"That little pissant," Felicienne griped, two days later after Baurus finished his breakfast, and she slammed the third volume of "Commentaries" down on the table in front of him. The Redguard tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows at her actions. She continued, her voice high-pitched, "I've danced naked in the moonlight during Heart's Day for Lord Sanguine and divined under the gaze of Vaermina and I'm a big experienced daedra-worshipping Wood Elf." She crossed her arms, glaring down at the book. "He had a meeting with someone called The Sponsor set up-in the sewers, by the way-to get the fourth volume. Made me buy this one for 100 gold."
"That's great. When is the meeting supposed to take place?"
"You're not even going to ask how it went?"
"I think I can already tell. What's important is that you got the book."
"Sure, sure. The meeting is for this afternoon. Here, I think. In the sewers, I mean. The Elven Garden sewers."
"Good, I can show you where we'll be headed then."
"You're going with me?"
"You need someone who's experienced with undercover work. I think you, especially."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know what it means."
"I can do undercover. I'm inconspicuous."
There was a long pause before Felicienne huffed and flopped down into the stool next to her companion as she continued to insist she'd be fine alone.
"I'm a Blade; it's my duty to do this. It's the least I can do. For the Emperor."
She turned towards him and nodded. She fell silent for the remainder of the morning.
That evening, Baurus and Felicienne escaped the sewers with the fourth volume and their lives, though Baurus refused to see a healer. Despite her protests that she did poorly with convalescence spells, she patched him up as best she could, given the circumstances. She hadn't expected the two patrolling cultists that headed towards her hiding spot while Baurus was meeting with the Altmer-who happened to be Camoran's son, of all people-and things spiralled downhill from there. He insisted on heading back to Cloud Ruler Temple to be with Martin, but Felicienne wrangled a promise from him that he would stay in Luther Broad's until the next day at least, if only to get some rest. She assured him that she would go see Tar-Meena without him, now that they had the whole collection in their possession.
The next morning, when Felicienne headed out, she was unsurprised to find that Baurus had left even before the sun rose, and packed her own things up before she left for the University, as she planned on heading out herself. Away from the Imperial City, at least. She had stayed up the previous night, looking over the series, her eyes throbbing as the hours wore on. It just seemed like the rantings of a fanatic, to her. A power-hungry one, at that. She shivered, feeling the cold of the city settle into her as she crossed the threshold to the University Tower once again.
Meeting with Tar-Meena was quick, as the Argonian-apparently-had other duties to attend to, but she felt that the key to what they were looking for lay in the books. With a sigh, Felicienne headed back towards the Boarding House; it didn't appear as if she would be leaving the Imperial City today.
She slumped back down onto her bed, glad that no one rented out the room in the time she'd been gone, and dumped the books back onto it's somewhat soft surface. The more she stared, the less the damn things made any sense, however, one detail caught her eye: the font of the first letter of every paragraph was in a different style. That's an expensive maneuver, she thought, since it was such a fine detail to have done to every single paragraph, instead of once a chapter, as was the standard. When she realized what she was looking at, she tapped her head against the wall and snapped the books shut and took off again.
And that's how she arrived at Lake Arrius. At a cave. That, apparently, housed the meeting place for the Mythic Dawn.
She was going to infiltrate it. Or die. It wasn't clear at that point. What was clear, however, was that she found herself right in the middle of where she absolutely did not want to be.
"There's always a passphrase," she mumbled, pushing the wooden door open so she could enter the damp cavern.
An Imperial cloaked in red greeted her on sight. "Dawn is breaking."
She took a deep breath. "Greet the new day."
A smile bloomed across his face and he placed an arm around her shoulders, steering her down one of the passages, speaking as he did so. "Welcome, sister. The hour is late, but the Master still has need of willing hands. I will take you to Harrow, who will lead you to the Master for your initiation into Lord Dagon's service." When they approached the larger antechamber, he led her to a Dark Elf, presumably the aforementioned Harrow. "Do not tarry," the Imperial stated, "the time of Cleansing is almost here." And he spun on his heel and exited down the hallway they came in from.
