Author's notes: special thanks to the Oblivion-Wiki, which allowed me to research the world I'm writing about so well. Originally I was going to rate this "T" but on checking the guidelines for , I decided to err on the side of caution. This is a story about assassins, after all, though the high rating is for the...profusion...of bad language. Believe me – it was a hard choice. It can be found rated T+ on DA.

Also – the punctuation here may strike the well-trained eye as being horrendous: ti's not. Because punctuation, int his first-person narrative, is being used to simulate a character's speech patterns, flagging pauses, and the duration of pauses. Just so you know.

Special thanks to L'Ankou, here on – here it is!

Oblivion and all its characters, places, events, etcetera are property of Bethesda Softworks.

--

Chapter One: The Offer

--

The smell of apple blossoms was so thick I could have walked on it: intoxicating in and of themselves but with the bottle of wine in one hand and the goblet in the other, I was on my way to a truly spectacular state of drunken bliss – the promised hangover was not my concern right now.

The whole world as washed silver as Masser and Secundus rose higher and higher, the holes forming in them winking and blinking like star-studded eyes, until I finally collapsed against one of the white blossom-festooned trees and drained the wine from my goblet, taking in the hazing beauty around me.

I love to sing.

Not the new songs, necessarily, the old ones, the ones everyone seems to know. The songs you hum under your breath, sung by the spinners in the sun, or farmers in their fields, when they have breath for such careless pastimes, or by mothers to babes in their cradles.

Despite the rather gloomy fact, that I was now a killer, I didn't really mind. Too overcome with my own cleverness – too well staged. There was no way it could come back to me, unless I'd made a mistake. And I was sure I had not – I'm a perfectionist. That was one of the few traits that got me any approval at the Mages' Guild.

In fact, I couldn't help but think back...find the flaws. Find counters for them…it was careless, I'll admit, to have gotten involved at all. I should have buttered up more of the guards, stayed in town, until the body was found. But with Glarthir…he'd be missed only because he was no longer present. Not because anyone cared. In fact, I further doubted the investigation would run too long, or look too deep.

I'd used subtle poison in his most common kitchen ingredients, they'd have to be looking for subtle poison to find any. The one I had used…it left no mark, no telltale sign when ingested. In a wound, though, as with a knife, there would have been hints, clues, telltale discoloration around the wound.

Hence why I had wanted him to eat it. Drink it down.

Murder? I guess it was. So why don't I feel bad about it?

The sense that I was being watched persisted. I had not come unarmed into the wilds – I had a dagger. I had my magicka. And I kept the knife close at hand when I finally had to rest.

--S--

I woke up with three quarters of the night gone, feeling an unseasonable chill and stood up, fumbling for my knife, which was no longer in my hand, clutched to my breast like a child with her favorite toy, rather than a woman with a weapon.

"Are you looking for this, perhaps?" a pleasant-sounding voice asked quite calmly.

I hadn't seen him at first – he was dressed head to foot in black robes, the moonlight casting the majority of his visible features into thick shadow. He was holding my knife delicately in one gloved hand. I could see the glitter of eyes in the shadows of his hood, a strong jawline that was scruffy from want of a shave. Standing side-by-side, I was perhaps, half a head shorter, especially as I was wearing a mage's slippers, instead of heavy boots.

"Yes…" I cocked my head, blinking a little owlishly. I was still feeling the effects my drinking binge – something I haven't done since I was eighteen. I suppose I could paralyze him if I had to…but there's something…strange about him. And it's not strangeness that can be easily defined. And so far, he had offered me no harm – though he could have done, if he was close enough to take my knife from me – especially without waking me.

And yet I knew without really needing to think hard, that this was a dangerous person. It would be unwise to jump into a fight without knowing what I was up against. And I had the nasty feeling that I did not have the element of surprise. That I could act the innocent, simple girl as much as I wanted, and would not fool him.

"You sleep very soundly for a murderess…" he said rather idly, as if telling me that I looked good in green. Which I don't, actually, but that's hardly the point.

