Chapter 9

Unravelling

The light from the sun was almost blinding as I opened my eyes, dead centre in my line of vision. It didn't make for pleasant awakening.

Stiffly, I pushed myself up, shielding my face with the back of one hand until the surroundings I could make out didn't appear the strange and surreal turquoise which the intrusive rays created. It must have been at least midday, with the sun being so high.

Immediately after the haze cleared, I looked to my left for Lucien, and whether or not he was awake by now. It seemed so normal to wake up and just see him now, almost scarily so. But he wasn't where I expected him to be.

For a moment or so I felt a swell of panic, more obvious than the previous one I'd had: the blanket wasn't even there, his bag of supplies gone with it. The most worry came from realising that Shadowmere's bridle and saddle, which I'd put next to the nearest pine tree to him, were nowhere to be see in that direction.

Lucien wouldn't have gone somewhere on his own. If he had then he had better have a damned good reason for not telling me. By Sithis, I sounded like my grandmother.

I probably would have started hyperventilating in both anxiety and anger if I hadn't just heard the movement to my far right. I turned so quickly that I almost lost balance. The sight I found filled me with an overwhelming sense of relief, yet at the same time, dread.

I could see that Lucien had put Shadowmere's saddle on her already, and was adjusting the straps on her bridle easily and almost without thinking, even when he was doing it so frantically. He was doing everything too quickly, his head spinning at the slightest sound that not even I was picking up from here. I hadn't seen this behaviour since, well…since he'd confronted me in Bravil. Now I was worried.

As he began tying the blanket roll up with the leather straps around it, I managed to actually get up on my first attempt, and then strode over to him. Shadowmere's alert eyes found me before Lucien's, her ears pricked and questioning as she continued to stare, though his attention was somewhere else entirely.

"Lucien?" I called softly, so as not to startle him, "What's going on?"

He turned after I said his name, eyes wide and apprehensive, haunted again by doubt. The slight bouts of visible cold air from his breath came fast - either he was out of breath or this panic had been going on for a long while. I had a mind to say that it was probably both of these options. But it was the sheer flicker of terror that passed over his gaze which halted me, almost causing the remainder of my question to stall. The feeling was clear: something had frightened every part of normality out of him.

He held my gaze as I gradually resumed approaching him. He reminded me a little of a fox in his paranoid movements, skittish and poised to flee from anything he didn't trust. I needed him to answer me without the risk of him moving around though, so I stepped slowly towards him without a sound, looking deeply into his eyes with proof of care and concern. It pacified him for a few seconds as he caught full sight of me, but no more than that.

"I found tracks this morning," he replied with a dry regretful tone before motioning to a graduated rock face by one of the pond's banks, "Human footprints; nothing else they could be."

He broke eye contact and proceeded on his course of placing the rolled blanket onto the back of the saddle, tying the stray loops of leather around it. I needed a bit more than just that as an answer.

"Wait, wait," I demanded, stopping him again as he turned around with an air of frustration, "You can carry on packing once I get the full explanation of this; how did you find them?"

He sighed indignantly, though his shifting eyes were full of nothing but concern as they met mine again. "I went to look around again, to check whether there was anyone in the area in the daylight. The tracks lead down from the same hill we came from to get here, but whoever it was must have retraced them: there's no trail separate from that one," Lucien paused, breathed in almost impatiently like he couldn't get it out quickly enough, "There was no snowfall last night; they weren't there before then."

"You didn't see or hear anyone last night though?" I asked patiently yet panicked, well aware of the fear in his voice, "They couldn't have just been up there unnoticed, could they?"

His eyes clouded with guilt, but no regret. "I wasn't fully…concentrating," Lucien confessed, voice and gaze softening only once as he looked me directly in the eyes for the first time in this discussion. He breathed in, but then turned his eyes down before he spoke, voice imperative again; "That is exactly why we're leaving now: what if they come back, or even when?"

"You think they were watching us?"

"I know they were - there's no other motive from that position."

"Lucien - "

"Elenar," he interrupted firmly enough for me to forget the rest of my response as he turned sharply towards me, fire in his eyes, "I said we're leaving now."

For a few moments I was locked in one spot, muted while making a dulled attempt at staring him down. The unexpected harshness had thrown me off track, no words in my mind as I broke eye contact, folding my arms in defence and distancing; it was such a contrast from the night before.

"Fine," I answered with a dry voice, unwillingly subdued as I walked briskly in the other direction, towards the remaining campsite to gather my things.

Lucien, of all people, had managed to put me down in less than a minute, and it was disconcerting as to just how easily I'd taken it: I was usually one to win fights, in whatever form put to me. The kid who used to randomly push me over when I was eleven had found that out the hard way. Now I felt enraged at both myself and him for acting in the way he did.

After a few seconds, I heard his footsteps behind me. "Elenar," he began, softly exasperated as his hand found my arm, not even having to force me to turn around, "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"Which you should be," I replied, looking him directly in the eyes.

"Which I am," he reiterated, a small try at a smile as he met my gaze with remorse; his grip loosened but didn't retract, "You said it yourself that Bellamont wants rid of both of us. If it…was one of them, then I'm not having you hurt on my account of concentration lapse. I'm sorry for that too."

He looked into my eyes for approval, which he received in a small dose before I responded. "I understand that, and I know you're scared," I told him with steel reinforcements before I met his gaze dead centre, "But don't dare talk to me like I'm not."

Lucien let out a sigh of self-condemning as his eyes lowered in submission and acceptance of what I'd said. "Of that, I'm aware, though masterfully you can make me forget it," he declared with a concluding sound of amazement, "I'm scared for the two of us, and I'll be coping even worse if I lose you…if I'd lost you - "

"Lucien, I get it," I interjected quickly, not needing to be any more stressed, "And I did react to you in the same way when we first left."

He gave me a smile of remembrance, then glanced up with a look that simply stated that I was a hypocrite. "Then obviously you know that leaving is the most agreeable option here," he repeated soothingly, "There's a very real possibility that it's one of the Black Hand, even if that doesn't mean it's Bellamont."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course I know that," I replied with a stubborn tone, "I just don't enjoy being left in the dark, is all."

