Author's Note: Another shout-out to Lacking-in-name for their encouraging words. I would suggest that they receive a name of their own.

Tadave lay in her master's Garden of Venomgrowth naked, her light ash-skinned body stretched taught amongst the many poisonous plants growing in the earth of the dim cave. Gently she caressed a stalk of nightshade with her forefinger. Many years of training had made her immune to most poisons, all those but the most rare. The Listener was an accomplished alchemist, able to make any poison from the plants amongst the garden with ease. She had yet to attain his skill; she was a nightblade, after all. Still, a few of her duties while her master was away from the Hollow was to tend to the garden; she did so lovingly, showing her own special care to the plants. Her hand reached down to her side, retrieving a knife lying among the plants. She pressed the blade to her forearm, feeling the steel bite into her flesh. She hissed in ecstasy as she drew blood, a small stream of scarlet running down to her elbow. Gracefully standing to her feet she held her arm out over the multiple flowers and fungi in the small cluster, letting her blood drip from her arm to the ground below, the scarlet fluid splattering onto the leaves of the plants. She smiled, knowing she was doing her master proud. He had saved her, after all. It was the least she could do.

Jesan stood atop the battlements of Steelhall, breathing in the fresh night air. His companions stood beside him, leaning on the great stone walls. Masser and Secunda were both almost full high above them, casting a pale glow upon the landscape of the Colovian Highlands in the midnight hour. They looked to the east, Chorrol visible before them, a darker mass amidst the night. Jesan heard Jonah sigh.

"If I were an artist, I would use this moment to capture the unrivaled and unparalleled beauty around us..." Jesan heard the Redguard warrior murmer. Berenor snorted and turned to look at his friend.

"Why is it that the most skilled of us in battle is also the most poetic?" he asked, a small smile on his face. Jonah shrugged.

"Why is it that the one most likely to spend the rest of his life in chains is still among us?" he asked the Bosmer, the same smile upon his face. Berenor shrugged in return and they all continued to gaze out to the countryside.

"This remains me of countless nights we shared years ago..." Jesan told his companions. Jonah nodded.

"'Member that time we climbed Dive Rock?" Berenor asked, nostalgia in his voice. "And that journal we found at the camp from that bloke from Solstheim?"

"And finding the creature that killed the both of them?" Jesan asked, remembering.

"What a battle..." Jonah murmered. "Remember that farmer we found who asked us to wipe out that goblin cave?" Jesan nodded while Berenor sighed.

"Goddamn little bastards..." he said rubbing a hand on his side. "We never did heal it in time fer it not ta scar," he said, eying Jesan.

"I ran out of magicka," the mage said simply.

"Perfect timin' too..." Berenor growled. Jonah laughed.

"Remember that time in Anvil when you Berenor had all his possessions stolen from him by those two lovely women?" he asked Jonah, both grinning at that and looking at the Bosmer. He flushed.

"Why wouldja bring that up?" he moaned. His two companions began laughing.

"Berenor, you have no idea how funny it was for you to come to us at the inn completely naked and as trashed as the streets of Bravil." Jonah choked out. Jesan put his hand on Jonah's shoulder.

"'The beautiful people're all thieves!'" he cried out, imitating Berenor's voice and they laughed even harder, their cries carrying out into the night. The Bosmer just looked to the ground, looking disheartened. Jonah cast his arm over the pirate's shoulder.

"You know we merely jest my lovable rogue," he said gently.

"I know," Berenor replied. "I was just realizin' that soon we'll all leave again, gettin' back ta what we all have ta do..." he finished rather sadly. Jonah's smile faded and he held his friend closer. Jesan felt his heart sink at the Bosmer's words. He always knew how to make a situation clear.

"I miss this," he told his two companions. Jonah nodded, then reached for the bottle of wine they had brought up here. The warrior took the three glasses beside it and poured an equal measure in all three. He handed each to his companions, taking one for himself.

"A toast," he called out. "To good memories, and to good friends. May it never end." he finished, raising his glass.

"May it never end," the other two agreed, clinking their glasses together.

