Chapter 1
Asante sana, squashed banana, wiwi nugu mi apana! XD
And here we go again!
Gah, it is so hard to start writing again when your fingers and your brain feel all "rusty".
The first chapters of sequels are always a pain in the ass because you have to describe a bit what happened before while giving a taste of what is going to happen in the story. I hope this chapter won't be too boring!
As indicated by the title, most of the action of this fanfic will take place in Elsweyr. But another important bit will take place at the frontier of Cyrodiil and Morrowind, several years before the second storyline. It is the first time I am writing two stories linked to one another, so I hope it won't get too confusing...
Oh, and just for you to know, I have decided to make a parallel between Elweyr's cultures and people and with the ones on the African continent (I think I have reached the last stage of nerdiness XD).
Well, have fun (I hope XD) !
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The swamps, source of life and death…
The sun was setting on the desolated region at the far south of the fertile Deshaan Plains, its last rays of light playing in the dark branches of the trees and blazing the usually foggy swamps.
The place was very quiet, which was quite exceptional. Normally, the swamps should have been buzzing with life – and death – but now, it seemed that the place had been deserted… Of course, it was only an impression – the swamps were never sleeping – and, somewhere near an half submerged rock, something moved under the water. There were a few swirls, and then a green and palmed leg emerged, followed by another one as well as a pair of huge and bulky eyes. Slowly, a toad got out of the water.
It looked carefully around before taking a few more steps on the rock. Then, it stopped and listened carefully to the familiar noises around it.
Here, in the bogs which were delimiting the territories of Morrowind from those of the Black Marsh, the toads' life was not easy. Indeed, they were an essential part of the diet of most of the other creatures which were living in the dark and fetid waters of the swamps.
But in the toads' short and miserable lives, there were those little moments of peace, just before sunset or sunrise, when the diurnal predators gave up their place to the nocturnal ones – and vice versa. This regular to-ings and fro-ings was granting the batrachians and all the creatures located at the wrong end of the food chain some respite, and the toad was decided to make the most of it.
Cautiously, the toad climbed a little higher on the rock and gave a shy cawing. It then quickly took a few steps back, ready to jump into the water at the first sign of hostility. But nothing happened and the surroundings were still quiet. Getting bolder, the toad climbed on the top of the stone.
"Rabbit!" it croaked again, much stronger this time.
As it was still standing firmly on the rock and in one piece, the toad inflated his chest and launched himself into a crazy croaking concert.
The unitinated would have thought that the toad was going crazy, which, in a sense, was the case. The "love" season had started, and here and there, on the surface of the water, one could distinguish, among the waterlilies and other water plants, several pairs of bulky eyes lined with long eyelashes, all riveted on the toad. But unfortunately for the toad and its female admirers, unexpected guests were about to interrupt the serenade…
The sound of large creatures approaching put an end to the song recital, and panicked, the audience disappeared beneath the water again. As for the toad, it jumped out of the stone, dived into the water and hid in the waterlilies while keeping an eye on the intruders.
The noise was growing louder, and suddenly, a group of six men sprung up from behind a dead tree. Five of them were dragging a tied up man behind them, and they were progressing across the soaked lands with difficulty, floundering in the mud, their heavy armour not being really suitable for such kind of marshy lands. Only one of them seemed not to have problems and was walking in front of the group, apparently not hearing to the swearing of his companions.
If the toad had been versed in Dunmer politics, it would have noticed that the soldiers were wearing the colours of the House of Dres. They were leading by an old and bald Dunmer – the one who was making progress without difficulty. He was wearing a simple green robe embroidered with the symbol of the Tribunal. But of course, the toad did not care about politics and religion. All it minded right now was the fact those intruders ruined its evening and what they were about to do know.
The bulky eyes of the toad followed them until they stopped at a place where what looked like a wooden grate was already lying on the ground. Not far away, a second grate had been put against a tree, near a pile of big and heavy stones.
The old Dunmer made a sign to the soldiers and they grabbed their prisoners, forcing him to kneel on the ground as they untied him. Then, they put him on his feet again, pushed him toward the grate on the ground and made him laying on it while quartering his members.
"There are rules and equilibriums that should not be disturbed. You broke the rules and the equilibriums." the bald Dunmer said in a flat voice.
"Rules! Equilibriums!" the young man shrieked as the guards started to tie his hands and feet at the corner of the granting. "You just made all that up to prevent us to use the real power! The power of our Daedric Gods, our true lords!"
"Shut your fucking mouth!" barked one of the guards, striking the boy in the face with the handle of his spears. The latter whined and licked his bloody lips.
"It is too late now." the old Dunmer priest replied softly. "The swamps demand payment. Nothing else except your life would do, traitor."
"You are doomed! You are all doomed!" yelled the young Dunmer, his voice echoing strangely among the dead trees of the swamps.
"Save you breath. You will need it." the priest said coolly.
From menace and anger, the young man's tone suddenly moved to fear and despair.
"No, please, no!" he begged. "You don't have to do that. I have money… I can pay you! Look, tell me what you need and…"
Ignoring the prisoner's plea, the priest made another sign to the guards. They nodded and added the second grate on the prisoner, the two grates now forming a cage. Then the soldiers moved the prisoners to a peat bog. The young man's body twitched in his cage when his back entered in contact with the cold and muddy water. The guards left and went picking up the stones which were standing near the tree.
"Your life ends up now." the priest said, rising his hands in the air. "Your name will be forgotten and the peace will be restored."
"No, please!" yelled the prisoner, wriggling and writing in his bonds – but the second grate was preventing him from moving much. "Don't do that! I will mend my way! I swear! Idon't want to die! I don't want to die!"
Ignoring the prisoner's pleas and threats, the soldiers started to put stones on the upper grate and their weight pushed the cage and its occupier in the mud. The young man was whining like a puppy. His moans became louder and louder as the mud was rising slowly on his legs, harm, and then chest. But it is when the water reached his face that they turned into screams of sheer despair, abruptly shut when the mud covered his mouth. But his wide eyes continued to express his silent horror. They were rolling in his orbits, and he did not shut them even when the mud covered them as well.
Soon, the prisoner and his cage were absorbed by the peat bog.
The soldiers and the priest looked at the mud bubbling for a while. When it finally stopped, the priest had a sigh. He then made a sign to the guards to follow him and the procession disappeared in the fog which had started to rise once more.