Lucien let out a soft sigh, looking down then into my eyes. "I know that," he tried to assure calmly, though his tense body language gave away the sudden instinct to run again, "So you know the importance we have of leaving now, don't you?"

I nodded a few times, keeping his eyes focused on me at the same time instead of having to watch his vision shift around in paranoia. I didn't want to see him in that state again; it was disturbing the first time around, let alone how he might react now if he thought we'd be found.

If we'd been found.

When we were found. When we were caught up with.

Quickly, I pushed that imagery aside. I wasn't going to let him even wonder at any fearful spark which could creep into my eyes. Lucien was relying on me not to be afraid, and there was no way that I'd try to be. Not in front of him at least.

I seemed to be far more afraid for him.

Bellamont wanted us both out of the way. He wanted us both dead.

Yet more fiercely did my need for Lucien to be safe grow every day.

Maybe it was simply that I knew that I could protect myself, though until any confirmation, all evidence of a clear reaction from Lucien to Bellamont was not visible to me. I could protect himself, though I'd only seen this against anyone but Bellamont.

He had every chance of being fine, and yet I still worried.

But that was almost the job I'd been assigned. There hadn't been a time when I'd failed to follow an order to the letter. Why should this be so different?


A quarter of an hour later and I had already packed up everything, tied it down to the saddle, and we were heading off again, at a slightly more brisk pace than usual. The bags were considerably more empty than when we first left Helgen; we'd have to get hold of some more supplies before we reached Riften. Who knew how long that journey would take tomorrow?

Before leaving, I'd shoved the charred firewood that remained into the water, watching it float over to the small atoll in the middle of the pond. As they hit the bank, I was putting the snow over the ebony ash that had lingered from the small fire last night. It wasn't much of a disguise for anyone looking for signs of the journey, but just about enough to put any others who passed off investigation of the area.

Lucien was restless, agitated, which only made Shadowmere even more so. She kept on tossing her head about, her tatty long mane swishing flatly in the breezeless air; even she was certain something was wrong before we set off, her confused breath pattern evident not only audibly but visually in the swirling cold mist around her muzzle. Shadowmere may or may not have known what was making her so anxious; there was always something in her eyes which matched understanding, but I couldn't be sure of that.

I, on the other hand, was convincing myself against nerves as Lucien turned our direction up the North-East dust path on a small gradient mound adjacent to the rock slope where the tracks began and ended in one. There didn't appear as though there was any run-on of this path, if it was a path, and so I assumed we'd be turning left, up the pine-covered hill laced with snow. Obviously, that was wrong. Instead, we took a sharp turn right, an extremely steep slope stretched out below us.

The vague dirt path wound like a discarded ribbon down it, through small sheets of ice and rocks, jagged with bitter weathering. Shadowmere was just able to sidle along it, skidding a little to the bottom with an indignant snort of disapproval. Lucien wasn't quite thinking straight if he believed the beginning of this particular route was a good idea.

We came to what looked like a newly-laid stone road, clearly important enough to be leading in either direction to a main city or town, while a few unsettled pebbles rolled down from the slope behind us. We paused for a few moments, checking the area was secure and devoid of people before turning up the Northern path to the left.

The air became more chilling as we continued, even more so since Lucien halted Shadowmere at damn near every small sound nearby. Though it was rather irritating that we couldn't reach our destination that bit quicker, it was still a relief to be aware that at least one of us was concerned with the fact that any follower could be nearby. If I had control, I would have simply let Shadowmere bolt forwards, trying to lose whatever it was instead of attempting to face it head on or let it know that we were stalling, just waiting for its strike. I believe I subconsciously told Lucien this a number of times, though perhaps in fewer words, and maybe less politely. But each time we did stop my nerves felt like they had been shredded like leather on a tanning rack. This was hardly the comfortable ride to Mara's Eye Pond: rain clouds brewing overhead, and white fog rolling in from the snow-laden canyons nearby. Apologies were sticking in my throat from what I said, and what would have been a quick, easy path was thwarted by fragmented reactions to nothing. It was lasting far longer than it needed to.

In a broken walking pace did we carry on, until the mists dropped and the sky turned the darkened clouds to amber to form a fray in the East, above a white plain under a distant range of mountains and pine trees. I was so intrigued by something to look at in the draining silence which had fallen, that I didn't notice what was in front of us until Lucien pointed it out to my attention with a subdued address of my name only, voice tired and dry by this point.

I looked to him in response before my eyes were drawn to what emerged from the recessing rock face to my left. A partially frozen river separated our side of land from a great wall of blackened stone, squarely set fortifications lined along its top. I continued scanning along its snow-stitched edge, my eyes then falling on the main archway to the city, sloping high pillars carved up from a bridge to its walls, supported by foundations holding it aloft from the water. Rising up from inside these walls was what appeared to be a palace roof, a large enough and grand enough pass for one: three spires kissed the sky, so high that a few wisps of cloud circled like cotton around them. The middle and tallest spire acted as a flag mast to the city's banner, fluttering lightly above the somewhat dormant ground.

I examined the sigil: a Nordic design of a bear's head, stitched in white against a sapphire blue field, mouth open in a silent growl. "This is Windhelm?"

"Yes - the capital of Eastmarch," Lucien replied with dull intent, "It's rather imposing."

"I would have said a little overly-majestic," I combated, my tone demeaning, "Whoever governs the place must have some kind of God-complex."

I heard him make the soft sound of amusement, as though stifling a muted laugh. "You're most probably correct," he answered in a lifted tone of voice, though quickly tuned it down as something new occurred to him, "Most people in Windhelm tend to think themselves superior; make life quite difficult for the handful who don't fit their ideals. The Stone-Fist clan are the worst by far."

"The Stone-Fists?" I inquired with exaggerated disbelief, "Tell me that can't be a real name."

"Unfortunately for everyone, it is," Lucien uttered with a flare of contempt, "They're probably the least equality-friendly Nords in the province."

