Anna Valtieri: Thank you again for such a long, insightful review :) as ever, it was greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy this chapter, are satisfied with the end and find it worth another review.
Well, here we are at last folks... as inevitably as it must be, the conclusion to this story. I would like to thank the support of everyone who has read and reviewed, reviews encourage any writer, give them the strength to keep going with their work, and I'm no different. Regardless to whether you reviewed, thank you to everyone who liked this story in any way. The story hasn't received as much attention as I believed it would get, but I accepted that some time ago... hopefully this story will be vindicated by history, and more fans will find and appreciate it as much as those who have already found this. I'm rather proud to have come this far, to wrap up my vision of this story, the Dark Brotherhood as I saw them, and add my part to the Elder Scrolls universe. As I wrote this story, I found myself constantly going back over each chapter before posting and adding more, finding something that I liked and constantly adding, editing, etc... I am something of a perfectionist admittedly, but inevitably I would come to my senses and realize I needed to post. Really, anything can be added to what you already have If you think about the story enough, but there comes a time when an author has to let go of that fact, and face up to the public, to present their work and see the reaction. Well, I accepted that and I'm ready for the reaction again, this time to the ending. I hope this conclusion I settled upon will be good enough for you all, and worth the buildup. As I've noted in the past chapter, this story technically came to an end last chapter, but this will be the bookend, and is completely necessary. I am pleased with the entirety of my story and feel this wraps things up well, and on the right note.
Well, here we go again :), as always, do enjoy.
The Second Century of the Fourth Era
"So... so you don't hold any resentment against him, for what happened? Against both of them... even after all that?"
"I do not... have I conveyed that idea to you in any way?"
"It's just... he was your leader... your father really... you trusted him... everything he meant, means to you. You all trusted him, loved him... and... I'm not trying to sound unfaithful or foolish, it's not that at all. I mean... I mean, the Purification as you described it sounded horrific... unimaginable... I... forgive my impertinence, I know he was- is, a great man, as you are a great woman... sorry. I am young and far too unworthy to be...-
"You are no such thing... your interest is more than appreciated, it is to be expected from you, especially given what has been occurring in the world as of late. I have been thoroughly enjoying these chats, you have no cause to fear offending me".
"Thank you, dear sister... I... it's just, you went through some very harsh, difficult times, times few Brothers or Sisters must endure, but you had the love of your family... but I can't help but wonder... what did you feel? It's not much of a question, I know... but what was it you felt in those times?"
The Imperial Assassin, at least still momentarily holding the title of one, watched his companion closely from the corner of his eye, attempting to convey every bit of the politeness he truly meant while together they passed slowly through the shadowy corridors of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, perfectly in step, as they had time and time again. In life, she had been a remarkably beautiful young woman, with short, well kepty light toned hair, and was still clad in the shrouded set of armour that was not unlike the kind the Dark Family's wore in this particular Era and time, save that the suit had been according to the history books, entirely black as opposed to his own, for it seemed to be the same particular tone of lightness all over. Even in death, she proudly wore not only this, but a sheathed dagger holstered at her side, forever at the ready to be readied and to rend. It was difficult to determine true colours and details upon her, be it her hair or attire, or even the entirety of her facial features, what with the ever present, pearly white glow. The glow was strengthened by a smooth almost shimmering misty sheen emanating from the entirety of her small, ethereal body... but in life she had probably already been quite pale naturally, the powers of the Void only extenuating this paleness, as well as her great beauty.
Death had not truly taken anything away from her, but had perhaps restored her to something even greater than she already had been... for in spite of her physical youth, the youth she had held when Sithis called upon her to come Home, and the occasional spirited mannerisms indicating this youth even further, for the most part, she was remarkably soft spoken, a Bretonic accented sophisticated voice at that, and extraordinarily intelligent, unnaturally perceptive... and the Imperial was frequently awed by her mere presence. To stand in direct contact with a being of the everlasting Void, a child's spirit who had once upon a time occupied the very Sanctuary he now belonged to, in a time where things too had been just as disquieting as they were now... it was... encouraging, to say the least, and greatly appreciated. She and the others of the Void, particularly the Night Mother, were truly the only divine entity's left in the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood... and the Assassin paid every bit of his owed reverence to this child who had preceded him with relish, giving every ounce of the respect and care she deserved. She was a talkative child... not unlike himself in times past, before the onset of his latest task... now it seemed that forming words had become more a mere necessity for the Imperial rather than pleasurable... for his mind was usually entrenched upon the quagmires of other matters, each vying for his complete attention, splitting him ever which way. The Assassin fed his stability on conversation, conversations wherever they could be found, truly hoping it could last, even as everyone and everything he loved now died about him at every turn in the road.
"What did I feel? Well... which would you like me to speak of?", The Spectral Sister enquired of him gently, her gloved hands folded behind her back relaxingly out of her own human habit, and she fixed him with a smile lovely enough to make his heart flutter, pleased with the intimate nature of the question. "Before my own arrival here in these halls, after my arrival or both?"
"Both, if you would be so kind, my dear sister", The Imperial Assassin answered quickly, himself returning a slight smile before peering back ahead to their path as a distraction, which was lit by ever present rows of torches and iron candle holders down through the winding hall of ancient stone pillars. The Spectral Sister seemed to consider this deeply, pursing her lips over the query, but the answers came very quickly, her voice high and clear as though she were still of the living, her connection to the Void not having distorted this in the slightest... though to be sure, there was an almost odd ringing quality to her words that flitted into the Assassin's ears... a pleasing one at that, the ringing of a chime, perhaps, seemingly reflecting her base nature. He was certain now more than ever it was an effect courtesy of the Void, when he considered it, and his past conversations with some of the others of her kind.