The swamps, source of life and of death …
Somewhere in the fog, the toad started to sing again.
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"Hey! Does anyone want some toad?" asked Havilstein Hoar-blood happily, passing a dishes around. "It tastes like chicken!"
"These are not toads, Havilstein, but frog's legs." J'Ghasta growled. "A veryrefined and extremely expensive dish I specially ordered for our Black Hand meeting, so please try to act as a gentleman and avoid such commentaries as 'it tastes like chicken'."
"Well, it does…" Lucien Lachance murmured, while delicately tearing to piece the frog leg he was holding between his fingers.
J'Ghasta, the Khajiit Listener of the Dark Brotherhood and certainly one of the most talented assassins of his generation, sighed heavily and curbed his urge to bury his face in his hand from sheer weariness. Being a visionary could be so hard, and when even his best friend Lucien Lachance failed to understand him, he felt very alone.
The Dark Brotherhood was a very old organisation. It had been flourishing for centuries in the shadows, thriving on the many years of political conflicts which had divided the continent of Tamriel as well as on the on the small and petty rivalries between individuals. Fear, greed, betrayal and hatred had always been the foul compost on which the Dark Brotherhood had been developing under the guidance of Sithis, the Void and of His intermediaries on Nirn, the Night Mother and her faithful and loyal Black Hand, the executive body of the organisation.
But what goes around comes around, and the latest events which almost had lead to the destruction of the Brotherhood had convinced the Khajiit changes were necessary. To him, the betrayal which destabilised the highest authority of the assassins' sect was linked to a problem of communication and human relationships.
Hence, he had tried to rationalise the organisation, revamping old structures and introducing new ideas such as "human resources management" and all its corollaries, like "job rotation", "individual development planning" and "360-degree feedback". He also tried to improve the relations between the members of the Black Hand by organising their monthly meetings in the cosy private room located on the floor above the new restaurant he just opened in Cheydinhal. In his opinion, it was far more enjoyable than gathering in cold and humid caves full of those big dribbling candles which left whitish marks on their Black Hand robes.
But unfortunately, his new vision of the assassin profession was coming against the some members' conception of the Brotherhood, who saw the organisation not essentially as a business, but as a cult. And even people who were sharing J'Ghasta's point of view, like Lucien, had some difficulty to follow his reasoning. But it did not really matter: the Khajiit was a patient individual and he had enough means at his disposal to reach his ends…
After all, in addition of being an assassin, J'Ghasta was also a merchant. A very rich and powerful merchant, to be more precise. And these two occupations were mixing very well indeed. His activity as a trader allowed him to launder most of the money from his activity in the Dark Brotherhood and thus to avoid tedious explanations with the Imperial Taxes Administration on the source of his important revenues…
"Now that everybody is served," the Khajiit started, his eyes running on the small audience, "I will let Speaker Carella make a point on the economic activity of the Brotherhood for this month – and Havilstein, for Sithis' sake, stop chewing with you mouth open…! Speaker Carella, please…"
At the mention of her name, Andarel Carella stood up and started to speak. Her voice shook a little first, but the more she was speaking, the more confident she sounded. J'Ghasta listened for the two first minutes of her introduction and, his mind at rest about the quality of her performance, he let his thoughts straying.
Carella, a wood elf, had been the latest recruit of the Black Hand. She was rather young despite the fact she already had spent quite a lot of time in the Brotherhood. It was her discretion and efficiency that had drawn J'Ghasta's attention on her candidature as a Speaker for the Black Hand as well as her obedience and loyalty – two merits, which, according to the Listener, were seriously missing in the current Black Hand.
The Khajiit sighed and his eyes fall on Arquen, the Speaker of Chorrol Sanctuary. As usual, the High Elf's face was frozen in her typical disdainful pout as if she was constantly living in a pestilential environment.
If obedience was not posing her any problem – Arquen had turned bootlicking into an art – the Altmer had certainly never heard of loyalty, or, if she had, she probably thought it was some kind of insult… J'Ghasta's glance then moved onto the man sitting next to her.
Havilstein Hoar Blood, Speaker of Bruma and former Silencer of Arquen, had made a lot of progress since he joined the Dark Brotherhood. Indeed, when he arrived, he basically had the intellectual abilities of something you could find squashed under your boots… Well, Havilstein still had now an IQ close to the one of an oyster but at least he had stopped "talkin' lik' dat'".
No, in the Nord's case, the problem was not so much his lack of loyalty or obedience but rather the fact that he was too thick to be something else than a perfect lackey, and Arquen was making the most of it. And if loyalty was a desirable quality, blind obedience was not, especially when you were occupying a function such as Speaker of the Black Hand, where a minimum of independent judgement was required.
As for Lucien Lachance… The Speaker of the Cheydinhall Sanctuary and J'Ghasta had known each other for a long time and, as weird as it may seem in a world where killing is the rule, one may qualify them as "friends". The Listener acknowledged Lucien had many qualities. He was a great assassin, a clever person as well as a charismatic leader. But he was also showing a dangerous amount of self-confidence and independence which often bordered on arrogance and insubordination. And his victory over the Ankou, Death's Servant who had betrayed his master Sithis, did not arrange matters.
Thanks – or because – of this, Lucien had literally become a living legend within the Brotherhood and now he was constantly wearing on his face this annoying little air of self-satisfaction which was seriously getting on J'Ghasta's nerves…
"Er, right… Thank you Speaker Carella for that very enlightening report." the Khajiit said quickly, having realised the Wood Elf ended her speech and that everyone was now looking at him. "Now, I would like us to tackle particular issues. As you all know, the political situation remains rather unsteady and…"
"Unsteady?" Arquen interrupted him. "That's the euphemism of the year…!"
J'Ghasta shot the High Elf a very dark look and the latter cowered on her chair.
"It is true things are not getting clearer." Lucien said in a soft voice. "And they probably will not in the nearest future…"
"I don't understand…" said Carella. "Usually, unstable political situations favour our… kind of business. I remember, a few decades ago, when Lord Vivec stepped down, resulting in the Tribunal collapsing. The huge political mess that followed in Morrowind ensured steady revenues to the Morag Tong as well as to other underground organisations specialised in physical eliminations."