"Well, they sound just delightful," I said in a sweetly mocking tone, "But I think I'll pass on visiting them any time soon."

With a slightly lighter atmosphere, Shadowmere continued walking along the stone road, the sharp and mystical ringing of her hooves on rock alerting the other horses standing under a stable roof on the edge of the bridge, their ears pricked with uncertainty before looking away.

We carried on past them until we came to a narrow and almost neglected looking pathway leading up an embankment through the edge of a dense pine forest which spread in fragments along it. The snow on the ground had thinned out, and some patches of yellowing grass clumps poked out from under it, though the only ground visible was dusty, dry soil.

She was suddenly brought to a halt by Lucien at the foot of another pathway to our left, looking out at the rest of our current route.

"The road that leads up is the last one we're travelling," he explained, the slightest hint of a break in his tone. "It goes through the marshlands of Eastmarch, and eventually into the Rift."

His words were normal, and yet his monotonous tone suggested something else in his mind than simply the denotation of where we'd be going the next day. Even with the previous tension of the day, this voice was a shadow of his usual calm demeanour.

"So, where's Kynesgrove, then?" I redirected him, not aware of why I dismissed the previous consideration.

Lucien's head jerked slightly as though shocked out of a trance, vaguely turning his head like he could actually face me from this position. The expression he wore was unclear: the black hood conveniently shielded the side of his face. Although, even from paralinguistics it was more than clear that he was motioning to the top of the slope to our left. It wasn't steep, but still looked effort enough to climb.

"It's not a town, not even a village, really," he commented, making an attempt to distract himself with a somehow forced tone, "Simply an inn, farmhouse and a mine."

"You do get around, don't you?" I added playfully.

I heard the sound of a smile. "If that's what you like to think," he replied with a renewed charm which broke through the dryness in his throat, turning Shadowmere only lightly before she started up the hill.


Lucien wasn't lying, as I saw what there was of Kynesgrove: an already weathered wooden building which I presumed was the inn, and to our right, glowing yellow under the impending sunset, was a small patch of wheat outside a recognisable farmhouse. Expectantly, I looked around for any signs of life, but there truly were none. I was surprised this place had even garnered a name for itself.

There was no real place to put horses for the night, though a shallow trough of feed at the side of the inn suggested it somewhat. I slipped off of the saddle first, pulling my bag from the back of it in the same movement before Shadowmere halted. Lucien dismounted a few seconds later, leading her over to the trough, which she immediately began to devour. Only then did I realise just how hungry I was; I hadn't actually eaten anything since the night before.

I approached Lucien for several steps, but stopped short as a pang of guilt echoed through my mind. I'd acted quite harshly on the way here, and though my reasoning was known for my behaviour, I didn't know what he was truly thinking of me. He hadn't faced me yet, so I thought I should be the one to speak first.

"Sorry about what I said," I continued quietly, "I wasn't thinking particularly straight."

He slowly turned as he heard my voice, an almost confused expression on his face as he met my eyes. "I don't think either of us were," he answered, more apologetic than me, "I probably deserved it from this morning."

I smiled slightly, pinning my gaze to the ground for a moment. "Well, I guess you did," I agreed, giving a small grin in his direction.

Lucien's hazel eyes lingered, a ripple of amber flitting across them before he hesitantly pivoted back to untie the other packs from Shadowmere's saddle.

That was it? That was far too easy for an apology in my experience.

I lightly stepped towards him, just in case he wasn't fine with just that, but he glanced pleasantly at me as I reached his side, a smile that I couldn't help but return etched on his face as he slung one bag over his shoulder.

"When do we leave tomorrow?" I asked wistfully, though it wasn't meant to be said out loud.

Lucien almost froze, paused between removing the blanket rolls from the saddle and an expression which suggested a minor distaste for that question. "Not early," he began with a subdued smile as he commenced movement again, "If there's any hypothesis in our tracker's head that their trail could be discovered, they'll presume we'd further than here by morning. Probably the early afternoon, though - we can get to Riften by the first shadow of night."

"And if they don't think we could find them?" I queried with more worry than logic.

He paused again, this time with a vacuum of silence. "Then whatever we choose is futile," he answered darkly, fluently enough to show that this had been far too much of a dominant thought for a long while. After a few moments of quiet, he breathed deeply in, as though inhaling another atmosphere, "But that's tomorrow. We'll panic then."

My smile may have looked forced, but it was truly genuine. Either Lucien really was beginning to cope well with this - as well as anyone would if they knew a force of assassins were out to kill them - or he'd stopped unnecessarily caring. Either way, since he didn't appear suicidal anymore, I was fine with it. I felt a lot more calm knowing both of us didn't have to be on such high alert for a time.

After Shadowmere's bridle and saddle were removed and left behind the inn, Lucien and I made our way towards the door, the hinges of the swaying sign of Braidwood Inn squeaking with rust as I reached the first step of the porch. I heard Lucien's pace hesitate behind me, though I assumed that he was just scanning the area again. I'd just about stretched my hand out to the door's handle before he touched my arm, grip slightly tense as to make me turn towards him. I met his nervous gaze as he gradually moved up to my side, his vision lowered and shifting a few times.

"I'm aware that this has been a strange day - stranger than the rest, anyway," he continued, his voice unable to hedge around the barrier in his throat which didn't want him to speak, "But considering that we're not camping tonight, you wouldn't want to have dinner, would you? In a normal sense - with me , I mean."

He loosely folded his arms as the look on his downhearted face said that whatever he'd practiced to not sound like a come-on hadn't gone as planned. Alternatively, I found it more endearing than if it had been.

"I'd like that," I replied, artfully ending what had become a constant anxiety on his part with a soft smile, "That'd be nice."

My words may have been a little mild, but since I said them with more meaning than I had expected, they weren't taken in a minimalist context.

Lucien seemed as though reluctant to believe my answer, peering into my eyes again only after a fleeting expression of doubt crossed over his face, surveying whatever damage he appeared braced to accept. As his eyes brightened, an almost unavoidable optimism caused a new smile from him; one I recognised in a vague meaning, but perhaps I hadn't seen it quite as often enough to be able to place its exact connotation. His gaze lowered briefly, and in time for him not to notice my quizzical, if frustrated, glance of slight confusion.