"Welcome sister!" the Dark Elf enthused. "I am the Warden of the Shrine, and you," he clasped her hand, "have come at the most opportune time. You will have the honor of being inducted by Mankar Camoran himself. As a member of the Mythic Dawn, you shall have all you need provided for you out of the Master's bounty. Please, leave your things with me and put on these robes."
She clutched her bag tighter, staring at the scarlet robes laid out over a piece of furniture behind Harrow. She swallowed and took a deep breath in, counting as she allowed to it escape through her nostrils and felt it tickle her upper lip. Her tongue darted out to wipe away the beads of sweat that gathered there, and she took notice of Harrow's narrowing eyes. She thrust her bag towards him and laughed. "I'm sorry. I've just had a long trip here. Forgive me."
He smiled and bent to retrieve her robes. "That's quite alright. The journey here is arduous, but well worth it, I can assure you."
When he handed the clothing to her and stood still in front of her, she hesitated. Face flaming now, she started to unbuckle the fastenings of her amber armour, her fingers fumbling over the clasps as she tried to shrug out of the cuirass.
He made a humming sound. "That's an unusual set of armour," he noted. "I've never seen anything quite like it. Where did you procure it?"
"From back home," she mumbled. Clearing her throat, she stood straighter after working the piece from her shoulders. "Blacksmith in High Rock. Makes the most amazing things." Clad in only her smallclothes now, her form shivered and she shrugged the robe on with a sigh and pulled the hood up over her hair. She grimaced at the way her new clothing glided along her bare legs and rustled in the breeze.
"Very good. Let us walk into the Shrine together."
Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a facsimile of a smile that she hoped appeared more appealing than it felt. They arrived, it seemed, just as Camoran was delivering a sermon to a rather large group of cultists. The light emanating from the torches and that filtered in from a rocky opening in the chamber ceiling caught on something around the Altmer's neck. She sucked in a breath and her back stiffened when he turned towards her direction.
"Praise be," he exclaimed. "The Dragon Throne is empty, and we hold the Amulet of Kings. Praise be to your brothers and sisters. Great shall be their reward in Paradise! Hear now the words of Lord Dagon," he looked down towards a tome he had spread before him. "'When I walk the earth again, the faithful among you shall receive your reward: to be set above all other mortals forever. As for the rest…the weak shall be winnowed; the timid shall be cast down; the mighty shall tremble at my feet and pray for pardon.'" He raised his head back towards his audience and held his arms up. "Your reward, brothers and sisters: the time of cleansing draws nigh. I go now to Paradise. I shall return with Lord Dagon at the coming of the Dawn!"*
There were at least fifteen people in the room with her and she felt her stomach drop to her feet as she watched a portal open up and Camoran evaporated into thin air, taking the damn Amulet with him. The member who accompanied Camoran summoned Felicienne to the altar, and the girl noticed the book Camoran read from remained on the stand, and an Argonian priest was laid out on a slab of stone under the statue of Dagon. There person who summoned her, an Altmer woman, met her in the center of the stage. She handed the Breton a dagger and gestured towards the Argonian. "Dagon thirsts for red-drink," she declared. "Kill the priest and your initiation will be complete."
Clutching the blade in her hand, Felicienne's eyes darted between the elf, the Argonian, and the book, her breath becoming shallower as each second passed. She heard the audience grow restless and murmurs filtered through the thick atmosphere of the shrine.
"Gods damn it," she muttered.
The elf woman furrowed her brows a second before Felicienne plunged the dagger under her ribs, on the right side. The Altmer let out a hoarse cry, and made to swipe at the Breton but missed her mark. Felicienne took the opportunity to pull the blade free and stab the side of her neck, now that the woman woman was bent over. A moment of stillness passed over the crowd before a cacophony of rage poured over Felicienne's ears. She ran over to the sacrificial slab and shook the Argonian, hitting him with a convalescence spell.