"Yes, but in this case, rival factions were clearly determined." explained Arquen. "You had the Telvannis, the Redorans, the Hlaalus, the Dres, the Tribunal, the supporters of King Helseth, the ones of the Empire and so on... And everybody knew where he or she belonged to and who his or her enemy was."
The Listener grunted and made a sign to Lucien to pass him the jellyfishes salad dish.
"How many involved parties are there exactly?" the Khajiit asked while helping himself with a large portion of invertebrates.
"It is the problem, actually." said Lucien, making a face. "There are many of them. And as Arquen pointed out, most of them are not clearly determined and rarely harmonious… Actually, the protagonists sharing the same objectives often don't even think they are forming a faction!"
J'Ghasta gave Lucien a huge grin.
"Wanna try to explain us, o you political genius?"
Lucien rolled his eyes, and with an amused expression on his face, grabbed the jellyfish dish. His companions watched him picking several animals of different colours and arranging them carefully in his plate.
"Right. Let's imagine that each of the jellyfishes' colours represent a faction. Each party is aiming at the same goal: ensure its political dominance in the future political organisation…"
"… which, as it been declared by Chancellor Ocato, is going to be a federal Republic, as decided by the majority of the Council." concluded J'Ghasta. "Fine. So far, I am not completely lost."
"Well, basically, you have three philosophies in competition here." Lucien continued in a learned voice. "First, those who support the creation of a Republic: Chancellor Ocato of course, as well as the authorities of the federated provinces, the small gentry and the middle class. Then, those who are going to loose a lot of power within the new Republic and would like to keep the Empire it was: the Blades, useless now there is no Emperor left, and the mages, undesirable on the political stage after their alliance with the Montforts... And last but not least, you have those who absolutely don't care - this faction mainly consisting in Count Janus Hassildor of Skingrad."
There was a thoughtful pause during which the assassins looked carefully at Lucien's multi-coloured plate.
"I am sorry but I cannot really see anything complicated here. Rather, it all seems pretty clear." said Arquen carefully.
Lucien's lips curled up in a cunning smile.
"You see, 'Seem' is the keyword here…"
"And what about the Counts of Cyrodiil?" asked Carella. "You mentioned Hassildor, but what about the others? Their weight in the political arena is huge, making them almost as powerful as the rulers of the provinces…."
"Precisely, and this is where things get interesting." Lucien replied, his smile growing wider as he took more jellyfishes from the dish and put them in his plate. "They don't have a common position on the matter. If the Counts Nirana Carvain and Burd of Bruma as well as Salvian Matius of Kvatch support the creation of the Republic, the other Counts are very hostile to the project given it could threatened the various advantages they have acquired over time."
J'Ghasta gave a big sigh and started to massage his temples.
"Don't tell me… Given that delighted expression on your face, we have reached the fun part, haven't we?"
The Speaker winked at the Khajiit and carried on with his explanation.
"The Blades are as well much divided on the matter. Some have accepted the fact their order is now without foundation since the Septim dynasty is… extinct, and so support the Republic. Other, on the contrary, still desperately fight to find a reason for their order to continue to exist, and to put a new Emperor on the throne."
As he was giving his explanations, Lucien had starting moving the jellyfishes around his plate, creating a colourful and squeaking ballet. The others were glaring at it, apparently unable to remove their glance from the dancing jellyfishes.
"Next, the mages… After Archmage Hannibal Traven sacrificed himself to allow Master Ontus Vanin and Count Janus Hassildor to definitely get rid of Mannimarco, the King of Worms, the Arcane University is looking for a new leader. Is everyone still following me?"
The Black Hand members exchanged looks and a concert of rather unenthusiastic "yes" answered him.
"Good. Several candidates were found to succeed Traven." Lucien said, leaving the tortured jellyfishes for a while and starting counting on his fingers. "First on the list, Janus Hassildor, who politely declined the offer… Second, Ontus Vanin, who told everyone to get lost..."
"It sounds so much like Vanin…" the Listener whispered, grinning widely.
"And third," Lucien continued, ignoring J'Ghasta's remark, "Raminus Polinus, who would be delighted to get the job, but as he was a great supporter of Traven, he basically can forget about it. Then you have also a dozens more candidates who…"
As Lucien continued to chime out the names of the candidates for the Archmage's position, J'Ghasta's eyes fall upon his plate, where all jellyfishes of different colours were now mixed in a humid and blobby pile. This was certainly one of the most depressing and pathetic things he had seen in his whole life, and not only because it was giving him an accurate representation of the current political situation...
"Lucien, could you avoid dwelling on the details and stay global, please?" the Listener sighed as Lucien was giving him a very detailed social background of candidate number three.
The Speaker made a pout but stopped.
"Fine." he sighed. "To sum it up, Hassildor is not candidate anymore and pretends to be neutral about politics, but he is very influent among mages and he supports Nirana Carvain, hence the Republic… Vanin supports Hassildor. As for Polinus, he remains a non negligible quantity, and, given his hate of the former two, he would do anything to put a spoke in their wheels."
There was a pause. A very long pause, during which the assassins looked gloomily at the plate. The jellyfishes glared back.
"I take back what I said earlier." mumbled Arquen. "Pardon my Argonian, but it is a bloody mess."
"Not a bloody, but a blobby one…" J'Ghasta giggled as he poked the contents of the plate with a finger.
"And I did not mention the Knights of the Nine." Lucien replied cheerfully. "They have stated their position as neutral on the subject. But it seems we don't have the same definition of 'neutrality'."
"Which means…?" asked Carella, raising an eyebrow.
"This means I am convinced they would love to arbitrate the current conflict and take the place left empty by the Blades."
Arquen had a little cough.
"And… Do they have the means to do that? Because, so far, they have seemed more enhanced in their mission of venerating the Nine and defending the Clergy than in politics…"
Lucien had one of his "know-it-all" smiles as he nonchalantly leaned against the back of his chair with the elegance of a cat. He was about to put his feet on the table when a killing glare and a heavy warning cough by J'Ghasta prevented him to do so.
"It is true – to some extend… If their leader, Lord Symetrius Jouaux – the "Victor of Umaril" as they call him – doesn't give a damn about politics, it is not the case of some of his closest advisors, the first of which being the Order's moral guarantee, a priest called Jôme. Jôme the Dark."
"Jôme the Dark…" repeated Carella thoughtfully. "Isn't he that short and stocky guy whose ruby complexion is certainly not due to his love for walks in the fresh air…?"