"That's good," he declared with a small raise in stature, eyes latching to mine for the second time in a few seconds, his tone upping a notch in confidence, "It will be nice to be inside for a change."

I gave a short laugh of disbelief. "Just after a couple of days you've forgotten that's meant to be normal?"

"I suppose so," he answered with an air of knowing, returning the smile alongside an amber gaze. He paused for a few seconds, scanning over me briefly with a new thought, "It might be an idea to change outfit before that, though: unusual armour usually attracts the wrong attention, and it means everything for us to keep a low profile now."

I looked down at the armour itself, and he had a point - it wasn't exactly in keeping with the style or craftsmanship of any local makes, not from what I'd seen or read about. I was rather lucky that I carried other clothes around with me still. Although, thinking of stand-out clothes…

"The black robe isn't exactly inconspicuous either," I advised light heartedly, whilst Lucien quickly glanced at what he was wearing with an expression as if to say 'what's wrong with it?'; "I'm willing to wager that the only people who dress like that here are religious freaks, and I'll be honest, they're not highly favoured anywhere."

He returned a rather sly smile before we turned again to the inn door, one that made his eyes shine with a slightly retained intrigue, which I still felt following me even when I'd made the first step over the threshold. I pulled back a growing smile which had originated - and always seemed to originate - from this intimate intensity Lucien carried with him, considering he'd notice the difference from simple amusement if I did.

The blast of sheer heat combated the frozen air from another large hearth in the centre of the wooden constructed room, where I quickly counted nine people, including a Nord man who looked like the innkeeper around, whether it was sitting at tables or standing by the bar. Most of them were clad in ragged or worn looking clothes, covered in dust and dirt: miners, I supposed. Continuing to gaze around the room automatically for any sign of danger or threat, I saw that only three people didn't harbour the same work-weary aura as everyone else - though that didn't stop them being engaged in conversation - standing by the bar, and even from here, even not being able to hear what they were saying, there was a certain air which didn't quite meet my criteria for favourable company.

There were two women and one man, who was leaning forwards on the bar, talking with exaggerated actions to them on either side of him; a certain arrogant command in his interest. They both seemed thoroughly mesmerised this man with a short and sandy brown ponytail, clothes which looked of high popularity but fancy none the less, grinning and giggling occasionally at something he said which was probably uninteresting if heard from anyone else that they didn't find so charming. He wasn't turning around at all, so I couldn't see how much of a smug expression he must have had from being able to attract two Nord women and being a Dark Elf himself - I'd caught a glimpse of the skin tone on his hand.

A part of me within the main disdain I had for people like that surfaced some kind of reminder, as if there were some familiarity or déja vu I should be feeling. Maybe I knew, but couldn't place it; perhaps it was so obvious that it was acting like a subtlety under my radar. Or maybe it really was just an irritation with all people who took advantage of others for their own benefit, and it happened so often in the world that it was familiar. There was a threat there, but not towards either of us.

Eventually I turned away, my eyes on Lucien for some kind of silent reassurance, but reassurance of what exactly? Maybe it wasn't enough to have trained killers on our tail, and so I thought just anyone from a bar was also out to get us.

Nevertheless, he smiled back, the same glimmer of positivity in his dark eyes which had only been sparked so recently, though his smile was somewhere else; distant and a little unfocused on the present. But, despite this conflict of expression he seemed to be having, Lucien returned the comforting presence I wanted.

No more than two seconds later, the innkeeper strode over, and so happened another exchange including the clumsy phrase of 'no, we're not together, together', before he motioned in the direction of two doors on the near side of the room.

"We don't normally get people staying here," the Nord continued, counting the coin in his head which I had just handed over, "Some pass through on their way to Windhelm, but not much gold in it."

He talked in a painfully slow tone, as though he wasn't quite practiced in having a successful conversation with anyone. Nords weren't living up to any expectation by which I could dismiss the widely held stereotype. Eventually he looked back up and met my verging on homicidal gaze.

"Oh, well, you just holler if you need anything, either of you," he resumed, now sounding a bit more awake, "There's only one other guest here, so it'll be no problem."

"What guest?" Lucien suddenly questioned from beside me, a tone of simple phatic talk easily masking the known paranoia we both had - no harm in security, after all.

The innkeeper almost rolled his eyes back to the view behind him. "Just that elf at the bar," he relayed in monotone, an unmasked tone of prejudice coming through. As he looked back to us he tried not to catch my eye, like he'd offended me by disapproving of someone who happened to be of the same race, but I was through with what people though: most Nords resented the Dunmer, and most Dunmer resented the Nords. As long as I didn't live up to an expected stereotype, I should be fine.

"Not the best of people then," Lucien declared, prompting an approving smile from me and the innkeeper, although he was attempting to hide it more than I was.

"Well, I don't like to speak badly of guests, but," he paused in mid-confession, "There isn't much good I could say about him either. He shouldn't be a bother to you though; enjoy your stay."

With that, the Nord walked away, back to tending to the thirsty miners around the room, and perhaps looking slightly wary that the arrogant Dunmer had heard him over his own voice. It seemed he was bothering me more than expected. There was a possible reason for this dancing in the back of my mind, but it didn't exactly seem possible, or friendly with circumstances.

Throwing it from my head, I turned back to face Lucien, a little more breezy expression crossing my face as I met his gaze. "I'll be seeing you again in a minute, then?" I said, my voice automatically flirting. That habit needed to stop.

"I should certainly hope so," he replied in a tone that distinctly made me think of velvet; deep, elegant and luxurious, his eyes latched firmly to mine. Again, they shifted downwards after a moment, but his smile didn't dwindle. His gaze only rolled enticingly back to me as moved past, towards his room.

Even after the door closed, I still felt the warm rush of blood that had risen to my face, a blush undeniably caused again by Lucien's signature look, though I was able to retain my smile this time.

