial City was the capital, which was obvious. She figured out that not too far away, by following any roadway that took her fancy, she'd be able to reach a small inn or town, and eventually, another main city.
With this, she spontaneously turned her attention West, in the direction of Chorrol the Speaker knew, simply took a single deep breath and began to walk. Not slowly of course, she still wanted to escape from any attention she may attract.
The Speaker could have followed, but decided against it. She didn't need to be spooked at this very moment, not after what she'd already been through. But the previous consideration of initiating her into the Dark Brotherhood was standing its ground, and stronger than before.
The truth was that he had no choice about that: she had intervened in a contract meant for the Brotherhood. It was either forcing her to repent for this by offering further blood to Sithis, or allowing her the opportunity to join the ranks. The Speaker's personal favourite was the latter.
He'd allow her the time she needed to gather herself together again, to reclaim every ounce of the strength she once had, and to get used to being back in the real world. Only then would she be able to make a clear headed decision.
The Speaker would easily be able to track her progress, locate her, and eventually approach her with his offer. He didn't know how long it would take, but he was willing to wait. She would be a perfect addition to the Family.