"I am afraid you got him mixed with the Prophet." Lucien chuckled. "Father Jôme sees alcohol as a plague, except when it is used to light the stakes of the sinners and heretics…. No, Jôme is a tall, gloomy-looking and emaciated man - so emaciated actually that every time he is walking toward you, you have the feeling a halberd is being thrown at you!"
The assassins burst out laughing, except for Havilstein who was glaring at the jellyfishes, looking completely lost.
"What's wrong, man?" asked J'Ghasta, who had noticed the Nord's confusion.
"I didn't understand anything Lucien said and now I have a headache…" whines Havilstein, still squinting on Lucien's plate. He was looking at it so hard his eyes were watering. J'Ghasta patted him gently on the shoulder.
"This happens when talking about politics!" he said happily. "Don't worry for that, and you can eat the jellyfishes if you want." The Khajiit then turned toward Lucien "Thanks for that exposé, Lucien. Now, we need to determine the Dark Brotherhood's strategy regarding that situation."
"A strategy?" asked Lucien with caution. "Do we currently have the means to anticipate anything? I seriously doubt it, given we don't have any advantage over the other protagonists and…"
"You seem to forget a point." J'Ghasta interrupted him. "We have Martin Septim's offspring, the heir of the Imperial throne… And no need to say we are far ahead of everyone thanks to that!"
"But the baby is not there yet..." Lucien said in a soft voice.
"Him – or her – being still in gestation doesn't mean we can't make plans..." Carella pointed out. "By the way, is our future mother still living as a recluse?"
J'Ghasta saw a series of wrinkles materializing on Lucien's forehead at the wording of the question and he felt some amusement in his irritation. You just had to mention Sigrid Trencavel for him to start seething inside.
"Yes, she does… She spends almost all her time in the Sanctuary, helping Ocheeva with the organisation and accountancy, training with M'raaj-Dar and yelling at people. And when she deigns to put a foot outside, she systematically goes to visit Scribonius."
"An' vhy doef' fhe yellvzs atf' peopl'?" asked Hoar-Blood, his mouth full of jellyfishes.
"Because she is angry." Lucien replied curtly.
"An' vhy if' fhe ang'y?"
This time, the Speaker of Cheydinhall's face openly twitched in anger.
"And why don't you just shut up, Havilstein…?"
"What does Sigrid do exactly at Scribonius'?" J'Ghasta asked to get information as much as to prevent an argument between the two Speakers.
Lucien shrugged and took the cup of wine standing in front of him on the table.
"The old man has decided to train her in the Magical Arts." he said indifferently, staring into the dark red liquid in his cup.
"The Magical Arts… Do you mean by that… 'the Dark Arts'?" Arquen asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes." he replied, sipping his wine.
"And it doesn't worry you more than that…?" J'Ghasta asked, his tone being a mix of anger and incomprehension.
Lucien put his cup back on the table and riveted his eyes on the Listener's.
"No."
There was a silence quickly broken off by exclamations of surprise when the Listener banged with both fists on the table.
"By Sithis, Lucien! Trencavel is going to be amother! Do you think it is normal for her to spend her time reading books about turning dead bodies into her personal slaves for eternity?!"
"How should I know?" Lucien protested. "I am not an expert in the subject, like you…" he added nastily.
"There no need to be an expert for that!" the Khajiit spat. "She should be doing things like knitting clothes for the baby…!"
"…waking up people in the middle of the night because she wants to eat strawberries…" Carella added.
"…buying cuddly toys…!" Havilstein exclaimed happily.
"… reading books on why her child would hate her whatever she does to be a good mother…1" Arquen continued. "Why are you all looking at me that way?" she added quickly when she realised everybody was shooting her very weird glances.
"Nevermind…" J'Ghasta said in a cough. "In short, Lucien, she should not spend her time at a crazy necromancer's place! It is not healthy! Do you realise she has not even started thinking for a name for the baby?!"
The other nodded in agreement. Lucien looked at his companion, bewildered, and when he realised they were shooting him reproachful glances, he became sullen.
"So what do you people want me to do? To accompany her in 'future moms' meetings?!" he snarled.
"Maybe you should talk to her and try to…" Arquen started.
"She. hates. me!" Lucien burst out, his patience wearing thing. "Can't you get it?! Every time I go to the sanctuary, she either avoids me and only talks to me when forced to… And when we are talking, it always ends up in a row, with her being insolent with me in front of the rest of the sanctuary!"
"So what?" asked Arquen, sounding surprised. "You have the reputation to know how to deal with recalcitrant people. Give her a good hiding and everything will be fine!"
Lucien sighed and buried his face in his hands.
"I can't!" he mumbled his palms, before opening his fingers and launching a killing glance at J'Ghasta. "The Listener will not let me too because she is pregnant…"
"Of course I won't let you!" the Khajiit said with a smile. "And Arquen is right. It is high time you two solve your personal issues."
"J'Ghasta, please…" Lucien begged. "You know she will not listen to me!"
"Maybe." the Listener replied flatly. "But you see, I have the feeling you are part of the problem… And maybe having a frank discussion with her would help to sooth things. Just try to a little bit more understanding with her, all right?"
Making a sour face, Lucien made an annoyed cluck with his tongue but did not try to discuss the matter further. He knew where he had lost, and here, it was clear that things were not negotiable.
"We will discuss our strategy during the next meeting - after you talk to Trencavel." J'Ghasta continued. "And now, any questions before we move on the next subject…? Yes, Havilstein?"
The big Nord looked embarrassed. He cleared his throat twice and finally spoke in a little voice.
"Er… If Sigrid doesn't want to buy her baby a cuddly toy… Do you think she would mind buying me one?"
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"By Sithis!" Teinaava asked, raising his head from the book he was reading and looking at the ceiling. "What are they doing upstairs?"
The Dark Brotherhood assassin then looked at his companions, who consisted in a blond and cute little Breton girl, a gigantic Orc and of course M'raaj-Dar, the Khajiit who was as pleasant as a bunch of starving piranhas and who was currently playing chess with the latest recruit of the Cheydinhall sanctuary.
"I think new customers have stepped in…" grumbled Gogron the Orc. "And given by the noise they are making, there must be around twenty of them."