It happened every time he looked at me like that, I seemed to remind myself.

I broke myself off from concentrating on this fact as I turned my attention to getting to my room's door, pulling the strap of my bag over my shoulder closer as I did. I felt a couple of cold stares as I walked past a small group of seated Nords, but nothing more threatening came from them but muttering under their breath. They would never recognise me, but I doubted they could even fully make out my face judging by how slurred their speech was. They possibly didn't even remember what they had just said.

The inn room itself was rather cramped, with too much furniture put in an already tight enough space. A clunky wardrobe which looked more like a glorified cupboard was on the left wall immediately after the door, a large chest of drawers on the right, followed then by what appeared to be a replica of a treasure chest, an finally, opposite that, was a bed. Based on any of my standards, this straw-stuffed mattress covered with a pelt blanket would have been hideous, awful, in fact. But it felt like such a long time since the last time I actually seen a bed, and just knowing that I wouldn't be freezing cold when I woke up, that my eyes saw it as luxury. Taking things for granted was well beyond me now.

I swung the door shut before tossing my bag onto the surface of the drawers, then making an immediate move towards the bed, promptly allowing my legs to relinquish their strength as I collapsed onto the cover of soft fur. That overwhelming feeling of no responsibility surfaced again, sweeter than before as my head sank into the equally furry pillow behind me, staring up at the beamed roof, which, when focused on enough, could be seen too have small gaps in it to reveal the thatched exterior.

I must have been in that trance for a couple of minutes or so, feeling the uneasiness of missed time that came with tiredness as I shook out of it, reminding myself that I couldn't remain in this state forever. There was the matter of the dinner that Lucien was paying for, after all. Well, he hadn't said that outright, but it came with the offer itself.

Why was I so jittery all of a sudden?

I heard myself groan as I rolled onto my feet, almost having to drag my legs forward as they realised they had to stand again, if only for a short time. Opening up the drawstring pack that lay slumped on the wooden surface, I managed - crumpled up at the bottom of it - the clothes: a now slightly faded green tunic, black fitted trousers and leather boots soft enough to be folded and not crushed. Instinct told me to keep the weapons belt on as well, but just containing the ebony dagger rather than the silver longsword; if anyone caused trouble they wouldn't be expecting such a small blade to be so deadly, especially in the unpractised hands which most normal people were accustomed to.

There was another thought that made itself known then, one I perceived as ridiculous, but present all the same; as though it had been hiding in the corner of a room while others went about their business, ignoring it for a reason fully understood to them all, except myself that was. It was an odd enough doubt as to whether or not this outfit was good enough; whether others would deem it tasteful; whether…Lucien would like it.

The question of whether other people would care that deeply about what I looked like was more than common - almost everyone had some sort of insecurity about themselves - and I'd written that concern off a long time ago: if they didn't like it, they could simply deal with it. But the ridiculous part was that I must have had such an unnoticed care about how Lucien thought of me.

But this was Lucien. The very same who this morning had seen me with - what I discovered to be - matted hair stuck up on one side from having just woken up; the same Lucien who I had first met as a scrawny fugitive petrified by any noise I heard; the one who had been visiting the Cheydinhal Sanctuary at the very same instant I'd arrived back from the Imperial Prison contract to kill Valen Dreth - the guards had chased me for so long, and I had been exhausted by the time I'd lost them. So exhausted that I hadn't noticed a tree root while I was running, and had tripped over it into wet mud, made so by the rain earlier in the day.

I remembered that I'd stumbled in through the Sanctuary door after having walked past the Cheydinhal gate guards, who had given me more than curious glances, with the then dry dirt encrusted on my armour, the side of my face and partly in my hair. I must have looked just stunning. The Khajiit, M'raaj Dar, had caught people's attention by beginning to burst with laughter over my appearance, which I attempted to ignore as I made my way towards Vicente; as if I needed to tell him the contract was completed. Lucien had been talking to him, probably with a new batch of jobs in need to be handed out, until he turned his head to see me in my bedraggled state, an unusual yet gratified smile immediately on his face as his deep hazel eyes trailed questioningly over me. One significant thing I noticed was that Vicente seemed to still be talking to him for a few moments before he realised the distraction.

"I'm not sure if I remember that being part of the contract description, sister," he declared, poorly stifling a chuckle as I gazed back with a feeble try of pretending that I wasn't caked in the worse parts of nature. "I assume the contract is completed, though?"

"Well, the target's dead, and the guards are completely unaware it was anything to do with us, so yes," I quipped in an exasperated tone. "I had to go right back the way I came because one of them wouldn't get out the way of the door."

"I take it some of them saw you?"

"Yeah."

"But none of them are dead?"

"No."

Vicente smiled with a certain pride that made his vampiric red eyes glow. "That really is excellent work," he continued, still beaming, "I shall go and retrieve your reward - just a moment."

As he turned towards the stony corridor which led to his quarters, Vicente caught Lucien's eye with a strangely sly and knowing grin as he left the two of us to talk. I still didn't quite understand it even now, and I hadn't ever bothered to ask, but it had resulted in a sceptical and silencing raise of one eyebrow from Lucien in reply.

I'd spotted Antoinetta lurking around the corridor as I watched Vicente disappear down it, gazing at Lucien in manner which reminded me of how a horse might look at an apple if temporarily starved from them; but thinking of it now, it was more like how wolf might eye a herd of elk. Either way, it was unnerving.

"Doing well, I see," he observed with a voice of rich velvet, tugging his gaze to mine, though his smile was a little less uncontrolled. "If mildly lacking in dexterity, I might add."

His was the only comment I found myself smiling at that day, even if it had reminded me of task I had of having to clean all the dirt off of me. "Despite that," I began in a mock-proud but charming tone, "Why wouldn't I be? I like it here."

"And it's certainly good having you here," he answered, sounding like he'd carved those words carefully in his calming tone, then flirtatiously directed a half-smile in my direction, "It's also proving rather entertaining for me."

If he'd said that now, I would have felt comfortable enough to shove his arm or something like that, but I hardly knew him then.