"Well... before coming here, I don't believe I truly ever felt an emotion worth having... there was pain... hopelessness... unless mistaken, I think I've told you already of my life prior to the Cheydinhal Family... the lack of belonging I encountered everywhere I went, the abuses, the agony, travels that brought me only more of this, never fitting into any place I ventured to. Even my old home... and the 'family' I had there. Languishing in prisons, be they literal physical one's or the one's time had encircled and constructed about my mind... I was trapped wherever I went, in short, and whoever I killed until Lucien came to me, although satisfying, some of the most satisfying I have ever carried out, held with them a kind of... distance, from me. It is difficult to describe these things that can scarcely be spoken of accurately enough, for it is something an individual themselves must experience... but I'm certain you have felt the same way at some time or another. There was no... purpose, to any I killed, I was merely satisfying my own desires... but there was no higher purpose, no meaning for any of it, no matter how glorious I made their suffering to try matching my own, it meant nothing beyond that. I served no cause greater than myself. I was unimportant. There was no true satisfaction stretching from my mind and pouring into my soul... something I had actually given up belief in by that time. Truly, there exists three things... gratification of the physical, the mental and the spiritual that must thrive in unison... and so long as these three are balanced in perfect tandem, one is, as few ever come to achieve, complete. I don't believe I had any one of these three before the Night Mother and Sithis came to me through their greatest child, a Speaker that I have loved since first he offered his hand to me... took me from death's doorstep."
"I was but a lost child, and frightened, so close to death when I was delivered more deeply than ever before into Darkness... and Darkness embraced me for all I was worth, and asked only of me my loyalty. The Cheydinhal Family, each of its members, gave me a knowledge the likes of which I had scarcely believed to be possible, each with their own unique lessons and ideas that I took to heart every day I resided there in happiness from henceforth. Then... came meaning. A meaning to be alive. The people I killed now meant something to me... they were a Dark sacrifice, a Dark Boon to the Dread Father who whispered His glorious images of pain and suffering of others into my ear, my mind, and my heart. At last, with this new found purpose, I could be the individual I had always struggled to become, and I returned whatever I could to the Family who loved me... the only Family that had ever loved me, for that matter. The years prior to them were all but obliterated in those moments, pale memories of stumbling through life I soon did not care to look back upon while I lived. Certainly, Family is of the essence of the soul, this was made clear to me, as it has been for the Brothers and Sisters preceding me, and the one's following me. I completed my contracts little by little over the months with my newly acquired skills, and that was the greatest time of peace and completion my living existence had ever known. I listened to the others, heard their stories, stories that developed me immeasurably as a human being, I read, I read more than I had even in that cluttered attic of my beloved Aunt's home, I read of the Night Mother and Dread Father and incorporated these alternate perceptions, these other interpretations of Them into my conscious being."
"Though uncertain of a great many things, the subject of our Mother and Father so infinity vast and unknown to me at that time, I knew what truly did matter... that we were carrying out Their will... and that we were doing what needed to be done. We were, as you are now, accomplishing tasks the Nirn shall always need us to. I gradually reached the rank of Slayer, as you know... and upon that day I knew myself to be an entirely separate entity then the tiny girl who had lay dying in that mud soaked alleyway. I was in the Cheydinhal Family long enough to meet the one succeeding me even, the one who, ultimately, was to send us to the Void in our Parents name to preserve our Family's righteous purity, in the name of the Black Hand. I will say this... regardless of how long I resided within this Home, or regardless of how much l could have yet experienced amongst the living, had things gone differently... had not the lesson of Mathieu Bellamont have been a necessary one... it would have all come back to the same thing. I was happy... and I still am happy... and not once, not even as my soul flitted across its path and was embraced by He who walks behind the rows of children, who resides in each of us, He of which all Darkness exudes, spawns...did I believe that Lucien Lachance had wronged me... had wronged any of us, even when I learned the full contents of the Prophecy."
"We each carried out our respective parts in it, he to usher in this time of treachery in the form of Mathieu, and to guide the one who would become Listener, while my own, while the role of each of us in Cheydinhal was, in turn, to touch him, as well as the future Listener, with our mere existence... with having known us, with passing along the tale and experiences of our own lives and in so doing furthering them along their respective paths, encouraging them forward. Some may believe it is better to not be loved, then to be loved and lose those who do... but that was not Lucien Lachance. While young as I was, my story mattered to him... and he took it to heart, and loved me for the being that I was... and not once looked upon me as being any less than him... merely different, as we all are. The Cheydinhal Family was rejoined within the Void, together even in death, and together we have always remained, be it residing there or carrying out our Father's will in this realm... no matter what happens, we are each together, and in constant contact... I hear at any given time each of their thoughts, the Dread Father's Will, and the thoughts and feelings of every other soul residing in the Void. We watched as Lucien struggled to discern the Traitor's identity, and to end the madness he unleashed... we watched him, glimpsing in him our profound effect, and never once were we angry with him for what had been our destiny, for is not the destiny of one merely a single piece of another's?"