I smiled thinly – though I wasn't really amused. "Do I look like killer?" I asked archly, lacing my fingers and folding my hands before my midriff, drawing myself up to full height. To a layman, a mage with her hands so occupied doesn't seem able to cast a spell as quickly as she might, if her hands were at her sides, free, and ready. This isn't actually the case, but impressions are everything.

Besides: I'm not about to confess to Glarthir's death – that would make all my hard work worthless. There was a chance, albeit small I suspected, he was only trying to rattle me...but, as I said, I was beginning to suspect more and more that this was not the case at all. Everyone's heard the rumors – and it would explain why I felt like I was being followed for a better part of the night.

'They say when you murder someone, the Dark Brotherhood comes to you in your sleep. It's how they recruit new members.' I must say, my 'visitor', shall we call him, certainly met every expectation I had, for an emissary of the Assassins' Guild. Perhaps especially because he was well-spoken, or at least, gave that impression.

I saw his mouth move in the shadows of his hood, a smile, and the glitter of what were probably dark eyes. "Only around the eyes, madam," this was said politely.

"Who are you?" I asked bluntly, squinting into the shadows of his hood. "What do you want of me?" what I was really asking for was just a name, I was sure, by now, who he represented. Though, I was a little surprised that we were having this talk.

Glarthir would have gone nuts, sooner or later. Better he go quietly, lest he take someone else with him. Like me.

My visitor smiled here and reached up and carefully –as he still had my dagger – pulled his hood back far enough that his face appeared. He wasn't too much older than me, and had a clever, intelligent face. You could practically see the glimmer of a clever mind behind his eyes, which did more to reassure me than the sight of a living face at all.

Who knew: he might have been a lich or some other undead thing – and I don't like undead things. They're gross, by and large. "Such sound sleep and…recklessness…" he looked around the camp, the word delicately inflected to mean 'foolish abandon', "indicates a clear conscience. And believe me, madam, you will need a clear conscience for what I am about to propose."

Dark eyes were boring into my face. "I would consider carefully any proposal you might make, sir," I warned, the same way I'd warned Glarthir when he'd first approached me, though my smile stayed in place for this visitor, "I do have standards."

He inclined his head, conceding the point. "Don't we all?"

Ouch – but I love this game! A battle of wits. Verbal chess –though I don't play chess enough to make any further allegory. I smiled here, a genuine smile. "Then perhaps you would be so kind as to begin by giving me your name, Master…" I trailed off.

"Lachance," he said simply as I unlaced my fingers and pointed at the ring of stones I had prepared for a fire, should I need it. I spoke the word that ignited the wood, a simple cantrip, and motioned him to one side. "Lucien Lachance."

"Sarielle," I did not sit down, but stood, hands re-laced and resting against my stomach, watching Lucien Lachance closely. He arched one dark eyebrow when I did not give a surname but I shook my head. I have no intention of using it. "Perhaps you will now entertain me with your proposal," I smiled. "Do you care for a drink?"

"Not at all, madam, this is business."

I smiled. "Very well, let's hear your 'business'."

Pleasantries on both sides.

He smiled back, but it did not touch his eyes, which remained calculating, and fixed upon my face, as if he were looking through my skin to read a scroll with my personality, my very soul written upon it. "I am a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And you, my lady, are a killer. A taker of life. A harvester of souls," he said this very calmly, as if reading off scholastic achievements. I didn't even prickle with annoyance at the phrase 'my lady', which is overused and generally condescending. Or, it was where I grew up. Here, it was simply a variant of 'madam', which maintained a sense of formality that using my given name would have shattered.

I had to admit, I was impressed. However, this was second to the cold hand of fear that gripped my stomach and the fine tremor that ran through my entire body.

It sounded worse when someone else said it. "I…those…" I stammered. I hadn't meant to stammer, I had meant to say something…enigmatic. See if I could throw him off the scent…but maybe it was the assessing way he was looking at me, or maybe it was his tone, which was anything but condemning. And it put me off balance.

"You needn't stammer, my dear," Lucien said rather kindly, though I didn't believe a word of it. He was keeping me from overreacting and ruining his point, whatever that might be. But I think I already know. "The first was sloppy, but the second was…properly executed," he smirked slightly at his word choice. "A stroke of brilliance – making it look like an accident. You'll have fooled the guard, I'm quite certain."