I'd dropped my gaze, though still unable to let my grin retreat, not really sure how to carry on any conversation while I still looked the way I did. "Well, the next time I decide to fall over a tree root, you're welcome to come along and see how entertaining it really is," I replied, off-guard of what even my own voice was doing.

Lucien's eyes gained a backlight of a now familiar devilish charm. "That does sound like an inviting offer," he declared smoothly, enough of an amiable tone in his answer to assure me that he wasn't being entirely serious.

Even then I'd like the way his eyes had settled on me, the same blush in my face as always as I'd smiled my parting acknowledgement and gone to find Vicente, and obviously to go change clothes after that. I still harboured the warm if yet slightly obvious feeling I had while his gaze was glued to my back.

It felt like decades had flown by since then, as though I'd aged without knowing how long ago it had been. I'd had to do that before, but I hadn't needed to think about anyone other than myself recovering from it. Everything in my perception had been altered, all except for Lucien.

By Sithis, I detested how quickly feelings could rise and fall in my mind recently.

I managed to shrug it off as quickly as it had materialised though - I'd had quite enough melancholia for one day. I got dressed into the clothes I'd picked out, leaving the sword against the wall before pushing down the remainder of the ill-timed nerves and exiting the room, swinging the door lightly to a close behind me.

The tavern was as busy as it had been, although the one significant difference was that the two Nord women had left, and without the Dunmer man, I was proud to see. The disappointment could practically be felt radiating from him even as I looked around the large room. Lucien wasn't out yet. It was strange being the first to an arrangement I hadn't organised.

Fast enough, I spotted an empty table on the far wall to my right, albeit that it was nearer the door than any others, so therefore would be colder when it opened. That was probably why everyone else had vacated to the opposite row of tables save for the unfortunate few who couldn't find a place, or others who would have gone if their friend had; they were stuck getting cold against their will. But, despite that, I didn't want to be positioned directly in the light of the hearth fire for fear of having even one of our faces remembered by someone, so the lonely, shadowed, cold table it had to be. I took a precautionary glance back around with a habit of stealth, simply making sure nobody was watching with any intent. There was still nothing as I began to turn in the table's direction, but I'd gazed too long in one area, and the Dunmer man with the brown ponytail glimpsed me straight in the eye.

Even just in that brief moment before I averted my sight, focusing instead on moving forward, the truth of why I'd found his manner so familiar was obvious; I hadn't needed a confirming glance; I'd know the look anywhere. A muted gasp of both shock and anguish had caught in my throat as the recognition shot through me as a current of lightning, hate, repulsion and despair breaking off from it like branches shoved through a ribcage. Of all places, of all provinces he had chosen here. In my mind, I thought of driving the ebony dagger through his throat, or snapping his neck, and yet any option was ruled out in the current context. At the same time, I felt like scolding myself for not seeing who he was sooner, immediately even, but as long as I didn't draw attention to myself he shouldn't bother me again - though that was something I'd promised a long time ago already. I simply hoped he hadn't fully recognised me, even if it was a long shot. I had changed quite a lot since then, and clearly, he hadn't.

Just at this possibility of a dip in my anxiety, an all too sly voice cut through the otherwise bubbly atmosphere of the inn from directly behind me. "Elenar?"

I halted, knowing he'd only continue to follow me if I had pretended not to hear. My nerves shuddered in unison for a second as the concept of turning to face him became a reality. But I simply recalled that - in status at least - I was higher up than he had ever been to anyone. One of the people under my god's rule could strike him down in a heartbeat. His Tribunal of living gods were gone. He was stronger, and yet I was the killer here. This was precisely why I only gave my worst fears the time it took before I looked up into those sickeningly arrogant red eyes, and only then did I tear them from my conscience, replaced by the best confidence I could put on.

"Merlyn," I acknowledged coldly, tightly folding my arms, "How utterly delightful to see you."

Merlyn scowled briefly, but this negativity didn't put off that one track mind of his. Attempting a charming smirk was never going to work as well as it had all that time ago; now I only saw the sharp features of his face grinding into an expression which would have had such good intentions on anyone else. It still didn't appear natural even now he'd grown a dark stubble in an effort of softening it, but in his eyes was the believed superiority shining through the shield of crimson in his gaze.

I wouldn't dare look away. If I did, then the last thing I'd heard him say before now would be, in his head, true.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with a hint of hostility, still smiling.

I gave a small mocking smile in return. "Well, last time I checked I was allowed to travel," I replied, glaring, "Or don't you think so?"

To think I once thought that I loved him.

"Let's not get angry, shall we?" he retorted patronisingly - he did enjoy that - though I gave no inkling that it had any effect. Conceitedly, he took it as an admission to continue in the very same tone. "It has been a long time."

"Clearly not long enough," I answered in the most light-hearted dismissal I could manage, watching his highly raised eyebrows drop a little as my smile grew that bit wider. "Now, if you'll just excuse my detestation of you, I'll just be - "

'Going,' was what I would have said as I began to move away, believing I'd gained the upper hand, but he'd quickly pulled on my arm to spin me back around. He didn't do it hard enough to appear aggressive, and yet not soft enough to tell me of any warm intent. It wasn't enough to draw attention to any of this, but then again, they didn't know Merlyn; no one could see what I knew.

"Isn't that a bit rude?" he asked in a shrewd and snake-like voice before I shrugged out of his loose but forceful grasp.

"Aren't you a bit desperate?" I snapped back, a tone of the most quietly controlled contempt possible, "You're, what? Trying it on with an ex you just recognised because you couldn't screw yourself through the rest of the evening with those two Nords?" Fury lit up like flame sparks in his eyes, so I continued; it was nice to watch him squirm. "In case you hadn't realised in the past few years, we are done. My judgement of you hasn't changed."

"Oh, I don't doubt what you think," he replied as though I'd told a joke. The look in his eyes that followed unsettled me more than any of this surreal experience had - that flare of anger had turned more sour, and in response, had transformed again into something which could turn sinister. It flickered through his vision as lightning amongst already darkened clouds as his gaze trailed over me far too confidently. "Although I don't recall actually agreeing to any breaking up."