"We watched him meet with a fate more gruesome than most mortals can hope to conceive... and meet it at the hands of the one who threatened the entire Brotherhood, and the mortal he had loved beyond perhaps all others, Speaker Arquen as you know, a mortal I too had met briefly before my death. When he came to us again at last, and our Family was rejoined together... all was as it had been before, yet far greater. Well... almost rejoined entirely. I must confess something that follows me, even now with so much revealed and opened to me with these powers... I do not know what fate befell the Listener, the one who has blessed me and the others with the Void. No more so then any other once mortal soul within the Void does. I believe this to be something known only to the Dread Father and Unholy Matron. I am certain you've already read up upon the history of that time... the era of the Oblivion Crisis and what followed, when the Listener, at the behest of the Mother, selected another to carry on... but truly what it was that made that Listener disappear, is as open to interpretation as any other particular opinion. Ultimately, although saddening not to feel the Listener within the Void along with us, I cannot help but believe they still yet exist in some form, in some plane of existence... out there... and I pray that one day the Cheydinhal Family of my own time will one day be truly reunited."
"Regardless of this... I go on, we all go on, and we carry forth the Dread Fathers will... a will that is the reason I and the others still, though in different forms, reside within this home as you, the living, now occupy it. So... as to what I feel in this particular moment... I feel more complete than a great many beings ever come to know without the envelopment and eternal love of the Void".
By now, their footsteps had carried them down the length of the main hall, around the looming corridor and slowly over the staircase prevalent there... at the base of which one of the Sanctuary's few remaining brethren, an Orc, who sat on the floor, leaning against the wall tiredly, deep in discernible thought. The Orc resided within his own heavily battered and torn set of shrouded armour, the hood still adorned, his face veiled in darkness at the angle he sat from the torches shining overhead. He was shaken from his thoughts by the passing of the two, and immediately rose, towering over them, back up to his feet, wearily forcing aside his exhaustion and feigning calm. The Orc turned his gaze to them, presenting the sole remaining eye in his head, his left, which it's self was very blank and tired, and the terrible, somehow even after over two months, scarcely healed wound running down and over the length of the other, empty socket. Respectfully, Garnag inclined his head to his closest brother, and then to the Spectral Sister accompanying him, this courtesy promptly returned to the worn down, brave brother that had, for the time being at least, saved the dishevelling Brotherhood, had brought to them the Unholy Matron's own tomb... hidden away now relatively safely in the darkness of Speaker Rasha's quarters. In what had become a most alarming occurrence, however... Rasha scarcely ever left his room, Her shrine, any longer... if he had succumb to some form of madness, then it meant a leaderless Cheydinhal... a thought that did nothing to improve the Imperial's withering spirits, and one he prayed not to be the case. Perhaps the Speaker's decision over the Imperial's upcoming role was apart of it... an attempt to stave off understandable madness... yet he did not know... he knew so little, for the rumours that had once circulated, swirled throughout the Brotherhood were dying every which way... with so few left to carry them about. He could not imagine the burdens of Rasha and the others in this time... but then, he perhaps would in the very near future.
Rather than joining them in conversation, however, as the Imperial had hoped he might, Garnag simply lowered his hooded head slowly and moved on, passing them on the stairs as if in a dazed stupor, a sleep walking that rivaled that of the Sanctuary's ancient Dark Guardian. The Guardian it's self for that matter, was shuffling from further down the corridor, and from the sounds of it, towards them. The Imperial Assassin tried to catch his favourite brother's gaze again, to convey his best wishes... his sympathies... but truthfully, the shroud had been hanging for too long over the Sanctuary as it was... and the Imperial felt far too worn down to even form the strength to display this action, knowing Garnag would understand, yet hating himself for it. It was tiring enough merely raising the quill to the papers of his journals in these long days... only the contracts, contracts he would no longer be able to carry out soon, of any source of revitalizing energy... well, that and the conferences with those of the Void he had been partaking in. The Spectral Sister led him further down the dimly lit hall as Garnag's shuffling, limping footfalls faded away, passing away from the staircase and continuing on, until at last, she stopped him at the very end of the corridor, beside a pair of great stone doors affixed into the wall that had once been, and sometimes still was, the Private Quarter's of Vicente Valtieri. Sure enough, the ancient, frail yellow bones of the Dark Guardian came into sight next, and before stopping in front of the door, his eyes briefly studied the featureless thing pass them, that had once been a man. The majority of it's frayed, shredded armour had long ago rotted away, with only a portion of it remaining, and nearly encased in dust. The armour was no longer a vibrant black of the night, but a dark withered grey husk at best... its boots remained... the strings trailing the ground behind them... though the knee pads and soles, from two century's wondering had ripped off, and it was now reduced to scraping its bared foot bones across the concrete it had passed over perhaps millions of times. Other then that, the only remaining bit of armour hung feebly yet defiantly on to its chest... a series of straps dangled weakly over the front, no longer tightened up in buckles... it's shoulder pad was gone, and there lay a massive rip through the layers of armour, so far through it resembled a vest more than protective leather any longer. It's rib cage was exposed for all to see... many of them missing, leaving the effect of possessing a gaping hole in its stomach peaking through the armour Still... the fact that it had kept on and together for so long was one that quietly impressed the Imperial... and spoke wonders of the great Necromantic work that had been performed upon it. As he watched it's lurching gait gradually pass out of sight after Garnag, he wondered just how much longer it could remain, before finally falling apart altogether... but at the rate things were going, he would not be surprised if it 'outlived' all of them
She turned to him then, studying him with another approving smile that made him look away shyly, focusing his large, dark eyes upon his own gloved hands or the floor it's self.