"Wake up, wake the fuck up," she hissed. He jolted up and whipped his head back and forth, surveying the encroaching mob. She shoved the dagger, grip first, into his hand and demanded, through clenched teeth, "Go. You need to go. You need to go yesterday."
"But-"
"Don't argue. I'll be fine. Just fucking go." A fireball whizzed passed her head, singeing a couple strands before striking the statue in front of her. The Argonian lept up, a bit unsteady, but hobbled as swiftly as possible towards the exit.
Felicienne turned back towards the cultists and sent a frostbolt towards a couple members closest to reaching her. She needed to find Harrow.
She was blindsided by the blow of a mace to the left side of her head. Her world exploded in stars, and she staggered for a moment before grabbing a hold of her attacker and sending a jolt of electricity through them. She grabbed the mace from his corpse and swung, the motion a wide arc that-to her astonishment-clipped another person.
For some time it continued, the sounds of raging fire and the violent silence of ice ringing in the chamber before she struck Harrow with a stray frostbolt, and he dropped where he stood: at the center podium. Seeing her opening she darted for him, grabbing her bag from him. When she turned around, she saw the book still sitting open on display. She reached for it and shuddered when her hands made contact.
"She has the Mysterium Xarxes!" someone shouted. "Don't let her leave!"
She shoved it into her pack, then swung it around to knock a Nord who had snuck up behind her in the head. She ran, her feet hitting the stone floor and aches shooting up her ankles and shins. She ran towards the main opening, cursing herself the whole time for not keeping the Staff with her. She cursed Martin and Jauffre and Baurus and Uriel. And most of all, she cursed her horrid luck as she burst through the cavern door and into the brisk evening, the light of Masser and Secunda shrouded as they hid their faces from Nirn.
A week later, Felicienne managed her way back to Cloud Ruler Temple.
After hiding out in the Jerall Mountains since the incident at Lake Arrius, she made sure she was not being followed before going back to the Blades and Martin. When she skulked through the door, once again late in the evening, Martin was there to greet her.
He rose from his seat and grasped her shoulders. "By the Nine, we were starting to worry. It's been nearly a fortnight with no word from you," he told her.
"It got messy," she stated.
He took in the green and yellow bruising around her face and the dishevelled state of her hair along with the deep shadows under her eyes. "Where were you?" he questioned.
"Dagon Shrine. I couldn't get the Amulet back." She looked down, tense in front of him.
Martin swore an oath, and Felicienne glanced back up at him with her eyebrows raised and grinned. He cleared his throat and stepped back from her. She rocked back on her heels and held her bag up to him. He frowned at her and she rolled her eyes.
"I was, however, able to get," she paused, opening her pack with a flourish and retrieved a thick manuscript from within and thrust it in his face, "this."
Martin's expression darkened. "What is this?"
"The Mysterium Xarxes."
"By the Nine," he shouted, "it's dangerous to even touch that thing. What are you doing carrying it with you?"
"Excuse the hell out of me," she snapped, dropping her bag, the tome landing on top of it and they both ignored the faint crunch it made on impact with the floor. "I only saw Mankar Camoran open a portal with it to his "Paradise" and thought it might be useful. A portal he escaped through with the damned Amulet of Kings, by the way. You know," she continued, "I don't see anyone else here going out and risking their necks to infiltrate a daedric cult. I don't even want to be doing this. But I don't have a choice, do I?" She panted, her face suffused with color and her eyes bright and luminous.
Martin crossed his arms and took a deep breath in, feeling the air fill his lungs and loosen the band that gripped his chest. He stared at her for a moment longer, the silence filling the distance that sprung between the two of them, he murmured, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. You're right; grabbing that book was the best decision." He bent down to retrieve it, wincing at the wetness he felt under his fingers when they brushed the soft material of her bag. "I think a couple potion phials broke."