Of course he hadn't. All he'd done was listen to my reasoning and then hit me for being 'impudent'. It wasn't the first strike he'd given me, but it was the first one where other people were around. I didn't know at what point this man's arrogance ended, considering that he was now under the impression that I'd be so weak as to do his bidding again. He wouldn't be getting his wish.

Unfortunately, I had absolutely no reply at hand for him, but nor did I want to answer either. I would have liked to simply threaten him to stay away, but wouldn't have done it discreetly enough to guarantee that no one would remember my being here. Where in Oblivion was Lucien when I actually wanted the back-up?

I'd just begun moving away again in another attempt of shaking him off, since there wasn't much else I could do but glower at him with disgust, when I saw a movement in the left side of my peripheral vision, which quickly became the second time Merlyn had reached out to pull me back towards him. It was one too many times, sod who chose to pay attention; they all appeared far too intoxicated anyway. As soon as I felt the touch of his fingers so much as brush the skin of my upper arm I pivoted towards him, the dagger in my left hand even though I wasn't aware of when it was unsheathed. I stepped forward to him myself, the blade's tip pressed firmly against his chest as he became fleetingly paralysed with shock, his expression one of a bully who was surprised that the cat he'd been kicking had claws. I angled my body sideways by the slightest amount, easily shielding the glint that the dagger made from the roaring fire out of others' sight.

"Touch me again, Merlyn, and you risk being flayed," I half whispered as well as hissed, staring with as much malice as I felt in my head. The hate went back so far I wondered at how it had survived along with everything else that had happened.

A flicker of trying-to-be-contained fear entered his expression, hopefully imagining what flaying would actually feel like. "Now, now, let's not bring weapons into this," he almost stammered in his proud tone, looking like he was attempting to come up with something to get himself out of being humiliated. His eyes scanned the room as he paused, still thinking until some unseen inspiration found its way to him, making me more than a little worried. I had reminded myself before not to underestimate Merlyn's intelligence, ill-used as it was. Whenever there seemed to be a spark of revelation or question that I could see in his face, bad things would usually follow.

"Although," he began with a wicked gaze and a smirk, his demeanour suddenly more relaxed, "Considering that you don't seem to want to be noticed, I don't think I'm under much threat."

That overwhelmingly recognisable tone of control was there in his closing sentence, and was the very reason I could tell that he wasn't speaking with empty words. I was a killer unable to kill; my power was gone where he was concerned. But only here, only now. How opportune for him.

I couldn't let Merlyn see a shred of anxiety, no glimmer of any reason I could be afraid, but eyes can betray even the most stoic of people if you knew what you were looking for. He knew. He always knew. I wanted to search the room for Lucien, wouldn't dare break eye contact.

Merlyn's eyes lit up again at the prospect that he was right. "I thought as much." He tried to move forward, but since I hadn't let the blade retreat, he realised that wouldn't be happening. "Now, why don't you just do as I say, or perhaps I'll tell them that you had planned on attacking me in the first place. What do you say?"

I didn't know whether I would have sliced through torso cartilage if he'd come any closer, or act on the wrong instincts by repeating how submissive I'd been forced to be during every instance of this before, though I'd hoped for my own sake that it would have been the former. Ever so thankfully, I hadn't needed to make either choice.

"Is there a good reason why you're bothering her?"

I didn't think I'd ever been so relieved to hear Lucien's voice before, and it was ever more perfect when Merlyn's face contorted into a wave of terror before he swivelled around to defend himself against this composed growl of a tone.

As soon as my line of vision was unblocked, the tightness which had been gradually forming in my throat immediately released its hold the moment I caught his gaze; shifting from fierce to soft as it moved from Merlyn, to me, and hesitantly back to Merlyn again. Lucien leant against one of the carved wood beams that rose to the roof, arms folded loosely across him. Anyone else might believe that he appeared relaxed, but I'd spent enough time with him to conclude the opposite: his arms may have been nonchalantly crossed, but the hand that was visible was clenched into a fist. The usual robe had been replaced with an unfitted, loose black shirt, not fully tightened by the criss-crossing cord at its collar, leaving a triangular gap at the top of his chest. There was also a relatively large amulet around his neck, the one contribution of colour within the all-black outfit, including what looked like fine soft leather trousers and boots. It was a vivid emerald green on its circular base, though the Breton design of a triquetra interlaced with its border glowed in the firelight with silver. There was another darker green shape in the centre of the amulet, but I couldn't make it out from here.

"What business is it of yours, Imperial?" Merlyn asked, his teeth gritted with frustration.

Lucien returned a small mocking smile. "Breton-Imperial; do get your facts right before a demand," he advised with ironic charm. "But, to answer your such well-mannered question, I would like to think that even if I wasn't travelling with her, I'd still choose to assist against the likes of you."

He flashed a brief glance towards me with assurance, then to the dagger I still held. Smiling with a hint of approval but raising his eyebrows, I decided on sheathing it again as he glared back at Merlyn for a response.

Merlyn looked rather confounded, and although he stood half a head above Lucien, there was no doubt as to who held the power in this exchange. "It would happen that we're old acquaintances," he stressed, expecting to get some sort of reaction that he could work from. Lucien didn't quite give him what he wanted.

"And who would you be?"

"Merlyn," I interjected scornfully, "This is Merlyn."

Fortunately the remembrance passed between us, and Lucien hadn't simply forgotten his name from the previous night; a mixed expression of contempt and anticipation of what he might say now, considering what I had told him. As he caught my eye again, it seemed to be that he was silently questioning how far he could go with this opportunity. My small smile in reply allowed him free rein as he turned his attention back to him.

"You're Merlyn, then," Lucien declared in a matching tone to mine, "Strange - we were just talking about you yesterday."

Merlyn's expression changed to one of both bewilderment and, as part of his natural vanity, intrigue. "Really?"

"From what I hear you're nothing worth mentioning," Lucien answered as a red flame reflected in the usually soft glaze of his eyes, the smile yielding from his face. "I also don't think an acquaintance on good terms with someone would possibly take a knife to them."