He was a tall handsome man and still quite young... perhaps as young as she had been when she had arrived at the Sanctuary, and seemed gradually to be growing paler in his surroundings, the longer he was spending time inside the Sanctuary and away from the sun above, as it was with a great many of them. There were a few deepened stress lines forming on his otherwise smooth boyish face, as though premature age would soon be settling in and overtaking him, his dark eyebrows were thin and all but relaxed, as anxious and shy... awed even to be in her presence as the rest of his features, his lips drawn taut and unconsciously inward. As far as his attire went, like his Orc brother, the Imperial Assassin was enveloped in his own worn down set of shrouded armour... which he wore proudly, a second skin of sorts. Gone were a great many of the buckles and straps that adorned her own set two century's prior, save twin matching straps at his slim waistline... and no longer was the outfit almost entirely composed of black enchanted leather, other than the bit of purple that had been upon her own. Scarlet, strong material lined certain sections of this dark body suit, including the area around his collar, his respective forearms endowed with scarlet bracers and gauntlets, and even lower still, a section running from his knees down to his long boots. The splattering collage of red and black, of blood and death, was truly beautiful to behold on this young one.
Unlike his Orc brother however, and like she was now, his hood was drawn back, freely revealing the entirety of his features. Long, unkempt auburn hair parted at the forehead spilled down nearly to his shoulders, darkened to an almost blood red in the absence of torch light where they had stopped. Truly, he looked far less like an assassin then he did almost like an innocent child, as it had been for her... yet there was a subtle strength and beauty to this youthfulness that would serve him well in his yet to have unfolded endeavours.. and she knew, as she had known from the start, that Sithis had chosen His servant well... He always did. Now and again his wide eyes stole back up to her own, yet invariably lowered again as his hands moved about unconsciously, until she spoke, and his attention was entirely snared, as it seemed to be with every word she elicited. He seemed to watch with bated breath.
"You ask very deep question's of me, Cicero... no matter how simplistic you might think them to be.", The Spectral Sister reassured him earnestly, and at this, a faint blush crept its way to the young man's face, yet the continued presence of her gaze kept him from averting his eyes again. "I like such questions, and appreciate them just as much. Often times, it is what is simple that is the most beautiful and capable of coming to understand another... for simple things are far too often overlooked in the search for the answers to life's abundance of complexity's."
"You are right, my sister", The Imperial replied swiftly in turn, voice lowered slightly. His eyes flickered, and although they remained on her, seemed to watch something other than her as well. "I have seen a great many simple things being utterly destroyed... such things are becoming scarce."
"Have you spoken to any of the others like myself? The others of the Void present within this Sanctuary, my family?"
"I- I've talked to that big guy in all the battle armour, the Orc once or twice for a little bit... Gogron something or other... and uh... the old Mistress of this Sanctuary, Ocheeva. Mostly you though, you know... you just seemed... well... I don't know how quite to..."
"Perhaps because I am the most like you?", The Spectral Sister suggested calmly, another faint smile forming, and knew at once she was right. "The youngest and newest of my time? Yes... it is only human for one to be drawn to others in whom they can see themselves. This is a strength, but can also, if allowed, be capable of becoming a limitation. You would do well to speaking to each of them, particularly the one in the long fancy coat, the Vampire Vicente Valtieri... he knew Lucien longer then the rest of us in his mortal... well, immortal life, to be accurate. He knew Lucien the deepest, and given your fascination with the exploits of the past Black Hands and the history of our Cheydinhal Family, he would be able to provide an exhilarating and passionate, vivid picture to you that not even I could... if you had but seen me when he had first related his stories to me. You would indeed be well placed to talk to them... and soon, while you still can."
This sentiment and suggestion did not go under appreciated by the young man, who nodded at once anxiously in agreement, but seemed unable to form any further words, or questions beyond his gratitude. Even as he felt this gratitude, there was something else in him she sensed... things gnawing slowly at his heart. The Spectral Sister peered into the contents of his mind, and sensed across the thoughts of the others she carried with her, the depths of what was troubling him, and addressed them at once, tilting her head unconsciously as she peered up into his eyes.
"I have thoroughly enjoyed these conversations immensely, my brother... yet I have noticed a striking pattern in them... that you voice only questions, as welcome as they are... and speak not a single shred of information about yourself... about what is occurring now within your daily life. I should wish very much that you would voice these."
The young man looked meekly back down at her and smiled nervously, uttering a slight harried laugh that carried off the walls about them, running a hand through his mane of fiery hair.
"What would I be able to tell you, Antoinetta?", The young man asked evasively, yet nevertheless found part of himself considering the query she had posed. "You already know everything there is to know about me... about what is happening and what's going to happen to me. You know more than I do of myself. I don't much care to speak of myself. What could I possibly say that would be of any interest to you?"
"Do not sell yourself so short, brother", She interjected at once, her manner nevertheless kindly as it was reproachful, the depths of the request silencing him. "It is not important what I know already, in fact, it is a triviality, and unrelated to my question. What matters is that you find it in yourself to form what is troubling you into your own lovely words, and to present them aloud to each of us for consideration, for conference... as I have said, what is simple is often time's immeasurably beautiful. I would enjoy hearing your thoughts aloud, Cicero. As you yourself have asked of me... I return it to you. What is it that you feel?"
The Imperial Assassin was taken at the immense consideration of her words, and her manner... a glowing, optimistic manner that rose his spirits up from subdued depths effortlessly, and a manner he was growing rather used to, fond of, and at last, his eyes growing faintly distant and misted over, he gleamed forth a few of his concerns, of his thoughts, for the Spectral Sister to hear. His voice was naturally rather quiet, save the times he had pretended to be otherwise upon his contracts targets, yet was very much audible in their current proximity.
