Chapter 4: A Place to Call Home

"The tale of my release from the Imperial Prison is well known," Rowena continued. "And true enough for a story."

"But is it really true?" the bard asked. "Did the Emperor recognize you?"

"So he told me, and I am inclined to believe him," Rowena replied. "If his son was any indication, the Septims are truthful, if a bit dramatic at times." She chuckled, more to herself, than for the benefit of the bard. "Martin was known for being a touch excitable. And although I only knew Uriel for moments, there were more similarities than you might expect."

"Like what?"

"The thing I remember most was their eyes. Not just the color or the shape, although that was the same as well. It was the look, the expression. Resignation, duty, depth and a pain, as if the whole world was resting on their shoulders. I suppose it was," Rowena mused. "But to get to the point, I'm not going to rehash a story that already been told. Yes, the Emperor and his Blades tried to escape the Imperial City though the prison and through my cell. They did not close the door behind me, and let me follow. At a distance. The Emperor spoke to me, told me of his dreams and that he had dreamt of me.

He handed me the Amulet of Kings, and then was struck down by an assassin's's blade. He begged me to take the Amulet to Jauffre at Weynon Priory. This is all true.

But Weynon Priory wasn't where I went next, not even close, no matter what you've heard. I did not immediately start out on a noble quest to save the Empire. At the time, I could have cared less about the Empire, although I do feel differently about it now. I think of myself as very young then, but it's not much of an excuse. The truth is, I was selfish and I thought I was in love. I went looking for Neman, and found the Dark Brotherhood instead."

I ran. I didn't know what else to do, and despite the assurances of the Blades and the fallen Emperor, I half expected that if I was seen, I would be put right back into that filthy cell. And there I would rot.

I wasn't about to let that happen. I was free and I intended to stay that way, whatever it took. I had no idea how horrible being locked in a tiny room without any hope of escape would be. Valen Dreth told me I was going to die in there, and I was dying in there. A little bit at a time, but it was death nonetheless. Now, with the bars gone and no stone walls to keep me in, I felt like I'd been reborn. So instead, I cast a chameleon spell and I ran out into the night to get as far away from the city as I could.

I had no idea where I was going. Neman had given me a book of maps, and I remembered where the cities were, Chorrol, Cheydinhal, Anvil and the rest, but I knew very little in-between. I did know that Neman preferred caves as places to hide, and I knew that the wilds were littered with them. After only a short time on the road, I headed to the northwest into the woods and fields.

I thought that perhaps Cheydinhal would be the best place to start, and caves along the way were likely to be plenty. Neman spoke fondly of Cheydinhal, although he acted strange when I asked him to take me there. But it was obvious he knew Cheydinhal well, so it was as good a destination as any.

I was also hoping to find a Mage's Guild hall there. That was a common destination for others of my kind that went to the cities. My father had spoken about the guild and how he'd eventually gone to the University and gained the rank of Evoker, before returning home. He was very proud of that. He had never been proud of me before, being an illusionist, instead of a mystic. Sometimes, I thought he didn't love me at all. Yet, I thought I could learn from the guild. And perhaps what I might do there could wash my hands clean of their blood stains.

I could find Neman, become an Evoker myself, and then go home. Maybe, for the first time, it would actually feel like home. If I was lucky, Neman would come with me, and my father would be proud of me. It was a rather lofty goal for a little girl lost in the wildness, wearing torn leathers found in a cave under the Imperial Prison. Especially a little girl recently pardoned from a life sentence for murder.

But I was young, and foolish. And it was cold when I finally curled myself into a hollow in the roots of a tree to sleep. My dreams kept me warm that night.

I woke in the morning and continued on. It wasn't long before I found the first cave. It was full of goblins, but I did get pleasure from dispatching them. I also was able to loot enough food and some supplies from their shaman to keep me in potions and spells.

The days were all the same. I would travel, if I was lucky, I'd find a cave and dispatch what I found inside. At first, it was only goblins and creatures. A spriggan or two; a wraith. They weren't pleasant, but I managed. It wasn't until nearly a week on the road, still heading a generally northwest direction that I had to make a real choice.

