Chapter Three
Back in Fort Farragut, Lucien frees Diane from the blindfold, which served no other function than a symbolic warning for most of their journey. Diane stands awkwardly, her eyes fixed on the huge tapestry hung high on the dark stone wall. It depicts a giant hand, not exactly something interesting to look at, but at least its meaning is clear. The skeletal shape says it all. A faint smile briefly appears on her tired face. Perhaps Sithis loves irony just as much as the Nine. Death does not welcome those who openly embrace it.
Child of the Nine, is that all I am to you? Diane thinks bitterly. But if I were their child, would they also not be your children? Why must you demand that I should earn your acceptance?
"You must be exhausted. Perhaps even hungry," Lucien surmises, and his voice commands her attention. It is presently the only sound that she can attach any meaning to. She realises then she is in fact exhausted and, to her surprise, hungry. Her treacherous body still wants to live, regardless of her will or lack thereof.
Without waiting for her answer, he motions for her to follow him to the corner of his bed chamber where he keeps a table and a few chairs along with equipment for writing, reading and alchemy experiments. That part of the room is even darker than the rest, a small candle being the only source of light. Diane says nothing but she is grateful for the darkness.
Empty plates and glasses can be seen on the wooden table along with a jug of water and a bowl that contains a loaf of stale bread and berries. Once seated, they devour their meal in complete silence. Both are famished and would like nothing better than going to sleep afterwards.
"You can rest now-" Lucien finally says what she wants to hear most, after showing her how to access a small bathroom hidden behind a large standing mirror not far from the dining table. Opposite the mirror and just in front of a stone pillar, Diane can see a bedroll that should comfortably accommodate her small form. She nods gratefully and accepts the night gown he lends her for the night, eager to submerge herself in the merciful world of dreams.
There will be not much privacy for either of them during her stay, but he doubts that it will bother her much. There was no shyness or resistance when she was told to undress earlier, in the middle of the wilderness. He hadn't even had to explain that he needed to have a close look at her injuries. She could have been still in shock. Or perhaps her mind is rather pragmatic. Either way, he has already seen her without her clothes on. If she suffers a sudden attack of modesty, she can always change in the bathroom. In any case, the large chamber is the only inhabitable room in the whole fort. Keeping her in his bed chamber also has the added advantage that he can keep a close eye on her condition.
"Wait," she calls out as he turns away from her.
"Yes?"
Diane hesitates for a moment before blurting out. "You love your horse."
The strange undertone in her rather childish statement is not lost on Lucien. He senses her desperation in seeking affinity with the world where she is forced to live, especially with her rescuer. She needs to be assured that his promise was not an empty one.
Of course he is fond of Shadowmere. She is unique and has served him extremely well. That does not mean he sympathizes with Diane's feelings towards her equine friend. His revenge would have been nothing like her uncontrolled rage. Besides, no other horse deserves the respect that his own commands. Nevertheless, he decides to give her the answer that will comfort her. The quicker she gets back on her feet, the earlier she can resolve the Oblivion crisis, thereby bringing an end to his unenviable mission.
"She has served me well, and that endears her to me" Lucien says simply, before leaving Diane to her much-needed rest.
Diane moves through dark water, or rather what she believes to be such, because she can no longer call upon her usual senses for counsel. Her shape is irregular; it seems to stretch and twirl at will, taking her to a place that she seems to remember from somewhere deep in her subconsciousness. Lights without concrete forms approach and disperse around her, as though inviting her to their unique secrets. She is unsure of what she is there for, who she is, or what she is seeking.
Only a sense of unknown purpose urges her forward, and she moves with single-mindedness to embrace that purpose with her whole being, ignoring the dazzling display of dancing lights. All the while, she can feel the presence nearing her with the same eagerness, the same longing. Two glowing balls of light finally meet and merge with one another, warm contentment and relief permeating and caressing their beings.
Alexi, Diane whispers, filling the space with the sweet sound. And she understands how life begins from and always returns to the Void.
Lucien's sleep is never troubled by dreams. Though he is a light sleeper, his body responding to the merest changes in the surroundings, he is blessed with complete silence while he sleeps. A true child of Sithis, he embraces the Void and the beauty of silence embraces him in turn. He speaks to achieve the silence and the silence follows him in his wake.
As much as he cherishes the special gift of Sithis, it is rare that he can enjoy it for longer than a few hours at a time. It is still rarer that he lies still while awake, in the comfort of his own bed. It is, however, not the pleasant texture of the silken sheets wrapping his body that he finds rather unsettling. It is the realisation that the Night Mother no longer desires his services as a Speaker.
He knows well that the Unholy Matron's love is never gentle. He has accepted that the plight of his own Sanctuary was a test of his loyalty, that she has chosen him to bear the heaviest burden of all. And he has yet to understand why she suddenly decided to remove that burden from his shoulder. The responsibility of having to come up with a plausible explanation for the mysterious disappearances of assassins in Cheydinhal Sanctuary is no longer his.