"Well... there's a war going on up there, wars, for that matter, between entire provinces and parts of the same provinces, and everyone who isn't dying or fighting seem to be losing their minds. The Dominion... the Thalmor, those bloody High Elves, think they have the right to intrude upon every other province in a way even this crumbling Imperial Empire, and our own Dark Brotherhood, has not in each of their long history's. They wish to force their false, lying ways upon everyone else, and make them accept it... take away their free will... and as they have been doing this, bringing their wonton and terrible destruction to every and all land in Tamriel, city by city falling beneath their vast armies as the Legion tries in vain to stem this golden tide, they have been steadily eradicating every known vestige of the Dark Brotherhood, swallowing entire Sanctuary's with every other bit of land these Elves so parasitically crave, and feel themselves entitled to having. Entire Family's have been destroyed... my own Dark Family... my own of Bruma has followed this pointless pattern of extinction, and I am the sole survivor left of them. I... I see them in my dreams... my nightmares... but I don't know what they think... feel, as they watch me from the Void... I don't know if I'm doing the right thing. I feel like an actor on a stage... and I've forgotten my lines. It is not just in our Cyrodiil either... the devastation... it didn't even start here... it is truly everywhere, our Homes from High Rock to Black Marsh are meeting the same terrible end... dust and ashes, at the clutching palms of the insidious Thalmor. Now, as far as I know, there are only two remaining Sanctuary's in Tamriel... that of this Cheydinhal Home, and one cut off somewhere in the forests of Skyrim. I am helpless... my sister, helpless to change any of this, for I am but one man, a lowly underling who cannot resist the waves of destruction making it's way to us. Cannot avert it in any way. Destruction that has now claimed my dearest sister in this place, Andronica, severed limb from limb, the Listener herself, Alissane Dupre, burned to death, each of them murdered defending the Night Mother's own crypt in Bravil, which too like everything else has fallen now. She is all we have left... and after two months, She has not yet named another Listener... has not risen from Her slumber to provide the direction she has always bestowed... the direction we need to continue."
"I... I don't understand why that is, for without our Listener we can barely extend our reach any further, our arm gradually being severed, our eyes removed and ears deafened. We were once the greatest empire of shadows upon the Nirn... the culmination of countless generations of Darkness... but we are now reduced to scurry about like mice... the people who require us losing faith and reliability upon us. I cannot begin to know what the Mother and Father have planned for everyone and everything remaining... their ultimate plan, and likewise, I do not know why it should be decided by the remaining Speakers that I am somehow worthy of the great position they are bestowing upon me, following the completion of my final, looming contract. They are each greater and far more capable than myself for the role... but they believe me worthy of becoming the Unholy Matron's very Keeper... Her protector. I am humbly honoured... but in truth... I am also afraid, Antoinetta... I am frightened, and so very ashamed of this fright... I fear not death, I have never feared as much since the Dark Brotherhood came to be the entirety of my world... yet I am frightened that this world of Darkness around me is tearing it's self apart at the seams with nothing I can do to prevent as much from occurring. Afraid that Light may actually come to overtake Darkness. I don't know the Will of Sithis... perhaps this just how it must be, the calm in the storm the death of your time's Traitor brought to the later generations of Dark Family's, this calm now broken, and threatening to pitch us each towards the abyss. Who will be next? Garnag? Myself? Ponitus? I do not know... but if I die... it shall be carrying out what is expected of my Mother and Father, and surely I will meet again my loved one's in the Void... but I am still frightened... and uncertain now more than ever. "
"Yet... there is something else I must address.. I must ask again something of you... why is it I must speak with these others of the Void so soon... what is it that has you each so hurried, and vanishing so often back to the Void? When I arrived here, you each remained permanently here, as though you were as alive as myself... but you pass so often back to the Void... and seeing any of you has become a spontaneous occurrence... something big is going to happen soon... isn't it? "
Antoinetta Marie peered back at the troubled, disquieted yet perceptive young man, and wished her answer could have been different... that it could have been an infinitely more gentle one... a reassurance that everything would be alright... she wanted to hold him close, to tell him he had nothing to fear... but he did have reason for fear... he had every reason for it. Instead, she explained it carefully and as it was expected of her, carrying out her latest duty. Nevertheless, an ethereal, icy hand moved down to the Imperial's and she clasped it soothingly, a frigid, welcome sensation passing up over his entire arm and lifting the hairs even beneath the confining leather material. He felt the presence of the Void wash over him with the faint wisps of misty radiance swirling about her, sending every hair beneath his covered arms on end at the otherworldly chill... and if it was merely the sensation caused by being touched by the Void... he wondered wistfully then, more than ever, what it must be to genuinely reside there... beyond everything.
"Cicero... our responsibility's here on behalf of the Dread Father, at this time, have been to offer you and the others what comfort was possible, in light of your approaching role... a role that will be as difficult to you as Lucien's was to him, Lucien who himself will cross your path in the time that is to come. You will carry a very great burden upon becoming the Keeper... and upon this time when you don the mantle of Keeper... I, and the others... must leave the Sanctuary and the realm... must return to the Void until our next task is required of us by our Father. We may not keep you company in the time of your greatest difficulty's... your trial... may not distill the pain that will come by remaining present here and with you, no matter how much I wish to do so. You must wade through the muddiness of your pain, your suffering, and take it into yourself as each has done on the Night Mothers behalf. It pains me to tell you this... but it simply must be. You must be transformed from the man even now you are already, and become something entirely different for as much your own sake as His. You must become more than a man. This is your particular Destiny, Cicero... I cannot spoil it's entirety for you, and will not... you must undertake what comes to you, and bring your destiny to a close, however that might be, whichever form it takes to you, whatever it is that awaits you and your choices, as the Cheydinhal Family and then the Void too awaited me."