I'd come up on the crest of a hill, and it was sunset. I could see Cheydinhal in the distance. From the looks of it, I could make it there in a few hours. But there was also another cave entrance, closer to me. I thought that it would make a better place to sleep than out in the weather once I cleaned it out. So I cast invisibility on myself, and headed to the mouth of the cave.

My magica started to regenerate faster than it had before, so before I stepped inside, I was able to cast a Night Eye spell, before casting my invisibility again. A always liked to get a look at what was inside before I decided to attack. I'd found an old, but well made silver long sword in one of the other caves that served me well, but it wasn't invincible.

I crept inside. Slowly. I passed through the first few chambers without resistance. It wasn't until a small passage deeper inside that I saw movement. I slipped closer. It was a man. A Nord man. He was very tall and broad through the shoulders with a scarred face. He had a rusty axe stuffed through his belt and looked thoroughly bored out of his mind.

A bandit. I knew the type well, since I'd been once, albeit for a short time. They were likely to have far better loot than the goblins. Better food, weapons, armor. But this was a man, not a beast. He was as likely to attack me on sight however. Without sneaking up and delivering my first blow from the shadows, I couldn't hope to defeat him. But that also meant I couldn't talk with him and find out if I was right about that 'attack on sight' idea I had. He might be like Neman.

He wasn't handsome, but perhaps he'd rather warm my bed than split my skull open. Both were distinct possibilities. But I had only one chance. If he was aggressive, it was all over. I knew I only had a moment before my spell wore off and he could see me. I took a deep breath and then plunged my blade between his ribs.

He didn't even get a chance to shout.

As he fell, my sword pulled free. He fell to the ground in a clatter of cheap plate mail. I closed my eyes. There was no turning back now. I was a murderer, through and through.

"But, I don't understand," the bard asked incredulously. "All the stories say you were always a good person. Only killing when you had to. The Dark Brotherhood stories, well I was told those were just to make you seem . . . well, intimidating."

"I'm afraid to say that those are as untrue as the tales saying I'm a Bosmer," Rowena sighed. "If you don't want me to continue, I'm sure you can make up the rest on your own. But if you want the real story, as you said you did, then you will have to let many things you thought to be true go."

"I just don't think I understand how you could save the Empire from Oblivion, be the confidant of Martin Septim, and be living here in Bravil where you are loved by your neighbors if . . . . ,"

"If I'm a cold-blooded killer?" Rowena said, raising one eyebrow. The bard paled. "Don't look so shocked. I know what I am, and what I was before. You must understand, more than anything, I am driven by passion. Passions lead to many things, and not all are beautiful. Yes, I did help to save the Empire, but truly it was Martin that saved us, not me. Yes, I was called the Champion of Empire, and I was a Knight of the Nine. But I am not so one sided. No one is."

"I still don't understand," the bard said.

"Sometimes, I don't either. Did you know that before he was priest of Akatosh, Martin worshiped the Daedra?" Rowena asked.

"No, I had no idea," the bard said, her face the perfect picture of shock.

"It's true. And yet he was a good and decent man," Rowena continued. "And I think, at my core, I am good and decent as well, although my morals may differ from yours. I don't expect that you'll understand. You may never completely understand me. Not even Varon does, and he's tried harder than most. I think it's best that you just put aside what you expect and listen. Perhaps once I've told the whole story, the whole truth that no one beside me, Varon and the Nine actually know, maybe then you'll understand. Or you won't. But either way, you'll have one damn good story. So, on to Cheydinhal then? Yes?"

"Yes," the bard said. "And I'm sorry for interrupting."

Rowena smiled. "It's to be expected, and I doubt it will be the last time. Just wait. It gets far more shocking than a few dead bandits."

I slept in the cave that night. It bothered me some to think of the corpses I was sharing it with, but I was exhausted. Between the constant walking and the fighting, I could hardly move. It was more as if I'd passed out than slept and I didn't dream.

The bandits had less than I had hoped. Apparently, they weren't very successful. But they did have some decent food, and their leader had a lovely pair of chainmail greaves, so it wasn't a complete loss. In the morning, I donned my new greaves, packed up what food I could carry and headed into Cheydinhal.