In a harmonious move, the group looked toward the ceiling when the racked increased above their head and a little bit of plaster fall into Gogron's beer mug.
"I can't believe Lucien let a tavern open just above your head!" Teinaava whines once the din finally died.
"Not a tavern." Antoinetta Marie corrected him. "A…" she frowned. "How does the Listener call it again?"
"A restaurant." said someone. "It is a new concept."
All faces turned toward the man who had just spoken. The latter remained quite unperturbed despite being the centre of attention. But after all, Belisarius Arius was not famous for being a very emotive and demonstrative person.
With his groomed look and polite attitude, he reminded all his companions of a butler. But not any sort of butler. Rather, the one which could be found in detective stories or in "Cluedo". And Arius was definitely the kind of majordomo to kill Dr. Black, but also the rest of the guests, using for that the rope, the knife, the candlestick and the poison.
Many strange rumours were running on the man's account. He was no novice in the Dark Brotherhood and the Cheydinhall Sanctuary was far from being the first Sanctuary he had stayed in. He had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the procedures in application in the organisation and was able to quote the exact amount of money a contract executed ten years ago earned the Brotherhood. Some had argued that Arius' incredible memory was linked to his pathological obsession with details and order - and they were certainly right.
Belisarius Arius was so obsessive he usually tidied the room in which the assassination he performed took place, and, in some extreme cases, even did the shopping and took the dog out.
No one was really sure about what was his life before he became an assassin for the Dread Father. But the most persistent rumour was depicting him as an obscure clerk working in an equally obscure office, and it was apparently the way he murdered his boss which drew the attention of the Dark Brotherhood on his case. Again, the circumstances around the event were not clear, but apparently, Arius managed to demonstrate the proverb "the pen is mightier than the sword" thanks to his extremely sharp pen and his boss' very short sword…
To sum it up, Belisarius Arius was a perfect psychopath who, if he had been living on the same plan of the Multiverse as Hannibal Lecter and Charles Manson, would have made them cowered in a corner and calling for their mummies. But Arius' pedigree did not mean anything to Gogron, who had executed at least fifty persons, all in a very messy and imaginative way.
"New concept, my foot!" the Orc exclaimed, banging on the table with his fist. "It is doomed to failure!"
"Damn it, Gogron!" barked M'raaj-Dar as the chess pieces flew into the air. "How many times I have told you not to do that when I am playing chess!"
"The Listener already opened one in the Imperial City a few weeks ago, and it is already a great success." Arius replied to the Orc while helping M'raaj-Dar to pick up the chess pieces scattered on the floor. "In addition, Speaker Lachance thought having a restaurant rather than an abandoned house above our head was the best cover possible for the Sanctuary."
Gogron shot a very annoyed look at Arius. One had to say that the two assassins had not much in common regarding their philosophy of life and of their job. One drank two kegs of beer for breakfast and wanted to spill as much blood as possible - even if it implied breaking all the furniture - whereas the other sipped his tea with his little finger raised and was extremely careful about wiping his feet on the doormat before murdering the owner of the house.
"I mean, who would like to eat in a place in which they don't serve beer, where you can't fight and where there are at least five different sets of cutlery to eat one single meal?" continued Gogron while keeping glaring at Arius. "And the waiters… Have you seen thewaiters?! Gosh…!"
Saying this, the Orc got up and, grabbing a napkin, started mimicking the affected manners of the waiters of the restaurant.
"Is everything to your liking, my lord?" he said in a posh voice. "May I offer you more whine, my looord? Do you want me to lick your boots, my looord?"
The scene was so perfectly grotesque that everybody laughed, including M'raaj-Dar, and even the imperturbable Arius cracked a very thin smile.
"Oh, and could someone take the broomhandle out of my ass, please?" continued Gogron, wiggling his gigantic Orchish butt at his public. "It hurts…"
This time, his companions roared in laugher, and Antoinetta had to grab Teinaava by the arm to prevent him from failing of his chair.
"What's the Oblivion is going on here!?"
All the assassins froze at the sound of the voice, and, slowly, their head turned toward its source. A young woman was standing in the entrance of the corridor which leaded to the bowels of the sanctuary and the least that could be that was that her general appearance stood out with the one of her assassins companions. If they all wore their black leather armour, she was wearing a long and loose-fitting dark green shirt with an equally large skirt, both struggling hard to hide her voluminous pregnant woman's belly.
"Oh, er… Hi Sigrid…!" said Antoinetta, glaring in fear at the apparition.
"Would you mind trying to be less noisy?" Sigrid Trencavel asked sourly. "I feel like the ceiling is going to fell on my head…"
Her last word floated in the air in a deathly silence. The cheerful atmosphere which was prevailing a few seconds ago had suddenly vanished and had been replaced by embarrassment tinged with fear.
The members of the Cheydinhall sanctuary exchanged circumspect glances before turning their attention on Gogron, who was, after all, the source of the mess.
"Yeah, sure. I mean, of course…" The Orc had lost all his loquacity and was now looking very clumsy. "I am sorry, but we were just… You know… Kind of… trying to…er…"
The Orc's voice died as he cowered under the girl's impassive look.
"I see." she finally said. "But from now, please be nice enough to be quieter, because all the noise you are making gives me a bloody headache."
And without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heels and walk away in the corridor.
"Gods! Maternity is not doing her any good." Gogron muttered as he sat back on the bench near Teinaava.
"I heard that, Gogron!" Sigrid yelled from the bowels of the Sanctuary. "And I am still waiting for you to give me a little explanation about your expense account on your last contract!"
"Pawned, dude!" Teinaava giggled while nudging the Orc.
Downstairs, Sigrid made a pout as she closed the door behind her.
"Gosh, do not they have something else to do rather than bursting my eardrums…?" she grumbled.
"Well, as you perfectly know, business is not flourishing, even if it is going better than during the Oblivion crisis, so they do not have much to do."
The voice which had replied her had a very strange tone. It was as if someone with a very bad sore throat was talking into a big metallic box. But the most surprising thing was not the tone of the voice, but who – or rather, what – was talking, because the speaker was nothing less than a huge Dwemer sword which was lying on the bed.
"I wish at least you could help me to tidy the place, Clairvoix." Sigrid replied to the sword.
"I cannot, I do not have arms."
"You could use magic!"
"Yes, but I am being lazy."