Cicero contemplated this wealth of information from the Void's messenger for quite some time in the corridor, as leisurely, tenderly, Antoinetta stroked his hand with every measure of her care, her affection, etched even into the few details of her face he could discern through her vibrancy. At last, he closed his eyes, and breathed quietly, resigned to his understanding, even as he did not yet truly. There was no other way. She knew what was best for him. The Parent's knew what was best for him... and he had to live with it. Accept it.
"Yes... I understand", Cicero murmured placidly, still gazing upon the floor. "I serve the Parents... and whatever it is that comes, I will do... will do whatever is required of me. Greater individuals than I have been given as much to see through... I mustn't shame them, offend all, by doing anything less than what is my duty. My life".
Antoinetta rose her other transparent hand to his face then, the all powerful, illuminating sensation of her swirling into each of his senses as she forced his eyes back up from the ground, and back to her. What little he could see of her features were sad, yet somehow pleased in unison, pleased with him, with his resolving himself for what was to come, and his courage. She slowly leaned closer forward, close enough to kiss him... and he was lost in the bottomless depths of her eyes.
"Speak to the others", She requested again of him warmly, her beautiful voice hushed as she peered as if through the layers of his Dark soul... for all he knew, she very well could have been. "Speak to them and gather each of their stories, their opinions... and let them settle within you as might a brew... there is still time. Let them and their perspectives strengthen you as they did I, and try to look back upon them when times grow darkest... look back upon our own conversations at the approach of these times. Do not give up upon your journals either, as I know you have been tempted... they are invaluable, for they are a part of you. Savour this final contract you are to perform, and grasp it tightly to your heart. Let your experiences serve, as the Night Mother shall, as your constant companions. Promise me that you will do this, dear Cicero... please".
A promise had never been so easy to make for him.
"I... I promise, sister. I will. You're... you're leaving now, then?", Cicero asked of her hesitantly, knowing the inevitability of it, and he forced himself to draw from the reserves of his strength. He attempted to appear cool and collected, but knew he was failing as miserably as his Orc brother. "The others are staying because I haven't spoken yet to them?"
"I must go now yes, but no, I'm not leaving altogether just yet", Antoinetta vowed to him quietly, glimpsing the relief in his eyes and feeling the quickening pulse of his heartbeat. "I promise I will return before your final contract, before you begin your new life, and we may share one last conversation together, after you have met each of the others... and at the dawn of your new beginning, we shall all part... yet invariably, we shall one day meet again... as you already know, and you will be rejoined with each of your fallen Brothers and Sisters. That is my promise to you".
Cicero peered back down into her beautiful, glowing, otherworldly face... and he nodded, and in so doing, nodded to his Master. His appreciation and love shone through in his gaze, as she smiled... an action he himself mirrored in turn, standing relaxed, and happy for the first time in far too long, in the presence of the Conduit that was Antoinetta Marie.
"Thank you, Antoinetta", His voice whispered at last, lower than before, and lined with perhaps the sincerest gratitude he had ever held. "You have been to me in this short time like any of my Brothers or Sisters... I thank Sithis for having been able to know you in this life, to hear the great things you have told me... and I will honour you as I have all the others, in each of my action's."
"I already am honoured, merely speaking to you as I am... you nevertheless add to that so very greatly", Antoinetta replied simply, not lowering her hold upon him, even as the moments grew closer to her departure, the outline of her large eyes growing ever more tender. Her glow brightened vibrantly another shade or two. "You needn't thank me for doing what I love to do, for helping those I love. You are my family... as much as my Cheydinhal Family is to me, and your Bruma Family is to you. They are proud of you, Cicero... so very proud... and are with you no matter what occurs. Of that you must never fear. We all are. Trust in me. I shall be seeing you again very soon, dear brother. Goodnight, child of Darkness and sweet dreams".
With this final vow, the Imperial Assassin bowed his head respectfully to the elder sister, the great being linked as he was not to the Void... and in a swirling of the unknown energy that comprised her, she faded from existence, as well as her loving touch relinquishing from himself, leaving him feeling nearly empty when her presence flitted away from him. The Assassin stood alone in the corridor for some time pondering a great many things... and regardless of her absence from his sight... she was right... he still felt her to a degree, as he did every brother and sister he had ever met... somewhere within the depths of his subconscious... or perhaps somewhere even deeper.
The Imperial's lips at last parted into a partial smile, and he found that he laughed again, forcing away the dark cloud that hung over him, regardless of whether it would return or not. It did not matter if it did... for that would be then, and not now. There was all the difference in the world. He resolved to find the other spirits Antoinetta had spoken fondly of, and in so doing, keep his end of the promises made in that corridor. Recharged, the Assassin turned finally, to the doors she had stood before, that she had purposefully led him to, and respectfully, he rapped his gloved knuckles upon them, waiting for the preternatural spirit so often seen residing within the Private Quarters to invite him inside and bestow upon him further pieces to comprise the lining of his very soul.
Cicero was ready... Sithis help him. He was ready.
