When do you suppose it is that things start to go wrong? Is it in the womb? Or is it long before, even before anything existed? Does that mean, then, that it's only when we return to nothing that things start to go right?
Kill...him...
Sometimes, you don't realize that things are starting to go wrong until it's too late. You mess up; you screw up. Depending on how much the gods like or dislike you, you screw up big time. For example, a sudden gust of wind blows an arrow just a little off course, just enough for it to not pierce the armor of a certain Imperial Guard captain whose name may or may not be alliterative.
Kill...
And so you try to escape. Sometimes it's the only thing you can do. You run as fast as you can. You vault over fences and walls and people.
Kill...
And then...you trip. You shouldn't have, but you fall. You're agile, lithe, quick, but not now; not this time. Something pierces your head, fills your mind with the senseless need to bathe in blood, so strong that you lose control of your body, that all you can do is writhe on the ground and wait for it to pass as the guards surround you. It's familiar—you've felt it before, heard it before, but never this strong.
It was the damn voice.
Lachry rolled over on the stone bed, staring at the joint between the stone wall and the stone floor, his black eyes dead as the endless stone surrounding him. He bunched the pillow, a wretched thing of cloth and straw but the softest nonliving thing in the cell, into a ball and pressed an ear against it, hoping to block out the whispering. He knew it wouldn't do any good. It silenced the mutterings of the other prisoners, yes, but not the voice. The voice wasn't coming from any outside source.
He rolled over again, this time onto his back, an arm covering his closed eyes.
...Kill...him...
Someone was wanted dead. Someone was wanted dead badly. But who?
Wouldn't the voice know to quit? How long had he been in the prison? The days blurred together; he hadn't the faintest idea how long he had been in there. He hadn't bothered keeping track. His execution was growing closer. Perhaps he was the one this time, the target.
They pray—Kill...—not for your death, child.
"I suppose you aren't going to tell me any more than that, are you, my Lady." Lachry murmured.
No response. As expected. At least, no response from her. The guard outside his cell, however, did throw him an odd look. I'm going crazy, Lachry decided. Fitting, I suppose. I've heard the Lady's voice in my head for years, what's one or two more?
Lachry shuddered as the voice leaked into his brain once more. It was different from the Lady's voice, the calm, cold, but loving embrace. This one felt purely made of emptiness and hunger, tearing apart his already fragile psyche.
'If it's me wanted dead, then by Sithis, end it. I'm tired,' he thought.
"It's that cell on the left, the middle one."
Was it that time already? Perhaps the gods really did listen. Lachry turned his head to face the bars. Outside his cell stood four people, silhouetted in the torchlight.
"What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off-limits!"
"I can't say, sir. You know how it is..."
There was a sigh. "Never mind that. Get this cell open. Against the wall, prisoner."
Slowly, hearing his bones and muscles cry and complain from disuse, the prisoner stood and obeyed, watching in silence as the small party moved into the cell. Three guards in full Imperial armor, too many for the transport of one prisoner, and...
"No sign of pursuit, sir."
"Good. Let's go. We're not out of this yet. Where was that rock...Ah."
Lachry gaped as the bed he had just been lying on sunk into and under the floor, revealing a passageway underneath. He had tried that rock before. He had tried all the rocks. It was only obligatory for a prisoner to find an escape route.
"You..."
KILL. KILLKILLKILL—
Lachry retched, nearly doubling over with the force of the voice. Never had it been that bad.
"What's wrong with him?" one of the guards asked.
"The food here, I imagine. Don't mind him, let's just—sire?"
The prisoner felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder and, cautiously, he looked up into the face of an elderly man, into light blue eyes that knew everything Lachry had done since learning to walk and still forgave him.
"Yes...You are the one." His face grew sad, his wrinkles turning down. "Then the stars were right, and this is the day...Gods give me strength"
"Sire, we really must..."
"This one shall come with us."
"Uh...with no disrespect, I don't think that's a good idea..."
The old man didn't reply, but looked at Lachry once more. He found himself shrinking under the gaze, crushed by its weight. "What say you? Whether you come or not is your decision."
Lachry, for the first time in years, felt cornered. Not even in the presence of the Lady had he felt so vulnerable. "Before I decide...who are you?"