She glared at him, then turned her gaze away. "Yeah," she agreed, still frowning.
He opened the Xarxes, his eyes following the daedric script laid out on the pages. "I need to study this," he said, "but I think I can find away to open the same portal that Camoran did. It will just take some time."
She nodded. She turned towards the corridor that led to the Blades' sleeping quarters.
Martin laid a hand on her shoulder. "Are you heading to bed already?"
She turned her head towards Martin, her lips still turned down in a moue. "I'd like to sleep in some semblance of a real bed after camping out in the woods for nearly a week, if you don't mind. Like you said: it's been a couple weeks. I'm tired."
"Of course." He nodded, removing his hand from her person. He watched her leave, her silent footsteps just floating to his ears as her dark figure disappeared down the hallway. He let out another sigh and returned to his seat and stared at the passageway for some time as the shadows from the torches twirled and glided along the walls, hugging the corners. He turned his attention back to the book, far more alert than he had been at the beginning of the evening.
Felicienne made her way back to Cheydinhal in a matter of days, and two weeks there had passed with no word from Jauffre or Martin regarding the situation with Mankar Camoran and the Mysterium Xarxes. With little else to do, she spent that time with the rest of her new Dark Brothers and Sisters. She rested on top of her bed in the living quarters.
"What is the matter with you?" Antoinetta burst out. "You've been moping about since you've been back. You let Vicente know that you finished your contract-which we heard about well before you got back, by the way-and then you've just been in here since." Antoinetta glared, but softened her face at Felicienne's lack of response. "Is everything alright?"
The younger Breton sighed. "Yes, everything's fine. I really have just had a lot going on."
The blonde raised an eyebrow, but made no further comment. "We should go out," she said.
"Really?"
"Yes. You stay here all the time, when you're in town, that is. There are taverns here, you know. I don't know what all you have going on, but it's clear you work too much. Besides," she drawled, "I have a friend I want you to meet. He's one of us, so you don't worry."
"He's in the Dark Brotherhood?"
"Yes. A Breton, too, like us. He actually started in our Sanctuary. He's been here a long time."
Felicienne grinned. "Is this a friend?" she asked, then leered. "Or a 'friend.'"
Antoinetta's face glowed before she sat back on her own bed and fairly simpered. "That's really none of your business."
Felicienne cackled. "Now you have to tell me. It's not fair. You're having this fantastic rendezvous with a mysterious man and I live in perpetual chastity."
"He's not mysterious; everyone here knows him."
"He's mysterious to me."
"And it's not serious anyway." The blonde coughed. "Neither of us expects anything from the other."
"Right," Felicienne dragged. "You've your eye on someone else." She gazed at Antoinetta out of the corner of her eye.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Felicienne made a small 'hmm' sound and nodded, still grinning.
"What was that about 'perpetual chastity'?"
The brunette bit her lip. "It's not like it's on purpose," she huffed. "It's just...never come up."
"You're too prickly for most men. Women too, most likely."
"Pardon you," Felicienne interjected, throwing her pillow at Antoinetta's pretty face. "I am the epitome of charm and grace."
Antoinetta laughed, hitting the back of her head against the wall. She winced but kept chuckling. At Felicienne's glare, she held her hands up. "It's nice to see you a bit more relaxed. You were just a scared rabbit when you first arrive here."
As Felicienne opened her mouth to retort, M'raaj-dar opened the door to the quarters and stuck his head inside. "Our Speaker is here, you gaggling geese. Ocheeva sent me to alert you." He strode out after relaying his message and both women rolled their eyes.
"Did I do something to him?" Felicienne asked.
"Don't mind him. He was just as surly when I arrived."
"Does he get better?"
"Give it about a year."