The young woman gave a big sigh and looked at the mess. Vicente Valtieri, the former occupier of the room, had accumulated many things over his very long vampiric life, from his amazing and creepy collection of coffin-shaped things to his incredible library. Concerning the latter, she had managed to find the original version of books which were at least two hundred year-old and often had been signed for Vicente by their authors, sometimes with their own blood...
"What are we going to do with all that?" Sigrid asked more or less to herself.
"If you do not want to keep them, we could try to sell them. They are certainly worth their weight in gold."
"I bet they are. But putting them back in circulation would probably made people curious and we do not want anybody to get too curious about the books or us…"
She then picked up a big and heavy dark casket she had found in Vicente's cupboard earlier and examined it under all angles. It was made out of ebony inlaid with ivory and was picturing a scene with two Akaviri warriors attacking a dragon. The work realised on the item was of a great delicacy and reminded her of the ring Martin Septim has offered her when he proposed her. Just before he died…
"Try not to think of Martin, try not to think of Martin…"
Sigrid bit her lower lips. Months had passed, but the pain was still there. It was not a continuous unbearable ache. Most of the time, it only consisted in a vague and nagging pain, but sometimes, it could wake up suddenly and be as painful as a bad toothache…
She was still lost in her thought when the baby chose to quick her. The girl squeaked in both surprise and pain and the box slipped from her hands to crash on the ground.
"Oh no…" Sigrid said in a little voice, kneeling by the broken box. "No… It is broken!"
"But what happened?" exclaimed Clairvoix.
"It is the baby's fault! He kicked me!"
The sword sighed and wished it had eyes to roll them. The baby – and for some reason, Sigrid had decided it was going to be a boy – had become one of her favourite scapegoat. Every time she was doing something wrong, it was the baby's fault. She forgot about closing the door of the Sanctuary? The baby's fault. Schemer the rat had not been fed while it was her turn to do it? The baby's fault. She broke the box? The baby's fault of course. If the world was on the verge of collapsing, guess whose fault would it be…
But it was nothing compared to the other excuse she liked using at the moment was "I am pregnant, you know…". Right, Clairvoix admitted that the recent events linked to her pregnancy were not good memories, but still… Sigrid nevertheless could have tried to live this rare and beautiful moment as an opportunity to "grow up" and get responsible rather than as an excuse to annoy everybody and be extremely, well… shitty. The Sanctuary members had been very patient with her so far, but the sword did not know how long it would last. The assassins thought that as Sigrid would soon enter her ninth month of pregnancy, things would get easier, but Clairvoix was not sharing their optimism.
"I need to find something to stick the pieces together again!" moaned Sigrid as she was trying feverishly to build up again the item. "Do you remember where I put the concentrate of toad's spittle?"
"Sigrid, nothing can repair that, even the extremely gluey concentrate of toad's spittle."
"Are you sure? And what about an alteration spell…?"
"Oh, hang on… Of course! I completely forgot about the awesome Enchantment of Superglueback!" said Clairvoix sarcastically. "It sure would do!"
There was a pause during which the girl looked at the sword with her eyes full of hope. Apparently, she missed the sarcasm.
"I was being ironic, Sigrid. There is no such thing as the Enchantment of Superglueback."
Sigrid looked a bit destabilized first but she recovered magnificently.
"Oh yeah?" she asked in an unpleasant voice, getting up and shaking a part of the casket at Clairvoix. "Rather than making stupid jokes, you'd better…!"
As she said this, a piece of wood fell from the broken casket on the ground, followed by several papers as well as something heavier. Sigrid looked at the box then at the papers then at the box again. She frowned.
"What the… A secret compartment?"
"Awesome!" exclaimed Clairvoix, sounding suddenly very excited. "Check out the papers! What are they about?"
Sigrid kneeled on the ground again and pick up one of the parchment. It was quite old, as shown by its extreme rigidity as well as its yellowed aspect. She started deciphering the spidery crawl writing and turned very red in the face.
"So?" the sword asked eagerly.
"These are love letters." Sigrid mumbled, hastily putting the letters in a pile. "It is the, er… correspondence between Vicente and my grand-mother Rivanone."
"Ooooooh… And what does it tell us?"
"What do you think love letters are about?!" Sigrid exclaimed, looking very annoyed and blushing twice more.
"I have no idea, I have never received any." Clairvoix chuckled.
Sigrid looked Aetheriusyard in annoyance and continued to tidy the papers while trying to find a suitable place to hide all this. But while she was making a neat pile, she spotted something black and cubic on the floor, stuck in between two slabs. Intrigued, Sigrid took it delicately between her fingers and put it on the palm of her hand.
It was a cube. Actually, it really looked like a big dice. It had small dots on each of its side but their shape was rather… unusual for a dice. Those dots were shaped like little skulls, daggers, half-moons, hands and some geometrical forms which looked like pentacles and spirals.
"Ooooh, incredible! A datadice!"
Sigrid blinked and turned toward Clairvoix.
"I beg your pardon?"
"It is a da-ta-dice!" the sword repeated, detaching every syllable as if talking to a child. "A powerful magical artefact used by the Black Hand to store information!"
Sigrid was glaring at Clairvoix, completely dumbfounded. The sword sighed.
"You have never wondered how the Brotherhood was keeping track of its records?"
"Well… Yes, I have." she replied, scratching her chin. "But I thought there were some special archives hidden somewhere, where all reports written in codes where stored…"
"There are archives indeed but no paper records. Paper is dangerous: it can burn, get wet and so on. As for written codes, they can be easily broken. But magic codes are different ball games…"
Sigrid bit her lower lips and her eyes narrowed as she continued to examine the odd object.
"Do you have any idea how it ended up here?"
"Nope." Clairvoix replied. "But it is contrary to all the Dark Brotherhood rules I know. All the datadices should only be consulted in the archives and must stay there…"
"So… You think Vicente stole it…?" she asked in a small voice.
"Yep, I do."
There was a pause during which the sword saw Sigrid's face getting slowly distraught, before turning into a complete mask of repulsion.
"Ah no. No, no, no and no!" exclaimed Sigrid, throwing the cube on the bed as if it had burned her fingers. It landed on the matress where it bounced a few time. "Not again!"
"But… What's wrong?" asked Clairvoix, bemused.