The End
That's all folks :) As ever I will list my notes for the chapter before bidding you adieu:
1) The Cycle: I realized early on I needed to bookend this story with a flash forward to the time of Skyrim, and touch upon the next state of turmoil the Brotherhood would inevitably find it's self caught up in. For quite some time following the events of Oblivion, the Dark Brotherhood thrived, and was forged into an all powerful entity under the leadership of The Hero of Kvatch... the brotherhood became perhaps greater then it had been before, and they were far more succsessful than prior times. Nonetheless, inevitably, as the Night Mother foretold, Sithis would deem it necessary for another lesson to be taught. As I've stated in another chapters notes, I had the idea that there is a history of cycles within the brotherhood, where there is a time of great power for the Brotherhood, but eventually they are brought to the brink, Sithis harvesting his own children basically, but leaving them just able to rise again back to their former strength, this time in the form of The Dovahkiin, like the Hero of Kvatch before him. Really, that idea alone is a story in it's self, how the brotherhood reached the brink all over again in that 200 year span, with the start of the Thalmor war. In my opinion, The Brotherhood served in the Imperial/Thalmor conflict, in all likelihood... recognizing the threat against themselves if the Elves had their way... as such, unoffically taking up arms with the Imperial Empire. They recognized that, although the Imperials were not trustworthy, and long time enemies, they did not seek to destroy the Brotherhood as the Elves intended to. I see the Elves as knowing the danger of the Brotherhood and intentionally seeking them out for destruction, and while the Brotherhood fought back effectively, it became a matter of simple overpowerment, army's rolling over top of their sanctuary's. That doesn't mean I see the Brotherhood outright working side by side with the Imperials, but I get a sense of them having an understanding. I can imagine about a million things related to that war and the Brotherhoods place in it that would make for an awesome story... which although tempting to write about, I admit I do not see myself necessarily getting there. I sought to tell my own Elder Scrolls tale, and ground it within a ceartain amount of chapters... combined with my life outside of writing, I would be far too stretched every which way to perform such a massive undertaking, be it writing my interpretation of Lucien's begginning in the Dark Brotherhood or how the Brotherhood played into the Thalmor/Imperial war. Still... maybe one day... and regardless of whether i do or don't, im sure it's either already been done by another or will be done :) such it is with such a huge fan community this series has. It just was fitting to me to end this tale by throwing you into the next Brotherhood conflict, which of course we all play out ourselves.
2) Arquen: There isn't much to note for her in this chapter of course, considering her arc ended in the last chapter... but I think she is dead by this point... however that played out, whenever that played out in the last 200 years is open to your own interpretation. Still... Lucien was right about her, and I will note again I feel she earned her Redemption, serving well at the Hero's side and not only rebuilding, but building upon the old foundations, turning the family into an even more immense empire of the night. I see Arquen as being in the Void, serving as the others do, and all is forgiven between her and Lucien. As for her child, Lucien's child, yet again, make up your own mind on that one ;). And by the way, recently I found online what her words of regret were in a piece of diolouge cut from the game regarding Lucien's death:
"I...I don't know what to say. How could we have been so wrong? Lucien tried to explain, but we wouldn't listen... but he is ceartainly in a better place now. Lucien Lachance's soul now serves Sithis in the Void. It is an honor he earned, and deserves."
I can only imagine the vast majority of us wanting to respond: "BUT NOT LIKE THAT DAMN YOU!" xD still, what has been done is done, and she learns from it. It's better then nothing.
3) The Hero of Kvatch/ The Listener: I am of the opinion that inevitably, late one rainy night he or she paid solemn visit to the Night Mother, and there in her all powerful, loving aura, in the aura of her and the Father, the Hero foretold to save the Brotherhood told their parents of the deal they had struck with Sheogorath, and what was to become of them self. Being who they were, of course, they knew already. The Hero was concerned for their potential misgivings of becoming a Daedric Prince... but the Parents were content with their child's decision... proud even to watch their greatest ascend above even the realm of mortals... and bade the Hero to set their affairs into order... to select a successor for the role of Listener when the time came for them to take the Mad God's throne, and identity. I see the exchange as somber on the part of the Hero's, believing they will never be able to see their lost brothers and sisters again, or parents, in taking Sheogorath's role... but the Parents know better. The Hero's soul was crafted in the darkness of the Void, and will inevitablly end up there in a few thousand years when the time comes for the Hero (now Sheogorath) to hand off the title to another, as it was handed to them. Whether it takes a long time for the hero to return to their home in the void and be reunited with their parents and loved ones, does not matter... it is inevitable... and in the mean time, I see them wishing their child (Mad God child) their best wishes, and in their own way watching over him even as he sits on his Throne in his realm of Oblivion... after all, Daedric Princes exist due to Sithis ;), he is everywhere in the universe at any given time. In fact, it may well have been orchestrated by Sithis, have been supposed to happen. Time must pass for the next savior and Hero of the Brotherhood to come along, in the form of their next great child, the Dovahkiin.
4) Cicero: My main point of focus for this chapter. In a sense, Cicero in my mind will serve a similar role as Lucien... in a sense, he is Lucien's successor. Cicero, Like Lucien, teaches the Hero of each game of the true Brotherhood, the old ways, how important their preservation is, as opposed to the corrupted brotherhood under Mathieu and Astrid's influence respectively. Basically, it it the same each cycle... with a specific important individuals serving the role of Savior, Teacher and Betrayer... im not saying ever cycle and pattern of destruction play out exactly down to the same detail, but there is a consensus to each of them... an ironic order to the chaos of Sithis. I read deeply into Cicero's Journals, a very well written bit of text courtesy of the great writers working on the elder scrolls franchise, and that journal alone gave me a vast picture and insight into what was occurring at the time, both within the brotherhood at large, their world, as well as Cicero himself and his eventual mind state. Cicero is a professional, and not yet insane, of course. I see this chapter taking place between the 25th of Morning Star, 4E 189, and the 30th of Morning Star, before he kills the Jester, and in so doing sets himself on the path to becoming what we see him to be by the time he makes our acquaintance in Skyrim. Now, I made Cicero a little timid and nervous in this one, which I felt worked in the company he shares... Cicero is at a very low point, and he knows it... his world is dying around him, his family is gone and so is nearly everyone he loved, but he does not have all of Lucien's coping skills, they are not the exact same. I used Cicero to show that history was repeating it's self all over again... and will always continue to do so... it happens everywhere in the Nirn, and the Brotherhood is no different. I wanted to give a glimpse of him before the madness, before his role of Keeper... of the man he was... slowly being torn asunder by magnitude of what was unfolding. War is hell, as is life in general at times, but at least we know he is a valuable part of the brotherhood's salvation, an exchange even he would feel worth his sanity.