"Do you not know the face of—" A hand silenced the guard.
"I am your emperor, Uriel Septim. These are my Blades, my bodyguard. Assassins attacked my sons, and I am next. By chance, or perhaps more, our escape has led us through your cell."
Lachry stared, but the faces of the guards were all the confirmation he needed. It wasn't a joke.
"Sire, we must keep moving," a Blade, a woman, pleaded.
"I will die when my time has come, no sooner. I serve Tamriel as her ruler by the grace of the Gods. You, too, shall serve her in your own way." Again, the Emperor placed a hand on the prisoner's shoulder and stared into his ebony eyes. "You have done much in your life, much of it terrible, but that is not what you will be remembered for. I see the temptress of fate, the Webspinner within you. The Gods have chosen your end, and that end cannot be avoided. There will be blood and death in your time; such is inevitable."
You know all this, thought Lachry, and you still want me to follow you. And I thought I was insane.
...kiillll hiiiimmm...
Ah, that's right, I am.
The emperor lifted his hand. "But remember, what happens is always the result of your choices." He and the guards walked down the old stone passageway, the Blades already drawing their weapons.
The Divines are always playing with the fates of mortals, casting them into a role and watching the events unfold. Often, the actor is not appropriate for the part. However, the result is always entertaining, or gods would not bother in the first place.
Lachry followed after them.
"What are you in here for?" a Blade asked, carefully positioning himself between Lachry and the Emperor.
"At this point, will knowing that change anything?"
The Blade, an imperial, sneered. "Sure it will. I want to know if I can trust you."
Looking straight in the Blade's eyes, Lachry answered: "Murder."
"Really. You don't look so tough."
Lachry looked down. However long he had spent in jail, it hadn't served his physique well, not that he had much bulk in the first place. "The best assassin is one who doesn't look like one."
The Blade grunted. "Dark Brotherhood?"
"Yes."
"Well, at least I know you can handle a weapon then. But if you try something funny..."
Lachry furrowed his brow. "Do you think we'll be attacked down here?"
"I know it. So does the Emperor."
"By whom, if I may ask?"
Another Blade spoke up at this point. "A cult calling themselves the Mythic Dawn. They've already killed the Emperor's sons, and we expect them to try attacking the Emperor himself. The name's Baurus, by the way, and he's Glenroy. The one up in front is our captain, Renault."
"Lachry."
Renault stopped, nearly causing the emperor to run into her. The other two Blades gripped their swords tighter and she dismissed them. "Lachry...Filir Lachry?"
The assassin swallowed. "That's right."
"Ha! Dark Brotherhood indeed..." She moved on, but Lachry could see a certain stiffness in her step. "Fighting assassins with assassins...what next..."
...kill...
"Are you all right?"
Lachry removed his hand from his head. "Yeah...just a headache. I'm fine."
Could it be...? He stared at the back of the Emperor's head, at the waves of gray hair. It only made sense...
He tore his gaze from the Emperor and looked around the stone chambers. It was a terrible place. The center of the room was well lit, brightened by dusty light coming in through small openings in the ceiling, but there were so many corners and hideaways. Lachry relaxed slightly. These assassins were novices. If it had been him, the Emperor would already be...Wait.
In one of the crannies, the darkness had a distinctive red hue.
Lachry nudged Baurus as discreetly as he could and pointed with his eyes. Baurus nodded.
"Stay near the Emperor. Get a weapon as soon as you can."
The other Blades, following Baurus's lead, took formation around the Emperor just as three men in blood red robes, intricate silver armor growing on their bodies, various weapons forming in their hands, jumped from the shadows and attacked.
"For Lord Dagon!"
Steel clashed with Ebony around the Emperor and the prisoner. "Give me a weapon," Lachry asked of no one in particular, surprising himself. He honestly wanted to defend the Emperor. But at the same time...
The cultist attacking Baurus fell, his magicked armor fading away, followed by the one attacking Glenroy. The final Mythic Dawn agent was on the other side of the room battling Renault, and he seemed to be winning. Baurus rushed at the agent, katana outstretched.
A knife emerged from the back of Renault's armor, then withdrew. She crumpled in front of the assassin.