A light, but persistent tap on the iron gate that separates his chamber from the rest of the fort pulls him out of his musings. Lucien lifts himself up and walks towards the unwelcoming sound to retrieve a folded parchment from the skeleton hand of one of his dark guardians. Outside. A simple one-word message written in bold handwriting is all that it contains. Lucien leisurely proceeds to choose his outfit for the day and dresses himself in a blue silk shirt and matching trousers. There is a wistful look in his eyes as he places his black robe and hood in the wooden chest beneath his bed. He won't be wearing them for sometime to come.
A custom life-detection spell reveals a figure leaning against the heavy fort entrance, overlooking a ruin of a courtyard. "Inside, Brother," Lucien whispers warmly, pleased with the caution J'Ghasta exercises. The Khajiit Speaker follows Lucien's invisible form into the familiar darkness, away from the warmth of the late afternoon sunlight. He doubts that there are any prying eyes, but one cannot be too careful. They walk across the flagstone floor, stopping short of the shallow steps leading to an iron gate beyond which J'Ghasta is not keen on exploring. Lucien periodically changes the locations and nature of his traps.
"I believe you came with a message from Ungolim," Lucien says, eyeing the heavy bundle J'Ghasta puts down on the dusty stone floor.
"If it is a message, it is a rather bulky one for my liking," The Khajiit almost growls, his distaste for Ungolim rather evident in his tone. "I have no idea why he told me not to step into your bedchamber, seeing that it is no secret to me where you sleep."
The Khajiit has an inkling that there is something in the chamber that Ungolim rather wants to hide from the rest of the Hand, but knows better than to press Lucien on the issue. The Black Hand is rather apprehensive that the Listener has made a point of not revealing the nature of the mission that his Silencer is supposed to carry out. Ungolim merely told them that it was something to do with the wishes of their Unholy Matron, which effectively silenced any more questions on that matter. Seeing that Lucien is not about to betray the confidence of the Listener, he decides to move on to the next topic.
"Anyway, I thought you might want to know that I had been appointed as the new Speaker of your former Sanctuary. A bottle of wine may persuade this one to impart more information."
It feels rather surreal to hear that his previous position has been filled so quickly. Lucien would have thought that none of the existing Speakers wanted to be in charge of a troublesome Sanctuary. Without words, Lucien hands the Khajiit one of the two bottles he has brought with him. He isn't sure whether he ought to congratulate or commiserate the former Speaker of Bruma.
"There is no need to look at me like that. I'm not taking any more risks than any other Hand members. I've only agreed to take up the position on the condition that the residents of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary should be split up and distributed among the Brotherhood Sanctuaries," J'Ghasta explains with a smug expression in his pensive eyes. He likes the taste of the wine he has gulped down. Lucien has expensive taste when it comes to wine and weapons.
"They agreed to that scheme?" Lucien is not bitter. Only astonished at the Khajiit's ability to get his own way. With all his persuasiveness, he could not get the Black Hand to accept the same proposal. They could not rule out the possibility that the baffling evaporation of skilled assassins was related to an act of treachery. And none of them, except J'Ghasta, wanted a potential traitor in the midst of their respective Sanctuary.
"They didn't have much choice. Ungolim threatened that he would seek advice from the Night Mother on the matter if no-one volunteered. They probably thought it more palatable than to take over a Sanctuary full of latent suspects. It's always easier to keep an eye on one or two potential traitors. Anyway, I kept Vicente with me. He should be more useful than any of the others - as the Cheydinhal Sanctuary will soon be filled with beginners."
Trying to ignore somewhat hollow feelings inside him, Lucien brings the wine bottle to his lips and swallows hard. "I believe, then, congratulation is in order. When do you begin the recruitment process?"
"Tonight. I am to speak with a Bosmer who happened to murder Uvani. She better be good, though she only achieved that feat with a poisoned arrow. That's what Bosmers can do to you. They look so small and meek that one tends to forget that they can hold grudges and act on them as well. Apparently Uvani insulted her without knowing."
The murder would have caused panic in the heart of the Black Hand, had it not been endorsed by the Night Mother. Lucien almost certainly would have enjoyed meeting the Bosmer, had the circumstances been different. Unfortunately, it was her vengeful act that rendered the position of the Listener's Silencer vacant in the first place. The very deed that made her an interesting recruit resulted in depriving Lucien of the chance to meet the murderess altogether.
"I have one more piece of news that you may not like," J'Ghasta says, his normally upright posture and ears stooping slightly in apology. "The Hand knows perfectly well that you are alive and well. But every former assassin of yours was told otherwise."
Lucien blinks his eyes, trying to make sense of the situation. Perhaps the Hand can enlighten me as to how that feat was accomplished. The words do not leave his lips. Instead, he merely nods. Perhaps it is better that way. It will stop his subordinates enquiring about his whereabouts and the sudden decision to split their family.
"I will be staying in my private sanctum while you seek yours," says Lucien, briefly placing one hand on the Khajiit's unusually broad shoulder. "Your visits will be received warmly. The Hand will resurrect me when the Listener deems it the right time. All the same, I do not wish to remain ignorant of the affairs of the Brotherhood."