Even if I hadn't, I could have charmed anyone questioning me, and then wormed my way out. The false smile I had been wearing had slipped off, like water slipping down a window, leaving my expression set, cold, and grim.

I looked at Lucien in silence.

It was undeniably true, the idiot who'd gotten hold of my poisoned apple had been making my life miserable...but I didn't mean to kill him…or did I? Deep in the recesses of my mind…hadn't I known that if I said 'don't do that' that the fool would, just to spite me?

He's good, this Lucien Lachance…making me second guess myself.

Lucien let me think for moment more.

He'd been so horrible, and I'd been so tired of it…so tired of the guild. So many rules, too many books…not enough practical application…and the idiots in charge, so caught up in their petty intrigues and power plays that they'd lost all sense of what it was to be a mage…never mind that I hadn't wanted to be there in the first place…

He's really good.

"Your work, your deathcraft, pleases the Night Mother – she sees your skills and counts them as…highly valuable," Lucien said gently, and I shot him a look. He was not to be allowed to take the seductive track, he'd be taking the wrong track with the wrong girl, and I would lose all respect for him.

Like I said, I have standards, and cavorting around with an assassin is not on. I have looks, I know I do. But I have much more going for me in the brains department.

"Master Lachance…" I said, warning in my tone. Though, I have to admit, it's best I nip that whole 'seduced by the dark side' thing in the bud…because honestly, between you and me, he could get away with that kind of persuasion with anyone but me. I was safe because I was caught between approval of his speechcraft, and annoyance with him.

He isn't exactly bad-looking. And definitely not old enough to be my father. Not even close...but I'm not that shallow. "Please do not insult my intelligence. I…know why you are here. I know what you want."

He smiled, a proper smile. "Of course. And as is proper when dealing with a such an intelligent young lady, I come to you with an offering. An opportunity... to join our rather unique family," he inclined his head, and then bowed slightly at the waist, and I felt that the word intelligent had been meant as a high compliment.

All ruffled feathers were soothed under the praise of mental capacity.

"Very well, let us hear what you have to say," I responded with due politeness. No need to be rude, after all…

"Listen carefully. On the Green Road to the north of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen. Do you know it?" he asked.

I shook my head, but I also figured if I needed to…I could find it. "No, not really, but I'm sure I can get there, if need or wish takes me," I answered diplomatically.

"There you will find a man named Rufio. Kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete. Do the deed, and the next time you sleep in a location I deem secure," he looked around the camp – it was apparent he wouldn't call this place 'secure'. Well, it wasn't. I privately wondered if he would have been able to sleep here, exposed as it was. "I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love of your new family. It is that simple."

I smiled, but it was rather like the smile he wore, a mask, something you did with your mouth to put other people at ease, or make them think you liked them, or were happy. "That simple?" I asked. "Tell me, Master Lachance. Do I really look like a killer?" I did want an answer for this – though I applaud his previous answer.

'Only around the eyes.'

"It is a point in your favor," Lucien smiled. "And that is why it is you, and not the alley basher that come septim a dozen, Sarielle," he said, almost a purr. "The Night Mother is never wrong, and she has seen you, chosen you to undergo this…test," Lucien said with a certainty that was saved from being zealotry by calm tones and the fact that I had the impression that this was not a person who had the capacity for zealotry – and if he did, wouldn't be very good at it, he's got a brain under his hood. Devotion to a cause, yes. But not zealotry – because sooner or later that in itself would hurt his cause…and that was unacceptable.

Interesting…layers upon layers…a puzzle. I love puzzles – puzzles and plans and preparation…

"Perhaps you will permit me to present you a gift? It shall be yours, regardless of whether you decide to end Rufio's existence or not…" he reached slowly, deliberately with his dagger free hand into his cloak and when he removed it he was holding a dagger in a sheath, both were black, and the metal chasing on the leather, and the hilt were matted, almost black themselves. Looking closer, there was a belt to go with them, black as pitch, so I didn't see it at first. He palmed my dagger so fast I didn't see how he did it, and stepped around the fire, holding the blade in both hands. "It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood."