"Now, that's just lovely." Felicienne crossed her arms behind her head as Antoinetta stood up from her bed.
"Felicienne, aren't you coming?"
"Am I supposed to?" the brunette asked while sitting up.
"Seeing as Ocheeva sent M'raaj-dar to tell both of us," she trailed off, then sighed when she saw Felicienne was not moving. "Yes. Lucien is in charge of this Sanctuary."
"Fine, fine," the younger girl said, finally getting off of her bed and stretching. Antoinetta shook her head, and with a grin Felicienne noticed her quick pace on their way to greet Lachance. Rolling her eyes again, she trailed after the blonde woman as they made their way into the main entrance. "Looks like we won't be going anywhere tonight," she snickered. "Not that you'd want to now, anyway."
Antoinetta glared at her.
When they arrived in the foyer, Lucien was still speaking with Ocheeva, and Felicienne took the opportunity to sidle around the edges of the room to the reading area to sit and wait. She wasn't the one who wanted to insert herself in Lachance's company, she thought with a small grin. As she buried her face in "Azura and the Box," she heard Lachance and Antoinetta exchange greetings and Antoinetta's bell-like laughter. Felicienne shook her head and continued to thumb through the novel, recalling her lessons with Haskill in Cyrodilic. Some bitterness remained that she was not able to procure any books that were written at least in Nordic. She squinted at the words, and snapped the book shut, her eyes beginning to throb and water. While it had gotten better, she still couldn't quite bring herself to read these books for fun. Perhaps the next time she was in the Imperial City, she would visit First Edition and place a special order for books from High Rock.
She sat, listening to the ambient noise around her: Lachance and Antoinetta's low voices, the faint sound of M'raaj-dar training in the next room and each impact a frost spell of his made on one of the wooden targets, Gogron gro-Balmog's heavy footfalls as he entered the sanctuary from the well entrance and Telaendral's enthusiastic greeting of him. Felicienne leant against the back of the chair, feeling it shift and creak under her slight weight while it pressed into her skin against her shoulder blades and dug in. A crawling sensation broke out over her flesh and the hair on her nape prickled. She shuddered and looked up from a fascinating spot on the stone wall and glanced towards Lachance and Antoinetta. Still in conversation, but Lachance caught her eye before she turned away, cheeks flushed, and trained her gaze back on her spot. Pins and needles pricked at her skin, and she shifted in her seat, never settling for long. She heard their conversation taper off and Lachance's, rather curt in Felicienne's opinion, dismissal of the older Breton.
It was silent for a moment before she heard the whisper of footsteps and the creak of the other chair adjacent to hers. She turned her head to see Lachance seated across from her.
"You seem to have settled in well. The time you're here, that is," he remarked, steepling his fingers in front of him as his elbows laid on the armrests of the chair.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. "I have," she stated. Her eyes darted from him to her lap to the wall and back again. She tugged on the hem of her linen shirt, feeling it catch on her shoulders when it ran out of slack.
"Vicente tells me that you haven't accepted another contract yet," the Imperial continued. "Is there any particular reason why you haven't?"
"No, of course not. I mean, I've had other obligations to see to. I was going to ask Vicente about work tomorrow. I wasn't aware that there was already something else available." Not a complete lie; she hadn't known she would be expected to pick up something so soon. She shouldn't have become as lax as she had in recent weeks regarding the Brotherhood.
He regarded her from where he sat, and he saw her fidget under the weight of his observations. Her hair fell around her face from her loosened ponytail, and the candlelight flickered across her face, her skin glowing gold in the dim light. A bruise was blooming across her right cheekbone, and other, smaller, bruises dotted her collarbones and appeared on the tops of her hands and highlighted the paleness of her flesh. They varied in appearance, going from a jaundiced yellow to vibrant blue and purple.
Whatever she did when she was not in Cheydinhal, she was busy.