"I see it coming…" Sigrid started gloomily. "'Oh, look! A magical artefact with great power that should not be here!'" said the girl in a mocking high pitch voice. "And you know what happens when you found such kind of thing?"
"Er, no?"
"Well, you end up being chased by a dark entity looking after it because it needs it to take over the world, and…!"
"Sigrid, Sigrid…" the sword kindly interrupted her. "Don't you think you are overreacting a bit? It is just a cube used to store information, nothing more!"
"You remember the hourglass, Umbra and the Ankou?" she growled, and Clairvoix had a small embarrassed cough. Oh yes, the sword remembered perfectly well…
"Yes, er… Right, but this is completely different! Datadices are nothing more than something to store information."
Still making a disgusted pout, Sigrid looked closely at the black cube. She could see her face reflecting onto its dark and smooth surface, and that was all. Nothing was indicating that the cube was being hunted by dark forces looking for taking over Nirn. She took a deep breath and then turned toward Clairvoix.
"You swear I am not going to be forced to save the world if I keep that thing, all right?"
The sword sighed inwardly. It was used to Sigrid's irrational behaviour. After all, before being trapped in the sword, Clairvoix - or rather Aymard Clairvaux as he was called at that time - had spent quite a lot of time in the girl's mind. But after what happened during the Oblivion crisis, the girl's attitude has become even more erratic.
"Yeah, yeah… I swear. No dark evil entity, no world to save. Happy?"
The girl made a dubitative face but nevertheless took the cube back in her hands.
"And you said it contains data?" she asked, while giving the cube a flick.
"Yes. And to tell the truth, I am very curious to find out what it contains and why Vicente kept it here…"
Suddenly, someone knocked on the door and Sigrid was so surprised the datadice almost slipped between her fingers. She caught it at the last second, and instinctively hid it under her shirt when the doors of her room opened.
"Is it really clever to hide it under your shirt?" Clairvoix asked. "Someone may wonder what a cubic stuff doing here…"
"My belly is so big no one is going to pay attention to another excrescence." Sigrid replied.
The two has instinctively moved into mental talking mode. Even if Clairvoix was not trapped in Sigrid's mind anymore, it was as if their spirits had stayed tuned and the telepathic way of communication could reveal to be handy, especially when they did not want to be overheard…
Sigrid just finished hiding the cube when a well known dark hooded figure stepped in. At the sight, her eyes narrowed in annoyance and her lips curled in a grimace of sheer aversion.
"Greetings, Sigrid." said Lucien Lachance, removing his hood and passing a hand in his hair to make sure no streak had escaped from his neat and clean ponytail. This little gesture had the special talent for getting on the girl's nerves.
"Look at him…" she thought. "He always acts as if he is performing…Well, your little show does not have any effects on me anymore, Mister Smooth Talker!"
"Speaker Lachance." Sigrid said aloud with a dry move of the chin toward the doors of her room. "Knocking on the doors before entering is not optional, you know…"
Lucien decided not to notice her aggressiveness and walked toward the bed to greet Clairvoix.
"Good evening to you as well, Clairvoix." he said with an elegant move of his chin toward the sword.
"Nice to see you, Lucien." the latter replied.
Lucien stood up there, waiting for Sigrid to invite him to take a sit, but she turned her back to him and got back sitting at her desk. She then took a quill and started to write. Lucien craned his neck to see what she was working on, and he made a face when he realised it was accountancy.
"What can I do for you, Speaker?" Sigrid finally asked in a casual tone.
"Oh well, I am just here to see if everything is fine…"
"Everything is fine." Her tone was as sharp as the edge of a razor.
"Good… And, er… Is Belisarius Arius adapting well to his new family?"
"Your new Silencer is doing very well, Speaker." she carried on in her unconcerned tone. "Except that he and Gogron have an 'alpha male' contest, but I have good hopes things will get better soon."
Since she had sat at her desk, she had not looked at him, even once. Lucien realised how amazingly tensed things were between them, whatever insignificant the subject was. And there was no doubt the next one would incense Trencavel even more…
"Good, good…" Lucien replied hastily, scratching the back of his neck "So…Apart from that… How are you doing?"
Sigrid raised her head from her paper and shot him a dark and weary look. It seemed that by asking that, Lucien had insulted her very badly.
"I am fine, thanks for asking." she said in a tone which meant the conversation on the subject was over before focusing on her writings again.
There was a pause and Lucien raised an eyebrow. It was clear he was not convinced.
"You know, it is not really healthy to spend all day and night locked in the Sanctuary…" he started.
"With all due respect, that is my business, Speaker." Sigrid interrupted him curtly.
"And it is my business as well to make sure the members of my sanctuary are in good physical and mental health. Everybody worries about you, you know."
"You did not seem to mind that first... I had to beg you to accept me to get out of here from times to times!"
Lucien tried not to roll his eyes in annoyance. He had sworn to J'Ghasta he would not loose his temper this time, but his determination was getting eroded by her scornful attitude.
"It was for security reasons at that time." he said patiently. "You may have risked to be recognised, and that we really could not afford that. But now, no one would be able to identify you as Sigrid Trencavel as you look…"
Lucien stopped, looking for the right word. But his hesitation did not stay unnoticed. Sigrid finally put down her quills and looked at him. One could have roasted meat on her glare.
"As I look like what, Speaker?" she asked aggressively.
Lucien made an inward face as he scrutinized her. When Lucien had met Trencavel the first time, he found she was pretty. Not awesome, not your kind of classical beauty… No, just…pretty… If only she could have stopped sulking and had eaten a bit more. But now…
Despite the fact she had put a bit on weight because of her pregnancy,her face was hollow, with big dark rings under the eyes. She had let her hair grow, a rather unwise change because it highlighted her washed out look, and her hair colour, which had been once dark and shiny, was now all dull. But it was nothing compared to her complexion… Her skin was so waxen that all was missing was a wick to light her up, and the only thing that might have been able to save her general appearance – her green eyes – were full of disenchantment and resignation.
"Who want to know what you look like, Sigrid?" thought Lucien. "Like all those matronly women who married to young and who, after having given birth to a dozen of children, spent their days wearing a grimy negligee and worn slippers while their husband goes gallivanting."
Lucien really wished he could tell her that – maybe it would shake her a bit and made her realised how sloppy she had become – but again, he remembered he had to stay calm, so he decided to opt for a more diplomatic answer.