Gross.

I didn't move for a moment, but neither did he. And I was sure that if need be, he would stand that way all night. I reached up slowly, taking a few shuffled steps forward, almost as if drugged, the movement seemed so slow, and my hand closed about the warm leather of the scabbard and I lifted the blade from his hands, and unsheathed it. The whole affair was black, like onyx, though it did not reflect light. There was a single word etched into the blade in an elegant script, "WOE".

The Blade of Woe, as I began to think of it, was the length of my hand and forearm, light and thin, an easy weapon for a woman to use. I'm not exactly imposing – as I said my eyelevel rode about chin-height on Lucien, and I've got a rather willowy build, something I have lamented in the past. I've seen fifteen-year-olds with better curves than me –it's a little nettling.

"Thank you, Master Lachance," I said, more to be polite than anything else. I wasn't sure what to say in a situation like this. No etiquette class I ever had, no 'talking to' about good manners ever covered what you say to an assassin when he hands you a knife and tells you kill so and so and you're a shoo-in for the guild'.

"Now, I bid you farewell. I do hope we'll meet again. Soon," he inclined his head, and I returned the gesture.

He vanished, right before my eyes, silently. It was an efficient, and very theatrical use of power – I knew he had something up his sleeve, besides a dagger. But I smirked: being no stranger to spells and spellwork, I saw the telltale distortion that marked his disappearance as a chameleon spell, and not true invisibility. I watched him go. He stopped some ten feet back, and I saw his distortion move, as if he realized that I could still see him.

I raised my empty hand and twiddled my fingers, smiling in a way that infuriated my Guild associates: I still see you.

And then I realized he still had my dagger.

Damn. The little sneak…

But I smiled, nonetheless. Clever – distract me with one weapon and take the other. I wonder if I'll get it back, if Rufio has an…accident? Come to think of it, do I want Rufio to have an accident? Do I care at all?

Hmm. Not really, no. It's none of my business, after all. Glarthir was…a necessity.

Do I care about getting caught?

Oh very yes. I have no desire to rot in some prison hole. Or worse – be handed back to my family and placed under house arrest…ugh. Just hang me.

Well, Master Lachance, you've given me a lot to think about, and have ruined a spectacular night's sleep. Thank you, ever so.

But I was still smiling, even as I thought this.

Then it occurred to me that I shouldn't be smiling at all –not because of Glarthir and Andirio, but because Lucien Lachance had me figured. Thoroughly.

I sat down hard and looked unflatteringly shocked. I've just been played like harp, and I didn't even see it coming! That bastard! Play me, will he…

I clenched my fists and ground my teeth, letting annoyance push the wine-clouded fog away from my mind, like a drape blocking a fresh breeze in a stuffy room.

Wow, Sari, what are you going to do?

You've gotta find him if you wanna to anything to him…and I somehow get the feeling that that isn't going to happen. Not the sort of person to just be wandering around…no. If I ever want to see that smirking face again – regardless whether I want to punch it or not – I'm going to have to kill somebody. And not just anybody –a mark. A target. A contract.

I sighed and ran a hand over my hair. What would my parents say?

Kh.

I frowned and dismissed this question. I don't really care what they say about anything – though anything that causes them discomfort or shame is all right, so long as I can sleep at night. We aren't particularly close –they were and are to this day, too wound up in their own lives and intrigues…I've no siblings. No one.

I bit my lip. This is the part where the average person moralizes.

But my curiosity is piqued.

I have to, on the other hand, admire the subtlety…so why wait until Glarthir was dead? Did they –the faceless, infamous they – think the first was a fluke…? Not that it wasn't…I mean…

I stood up and paced restlessly and found that the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like I had been planning it…but I hadn't. Not really…I looked at the Blade of Woe, slipping it out of its sheath…her. No, the blade was one of those sorts that personifies itself, and in this case was a 'her'.

A companion, a tool, a beautiful and deadly thing…

I broke off a large spray of apple blossoms and considered. Let's see how things look in the morning…things are always better in the morning.