5) Antoinetta Marie: I read a passage in Cicero's journal that mentioned the Cheydinhal Sanctuary still had... ghosts of purification haunting the halls. Perhaps I took it too literally, considering he may well have just been referring to the history of the Sanctuary. Then again, perhaps not, considering we in Skyrim find Spectral Brothers in the Dawnstar Sanctuary, and the fact the Lucien Lachance's spirit aides the Dovahkiin, I didn't think it by any means too much of a stretch of the imagination to consider that the spirits of the past began appearing in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary at some point, sent to render aid to their brethren in whatever way possible... be it defending the Sanctuary or providing advice and comfort to the brothers and sisters who yet lived. Again, the circumstances of the crisis were different in a million factors compared to the Bellamont crisis... this is one such factor. Of course, in this chapter Antoinetta provides the latter, comfort. I saw much of her in Cicero, after getting so deeply into her head... they were both so new to their respective family's, outsiders who had experienced tragedy, and naturally, Cicero was drawn to this attractive, powerful woman of the Void... for many reasons ;). Antoinetta learned much in her time amongst the living, in her year or so in the Cheydinhal family... and she learned even more in the Void, and is passing on her story to Cicero, giving him a different perspective of life... advice in a sense. She learned much from Vicente, of the importance of gathering others views, their life lessons and stories, and incorporating them into ones selves... doing as much can transform you into an entirely separate individual. I am reminded of a quote by the great literary character Atticus Finch from To Kill A Mockingbird... "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view—until you climb into his skin and walk around in it." That's something that stuck with me through this writing. You see, in life there are so many different factors that make each of us up... that make us unique, make us who we are... each factor is important... especially how others see life and the world at large... Vicente knew this, Lucien knew it and now Antoinetta knows this, and is passing on more pieces and knowledge to Cicero, as the other spirits will do, until the time comes for them to leave him with his burden, for him to try his own strength against the momentous task that lays ahead of him over the years to come. Ultimately, Cicero is doomed to madness, as it is supposed to be... but don't think for a second that means what Antoinetta and the others are doing is useless... they help form him into the Cicero we love, and what he learns from them he carries to the Void, when it's his turn. He is being supported from beyond the grave by Brothers and Sisters he never met among the living, generations behind him... as he perhaps will do himself for the living one day when he reaches the Void. I felt Antoinetta to be the only choice in this scene as a conduit to the Void for Cicero, not only because the two have so much in common, but I wanted to show her development , character growth from the time she entered the family. She began as a blank slate, but she learned, as we all do, served as the outside perspective to the family initially, and became something more, greater then she was... it has carried over. She still carry inside her traces of the mad excited young woman we meet in oblivion of course, but she is older, more powerful and matured in both manner and speech (her referring to Sithis as he who walks behind the rows is a reference to children of the corn by stephen king by the way, another of those things you find as a writer fits)... changed, as time invariably does to all things... as Vicente himself knew, and sought to imprint such a lesson upon Antoinetta. Teaching really does carry forward, from one to another, especially in the dark family's. I wanted to give Antoinetta more closure, as I closed the story it's self, by giving her an important role, sort of bringing the story full circle on the child Lucien brought into the fold... really, I hope I gave everyone here a measure of closure, yet the sense that things will continue on... it never ends. Which brings me to my next and last point ;)
6) The Dark Guardian: Yup xDD, even he, or rather it perhaps depending on your view, gets some closure. Once an insubordinate brother, then a loyal servant courtesy of Lucien's masterful Necromancy... and in my opinion, the last 'living' thing in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Eventually, Cicero leaves of course with the Mother, sealing the Sanctuary behind him... leaving this fellow still pacing in the pitch darkness of the tomb. In a sense, this one time disloyal brother outlives it all, the family's and a certain rat we knew as Schemer xD. I thought it was a nice little touch, if a bit silly, but still. That sums the dark brotherhood in a sense, doesn't it? It isn't all serious and grim, there is fun to be had... their own form of fun admittedly. Maybe when the Dark Brotherhood reaches full power again after Skyrim, when the Cheydinhal Sanctuary is reopened under new management, a new Speaker and family, he'll still be there, ready to serve the next generation... like I said, some things never end... other than this story of course xD.
And speaking of which, here we are at last people... the end. Any reviews or comments or questions, anything at all, are of course always welcome... more than welcome, appreciated. I started this story at a bad time in my life, when I was alone in a great many ways... but I am happy to end it in a good time of my life... things have been going well for me for some time now, and with luck will continue to. While it is undoubtedly unpleasant to go through such things, such a time of one's life, as I can well attest, it cannot be denied that creativity can yet thrive even in the midst of such, through perseverance. I leave this story better than when it all began... I leave satisfied I have done my part for Elder Scrolls, and the Dark Brotherhood. Thank you all again for the support :), and may you walk always in the shadow of Sithis, my Brothers and Sisters.
The honor has been mine.
-Antihero276
January 7th, 2013