I made it into the city by noon. It was a pretty town, lots of Morning Glories twining up the stucco walls. It smelled like fresh baked bread and flowers mostly, although there was foul undertone I couldn't place. I'd spent little time in cities at that point, so I imagined it was just the smell of so many people living together. I was wrong, but I didn't know it yet.

I found the guild hall easily, and I was surprised at how fast they took me in. I gave them a quick demonstration of spells, and then suddenly I was an associate of the guild. Without any questions about who I was, or where I was from, they handed me a key. And suggested I bathe.

I learned how I'd have to get a recommendation from all the guild halls before I could gain access to the University, but that didn't seem so hard. Falcar gave me a strange assignment, but I figured I could manage it. I wasn't in any condition to start at the moment. I was in dire need of more rest, so I decided I would talk with the rest of the guild members tomorrow, and today I'd sell my spare potions and try to make myself feel like a real person again.

Once I'd sold what I could, and bought some new leathers, I wandered the city aimlessly. And I thought about Neman. I couldn't understand why I hadn't found him. I'd even asked a few of my new guild mates if they'd heard of him, but no luck. And I imagined that he'd be as hard for them to forget as he was for me to forget.

I thought back to what Shazira said. Maybe Neman wasn't his real name. If it wasn't, I might never find him. He might be dead. Or, somehow even worse, he might not want me to find him.

I couldn't believe how much that thought hurt me.

Try as I might, I couldn't get the vision of Neman's eyes out of my head all day. Just after sunset, I stumbled back to the guild hall. I found some unoccupied beds in the basement. Everyone else used the rooms upstairs, further away from Falcar's private room. But I didn't care if the 'boss' was just across the way. The privacy was more important at the time. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, I finally fell asleep.

I woke in the dead of the night with a hooded man standing at the foot of my bed. I was too shocked to even scream.

"You sleep soundly, for a murderer," the man said. "And that is good, considering the proposal I have for you." He slipped the hood of his robes away from his face. He looked like a Breton, perhaps thirty, with inky black hair and equally dark eyes. He had a pleased, sardonic look on his face.

"My name is Lucien LaChance," he said. "And I've come to offer you the chance to join my family."

"What?" I finally managed to squeak out.

He chuckled coldly. "My family; The Dark Brotherhood. We are those than cleanse the world. We follow Sithis, the dark lord of death and his consort, the Night Mother. We are a guild of murders, and we are the force than drives the world."

I just stared.

"Ah, you prefer silence? As do I my dear, as do I," he continued. He sat down gingerly beside me, and I flinched. This too elicited a chuckle from him. He reached out and gently put his hand on my knee. "Do not be afraid of me," he said. "You only need fear the Dark Brotherhood if you are not one of us. You only need fear me when you can't see me."

I clenched my hands around the hem of my blanket a bit tighter. Noticing the movement, Lucien reached out and touched my hands. Unconsciously, I let go of the blanket and let him lift my hand. His fingers were cold.

"These are the hands of an illusionist," he pondered. "Yes?"

I nodded meekly.

"You could be of much use to us," he replied. He reached into the folds of his robe and produced a knife. A dagger to be precise. It was beautiful. An ebony blade with a hilt finely decorated with tracery not unlike the tattoos I bore. The irony was not lost on me.

"This is a Blade of Woe," he explain. "It is a virgin blade and it thirsts for blood. If you wish to join us, to join me, then you just need feed it. There is an old man, a dark man, named Rufio who is hiding at a roadside inn called the Inn of Ill Omen. Kill Rufio, and I will come to you again. Your initiation into my family will be complete."

"I . . . I don't know if I can," I whispered, finding my voice. Lucien gave me a long, patient look with his dark eyes. I think I should have hated him on sight. But I was so lost, and so longing for that feeling on belonging I'd had with Neman . . . the idea of a family that accepted and even embraced my talents was very appealing. "But I think," I said softly, "That I am willing to try."

Lucien smiled. It was a surprisingly warm smile. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead lightly.

"Then you will succeed," he murmured against my skin. "And then you will be mine."