He inquired about her progress from time to time, far more than he had when it came to other recruits. Whenever he stopped by, she was either gone entirely or drifted around the sanctuary quiet and demure. Half of the time, it was as if she still wasn't there though her presence was felt. She still moved with a nervous gait, despite her silence, each gesture filled with anxious energy.
She also did her best to avoid him. He had seen her skirt the edges of the walls, dancing out of his periphery.
He let a small grin flash across his features, nearly imperceptible unless one paid painfully close attention. It seemed as though their first encounters would not be forgotten so soon for Felicienne. Though she played brave, her terror had been palpable-enticing, really-even as she stared him down. If he had made any threatening move towards her, he was sure she would have given him quite the struggle. She might have even left her own marks on him, and he felt a thrill go through him at the prospect. She was easy to underestimate.
However, he was her Speaker, and it was time that she began to treat him with that respect.
Her voice broke into his thoughts as she spoke up, in a near-whisper, "Was there something you wished to discuss? Am I in trouble?"
"No, you're not. You would know if you were."
"That's reassuring," she said.
He leaned back, drumming his fingers together. "You are from High Rock, correct?"
She started, but nodded to him. When he didn't say anything else, she opened her mouth. "From Jehanna, actually."
"The Western Reach?"
She nodded again, scooting closer to the edge of her seat. "Yes, my mother was from a tribe of Reachman. They were integrated, of course. We lived near the town-proper."
"What brings a Reachman all the way to Cyrodiil?"
"The Night Mother wasn't able to tell you?" she asked. Lachance raised an eyebrow of his, his gaze hardening and Felicienne cursed her big mouth. "I mean no disrespect, of course," she stammered. "I just thought that you all would have some way of knowing. You knew I was in the Imperial City prison, I just assumed-" Lachance held a hand up before she finished her sentence. "I'm also not a Reachman," she interjected, her hackles up. "But, yes, we lived in the Western Reach. There just wasn't much left for me there. My family's gone. My parents, anyway. There wasn't really much point in me staying. I thought Cyrodiil would be a nice, cosmopolitan change. Skyrim's still a little xenophobic and, as has been pointed out to me a few times, I'd be perceived as a Reachman. Not exactly what I'd want in that province, given the disputes that still go on in the Reach with the local Nords, despite my name." She snorted, settling back down against her chair, the tension seeping away from her shoulders. "You'd think they'd give up. The Empire gave that land to the Nords and Bretons, and they're not going to let it go." She laughed. "My mother said that she came from a people who didn't know they'd been conquered. I mean, it's only been a few hundred years, right?" She glanced at him, narrowing her eyes, but her mouth drawn back in a slight grin. "You know, you could ask Antoinetta this; I've told her enough."
"I am no gossip, sister."
"But we are. Speaker."
"Perhaps I prefer to speak to you, personally. We've not had much time to talk. This is the longest you've spent in a room with me since the night we first met."
She flushed and looked down. Her hands twisted in the hem of her shirt and her knuckles turned bone-white.
He leaned forward in his seat, the torchlight catching on his face. His dark eyes glittered with the flickering of the flames. "Do you fear me?"
"I'm not afraid of anyone," she stated through her clenched jaw.
"Is that so?" he smirked at her, watching her blush deepen and spread down her decollete, marring the discoloration the bruising there.
"It is."
"Perhaps you should be." He watched her tense again, her hands stilled and her eyes trained on him. He stood and she jumped in her seat. "But you don't fear me," he chuckled.
She huffed, relaxing her posture. "No. I'm just high strung."
He laughed again and the sound slid down her spine and settled in her stomach as he turned to walk down the corridor towards the living quarters. "You should speak to Vicente about work soon. I think you'll enjoy your next contract."
She nodded, watching his black-clad figure disappear down the hall, robes billowing behind him. She let out a breath and sank back against her seat and she crossed her arms, holding her hands around her waist and pressing her elbows into them, feeling the slight vibrations they created.