Vallus crept over his sleeping brother's form, the Blade of Woe in hand. He stank of decay; he had obviously not been feeding since he had turned. The assassin thought back to their conversation in the stable. Cassius had asked him if there was a way to reverse the affliction.

"Not that I know of..." he had told him. Cassius seemed urgent.

"Please, brother... you must know of something," was the reply laced with annoyance. If he did not stink of death Vallus knew he would have smelt anger. Vallus could only shake his head, keeping himself neutral, not betraying anything. Cassius stormed off back to the inn at that, placing the veil back across his face.

Now Vallus stood over him with his knife, the tip pointed directly over his brother's heart. He should have killed him in the stables but there Cassius was more alert then, as well as armored. It had not been too long for Vallus to forget what his brother was capable of in close quarters. But now he was asleep, and thus helpless. Vallus should have had him killed, his mercy was a moment of weakness. Now he would do the deed himself. The King of Worms would have to do without him; a manageable feat he was sure.

Vallus plunged the blade down only to feel a vice-like grip upon his wrist, his brother's eyes snap open. In a flash Vallus was kneeling upon the ground, a foot on the back of his knee, Cassius behind him with his arm in a lock, the blade lying upon the hardwood floor.

"I do not know why you are trying this," Cassius hissed in his ear, his breath cold against Vallus' cheek. "But knowing you there is some ulterior motive. You always were a sneaky bastard, Vallus." Cassius growled his name.

Vallus was trapped in the grip of his brother, defenseless. He knew it was only because of his brother's sense of honor he did not kill him now. Still, his eyes remained cold.

"You are a threat," Vallus told him. "Threats must be eliminated."

"But you never always eliminated just threats did you?" Cassius whispered viciously. "I've heard rumors, Vallus, and even if no one else can speak of it I know who listens to the Night Mother's foul tongue." Vallus felt the grip tighten, his arm being pulled higher against his back.

"Do not dishonor the Night Mother," Vallus hissed against the pain. "If I remember, the man I knew-"

"The man you knew is dead, Vallus."

"Still torn about what I did?" Vallus said cruelly, receiving a blow to his head that reeled him for that remark.

"I will never forgive you for what you did to her," was Cassius' deadly whisper. Vallus laughed despite the agony of his arm about to be broken at the hands of his brother.

"She's in a better place," Vallus chuckled, another blow making him see stars. Suddenly he felt his own blade being pressed against his neck, the Blade of Woe, a gift from the Night Mother herself. Fear exploded in him at it's touch. He knew it was hopeless, he could feel his strength to fight ebbing. His own brother would slice his throat open as easily as he had disarmed him. And as soon the fear had entered him, it left with the removal of the blade and the release of his arm. Vallus felt himself being thrown to the floor. He turned to look at his brother, the veil clouding his expression but for his eyes. His eyes burned with rage at Vallus... and hatred. Now he regarded the Blade of Woe in his hand, recognizing the ebony dagger. He flung it at Vallus.

"Take this vile weapon and leave my sight or you shall know no mercy," the former Divine Crusader growled. Vallus picked up the weapon and sheathed it, backing towards the door.

"Never forget what we were my dear brother."

"The gods changed that for me," was Cassius' convicted reply. Vallus closed the door quietly, moving quickly back to his room, happy to have escaped the encounter with his life.

Back in his room, Cassius shook with anger. He knew his brother was a conniving and deceitful bastard, he had always been. Cassius thought that he could put aside his anger at his brother, that his years of service and piety to the gods would let him cast it aside. And still his mind burned whenever he thought of what he had done to that poor, innocent woman. What he had done was unforgivable. He may as well have killed her; she was never the same after that, never again the woman he had known. Even now he could see her smiling face, her eyes sparkling with life, her lips luscious and red, as sweet as sugar. He closed his eyes, remembering how she had been after Vallus was through with her.

"My beautiful, sweet Tadave..." he whispered into the night, wanting to cry, his undead body not allowing him to.

Author's Note: Rather shorter than my usual length, I know. I'll make it up to you next chapter.