"Well, you look more…mature than before."
There was another pause and the little metaphorical chill in the air showed Lucien his attempt at being diplomatic had failed. To confirm his impression, Sigrid shot him a long and dark look.
"Oh, fine…" she finally grumbled between her teeth.
She stood up, took her cape which was lying on a chair and put it on her shoulders.
"But… what are you doing?" he asked, puzzled, as she passed by him.
"I am going to get my maturity out in the fresh air." she replied from the corridor leading to the main hall. Lucien took a deep breath, unsuccessfully trying to calm down, and followed her. He caught her in the main hall where all the members of the sanctuary had gathered.
"Sigrid…" he started, grabbing her by the arm.
"Release me immediately! And by Sithis, stop calling me Sigrid! My name is Trencavel, all right!?"
Lucien's face became very cold and he released his grip on her arm, while his aquiline nose frowned slightly in anger.
"I am sorry if I have been impolite, Sister Trencavel. But as you are now a valuable member of the Dark Brotherhood and as we have known each other for a long time, I thought you would not mind."
Sigrid's pale lips turned up in a smile that would have made a shark green with envy.
"Without forgetting that having murdered me create special emotional bonds, hey?"
At the words, a very heavy and embarrassed silence fell on the assembly. Lucien was perfectly conscious that all the members of the Sanctuary were listening to their argument – even if they were all trying to act as they weren't – and it was making him feeling ill-at-ease. Everybody was well aware of the part he played in defeating the Ankou and killing Sigrid in the process, but it was the first time since it happened the two main protagonists were talking about it openly and the Speaker really did not feel like washing his dirty linen in public.
"We already had this discussion…" Lucien started between gritted teeth.
"No, we had not!" she spat. "You just said you were proud to do what you did! That's all!"
"Oooooh, is it why you are upset? Because I did not apologise for something I do not regret anyway?"
She growled and took a few steps forward. Lucien retreated a bit, but she caught him and put her nose right under his.
"So you want to know I can't stand your presence anymore?" she asked, taping with her forefinger on his chest.
"Yes." he replied coolly. "Go ahead. I feel like it is going to be interesting…"
"You are here, alive and well... Why? Why didn't I manage to save them, like I did for you?"
There was a sudden chill in the room. Everyone knew too well to whom "them" referred to. The names of Vicente Valtieri and Martin Septim were not pronounced but it was as if they were written in fire letters in the air. Lucien
"If I understood you well, you want to know why Septim and Vicente are dead while I am still alive?" Lucien asked very calmly.
Sigrid did not reply, but it was clear she was making great effort not to jump at his throat.
"Concerning Septim, the answer is very easy. I simply am better than he was."
At the words, the girl's jaw dropped. Apparently, she was not expecting such kind of answer. But soon, surprise was overcome by pure hatred and anger.
"Don't you dare…" she hissed menacingly. Her hand had slowly moved toward Clairvoix' handle, and behind her, the assassins started to exchange worried looks. "Martin was a hundred times better than you!"
"Really? Have you heard of natural selection?" Lucien continued, apparently unperturbed. "Martin died because he was not fitting..! Seriously, have you seen him, always acting selflessly, so happy to sacrifice himself for his people and the ones he loved..." While saying this, the Speaker had taken a silly and sweet voice. "Why do you think Princes Charming like him have become extinct specie...?"
"How dared you…?!"
"Truth is painful to hear, isn't it?" Lucien asked gleefully. The hurt and incensed look on Sigrid's face was delighting him to the most extreme.
"The only painful thing here is the stupidity of your reasoning!" she barked. "And what about Vicente, hey!? Did he die because of natural selection as well?!"
"Vicente died because he placed your insignificant existence above his! If you had not been there, if you had not been acting as a fool, he would be still alive!"
"Why not simply accuse me to have pushed him over the parapet!" she screamed.
Now, the two of them were yelling at the top of their voices, and the other members of the Sanctuary were now whispering. They were used to Sigrid and Lucien's arguments, but this time, it seemed more serious than usual and so they were getting organised to intervene if things were about to take a turn for the worst.
"Is this what you want to hear?!" Lucien shouted. "All right! Vicente died because of you! Happy now?!"
Lucien took a few steps backwards as he recovered his breath. At the words, Sigrid's already extremely pale face suddenly looked as if blood and life had definitely left her. Then, slowly, her eyes watered and her lower lip started to shake. A pinch of sympathy rose in Lucien's chest, quickly hushed by the cruel pleasure of hurting her.
"And you know what, Sigrid?" the Speaker carried on with a sadistic satisfaction. "I also wonder why our Dread Father has decided to bring youback rather than Vicente. I have lost a very good assassin and a friend. You, on the other hand…" He had a malicious laugh. "If Prince Charming had not gotten you pregnant, you would still be dea…"
Despite the fact Sigrid was heavily pregnant and had not fight in quite a while, she had managed to remain relatively supple and fast, which explain why Lucien did not see anything coming. In a very nice and dramatic slow motion, she hit him right in the crotch.
Lucien did not scream. Rather, he slowly huddled up and tears appeared in his eyes. He was convulsively biting his lower lips in an effort not to yell, but the little grunts he was uttering clearly showed he was in agony. He tried to take a few steps but his legs were shaking. He finally kneeled on the ground, clutching his harmed virility, tears of pain now running down openly his cheeks.
"Oh man…" said Gogron in a squeaky voice.
All the members of the sanctuary looked like a living painting. Teinaava had let fall his book on the floor in shock. Antoinetta had covered her face with her hands and was looking at the scene through her fingers and M'raaj-Dar's jaw had dropped. As for Belisarius Arius, his face was as imperturbable as ever, the only thing translating his uneasiness was the way he was drumming his fingers on the table.
Sigrid was towering over Lucien, looking both horrified at what she had just done and out of breath. She gulped, and recovering her composure, she bent toward him.
"Talking about natural selection and reproduction," she whispered malevolently in Lucien's ear, "I hope I just did not compromise your chances to beget a numerous descendants…"
And she turned on her heels and crossed the door of the Sanctuary, shutting it loudly behind her.
1. A recurrent element in the dimensions of the Multiverse. Wherever you are, you always will find books written by helpful but irritating people who will explain you how to be a good parent and why you will inevitably fail and see your kid turning into a stupid and ungrateful monster during his or her teens.