"Damn it!" Baurus yelled, slicing through the armor of Renault's murderer and casting him aside, against the wall and away from Renault's body. The Blade knelt next to his fallen captain, joined by Glenroy and Emperor Septim.
"The Gods will not abandon her," the Emperor said softly.
Baurus dipped his head. "No, she was an ideal Blade. We can only hope they don't abandon us."
"They won't. They never do." Lachry noticed a strange glance in his direction from the Emperor, and then noticed a sword being handed to him.
"Take it," Baurus said. "We need all the help we can get. You can use a blade, right?"
Nodding, Lachry took the weapon. He had little experience with swords, but it was considerably better than fighting bare-handed. "Is it all right?"
"Yes. She wouldn't want it to go to waste. Emperor, we should hurry."
As they continued through the passages, Lachry tested out the sword a ways behind the group. It was far from a weapon of stealth, but the Blades were not warriors of shadow. It was a weapon accustomed to a face-to-face duel rather than a stab in the back. He wasn't sure if he liked it; the concept of seeing his victim's face while killing him was alien to him. Regardless, it would have to do. He wondered vaguely if his old dagger still waited for him in that old ruin...
"It's a dead end!"
Lachry jolted from his thoughts. Indeed, it was the end of the road. They were surrounded by thick slate stones. What appeared to have been an exit at one point was now covered.
"A trap?"
The Blades looked at each other and seemed to come to an agreement. "Lachry, stay with the Emperor," Baurus commanded. "Defend him with your life."
"I will."
With that, Baurus and Glenroy rushed out of the room, crying their battle cries. So, it's just the assassin and the target now, Lachry mused. Someone else's target and someone else's assassin, of course, but nevertheless...
...kill...
'Gods not again.'
Lachry heard the battle starting in the previous room. "Emperor, move this way please. Out of sight." The Emperor complied for a moment, but then he grabbed Lachry's hand and spun him around.
'Oh Gods, my head. Get out of my head...'
"My time has come," Emperor Septim said. He reached behind his head and unhooked the necklace holding the large red crystal, then held it out to Lachry. "Take this Amulet of Kings to Jauffre at Weynon Priory. Close shut the jaws of Oblivion."
"W-wait, what? No, your Blades are holding them—arrgh..."
Uriel Septim forced the stone into Lachry's free hand and again placed a hand on the prisoner's shoulder. Fatherly, that's what it was. 'That's why I like him so much. Gods please don't make me do it.'
"Remember: The Gods may choose your fate, but you choose whether or not to follow it."
...KILL!
Lachry choked. "Sire...please forgive me."
"I will."
The assassin plunged the katana through the Emperor.
Standing behind him, entering through the once sealed exit, came a man in red robes. He raised his hand to conjure the magical armor, but stopped, gawking. "You..."
It was all the Mythic Dawn agent could say before he, too, found himself with a sword in his stomach.
"Pray for death, and I will find you," was the last phrase the cultist heard, whispered in his ear by a voice cold as night, before dying.
Lachry stood for what felt like hours over the body of the Mythic Dawn agent, blood dripping from the blade onto the robes, until he felt a set of big hands grasp his slight shoulders and shake him hard.
"...ened here?"
It was all a daze, but the voice was gone. It left its customary spot in his head cold and empty. No, it wasn't gone, it was hibernating, hidden away until a new target was found.
"Damn it, man, what happened here?"
Shaking, Lachry raised the Amulet.
"The Amulet of Kings...he gave it to you?"
"Jauffre...I need to take it to Jauffre."
Baurus was silent for a time, looking at the body of his fallen Emperor, and when he spoke his voice was dull. "Yes...that is all we can do. The Blades have failed, but perhaps there is still hope...Go now. I'll guard the Emperor's body. More may still come."
"I'm sorry..."
"You did what you could. Just go."
Lachry set down the katana and left. After walking for some time, he thought he heard sobs. He ran the rest of the way.
The exit wasn't far. The culverts ended in a large cylindrical tunnel opening to a small beach a ways outside the Imperial City. Straight ahead was an old dock with an equally old boat bobbing in the wind waves.
The sky was weeping.
Lachry raised his arms and face to the rain. If anyone besides the Gods could hear him, they would never know if he cried or laughed.