Merlyn went to protest, but soon shrunk back when Lucien pushed off of the pillar, defensively trying to steer him in the other direction.

"I'm going to make this very clear in case you just don't understand," he uttered in low voice, calm, cold, and controlling, "You don't talk to her, you don't touch her; so much as look at her again and we'll be continuing this discussion outside. Now, do you think that's possible?"

Merlyn sneered at him, like he was far too important to comply with such rules, although it appeared he was doing all he could not to look in my direction as he took a step backwards. "I suppose it has to be," he said begrudgingly, "But you'll have to trust her to do the same."

Within an instant, Lucien moved towards him again, at first not seeming as though he'd stop at just that. I couldn't tell whether 'flattering' was the word for it or not, but it certainly wasn't the one for Merlyn, the man who used cleverly ordered sentences to get what he wanted. Even after all this time, he still hadn't come across anyone who had considered using force against him, so today must have been quite the learning curve.

"I would have thought not to insult her should go unsaid," Lucien almost snarled; it reminded me of a wolf forcing an outsider away from the pack. "Unless opening your throat would make it more obvious?"

Merlyn looked as though the message had finally passed through that thick skull of his, backing away at long last. That wasn't before he got a final word in though: "She's not worth that."

As soon as he'd skulked back into his room on the other side of the bar, I could have let out a sob of relief: I wanted him nowhere near me. Even that first grab he'd made had been ice, though not because of physical coldness. Snow and ice had the same purpose as Merlyn, to smother the summer months until you'd forgotten what warmth felt like, making you feel so awful that you ended up thinking it was your own illness ruining you instead of it. I'd melted those memories once; I didn't need another winter.

"When I said 'unappreciative', it may have been an understatement," Lucien angrily uttered as he edged over to me, finally taking his stony glare from Merlyn's door before stopping at my side, leaning against another beam that I happened to be standing next to. "Name-calling was a pastime of his, I take it?"

"Oh, one his favourite pastimes," I replied with what little humour would surface, though it left behind a smile on its way up. I turned to Lucien, meeting his beautiful but now quiet eyes, watching mine with both caution and concern. "You didn't have to do that."

He smiled with a warm exasperation. "You can't tell me to stay out of everything, though I am aware that you're fully capable," he continued, "But there's really nothing wrong with a little protection."

I knew he meant well, but I couldn't help but grin at his misunderstanding. "That's lovely, Lucien, but it's not what I meant," I explained, looking back into his eyes with further appreciation. "There's a lot of people who aren't prepared to threaten for someone else, let alone defend. I'm just saying, well…thank you."

I found myself quite unable to look away from him, which may have also caused my struggle for words. In turn, his gaze became locked, if only for a few moments where some awareness of the world was abandoned; the bellowing laughter that came from the Nord miners was muffled, even their words or the crashing together of tankards was gone. It seemed nothing strange anymore, being lost in his gaze, and yet once I'd believed it something that shouldn't be done - Antoinetta had told me something about not staring the boss, at least. The most disappointing emotion I had was when I had to look down again, a smile tugging at my mouth as a flushed feeling rose to my face.

I hated having to look away.

At almost the same moment, Lucien's eyes had dropped, though I didn't know when they'd settled again on me since I couldn't look back until I was sure I wasn't red anymore. When I did glance to him, it seemed a new question had emerged from his mind, and was prodding at the inside of his head until he asked.

"What did he do, Elenar?" he eventually murmured with care, looking a little apologetic as he spoke. "By no means do you have to explain everything, but you wouldn't pull a blade on someone for no reason."

I thought he'd be questioning me about that soon enough. I had no issue with answering, simply that I had to say the words. Putting a sentence together would mean that I'd have to be thinking of its content, and I couldn't face his expression as I did.

"On the day I'd decided to leave him, I'd started for Silgrad early, before anyone else was awake. Even if I'd be facing him on his home turf, I didn't care; I just couldn't have him around me for a second longer," I went on, recollecting it as easily as if it were the present. "He used to call me weak, and I'd been so gullible as to believe him. He made me think I needed him, so I was about to prove the opposite of both those things. I don't actually remember what I said, just that it worked.

"I didn't think he'd do anything to protest because I'd caught him in the middle of a marketplace, but it didn't stay his hand from my face. Had a mark there for days, but when it was gone, knew he was too."

I swallowed back the compression in my throat as I gave him a small smile and tried to look back in his eyes. His gaze was so full of compassion and fire that it was hard to focus so directly.

It wasn't something I'd seen in anyone else.

Luckily, my vision again fell on the triquetra hanging by a silver chain, saving me from the unusual feeling I had after that little story being reflected back at me, and yet now it looked like I was staring at his chest. Not helpful for either of us, it appeared. But, from this distance, I saw that that the darker shape in the amulet was a four-leafed clover, the tiny veins of it delicately etched on with a pale yellow.

"Where did you get that?" I asked, genuinely curious since I suspected it wasn't something in mass production; clearing my throat briefly as our eyes met again.

It was off-topic, I knew, and it confused him for a moment, but we both also knew that it was simply a subject change for the better. Lucien then smiled, his eyes lighting up over the fact that I was actually interested.

As he lifted it slightly and looked down at it, there was a longing that crept into his smile. "Lillian and I both got an identical one when we turned thirteen, but I assumed they were specifically made somewhere," he recounted, twirling it around in his hand, "The clover is our family symbol, since it means luck; the triquetra in the circle means protection, and can enhance magic, so I was told." He peered back at me with a subdued affection, letting the symbol fall back into place while he easily managed to grasp my gaze for an extremely long couple of seconds. "Would you like that dinner now?"

I certainly remembered agreeing, I remembered ordering, and then walking with him to the table, but if someone was planning on quizzing me the next day on what we talked about, I would have no answer. My speech was acting automatically, replying and questioning when it knew to do so, but my mind was somewhere else, constantly replaying things that I'd not once given a second thought.

This had begun just after Merlyn was out of sight, but had slowly become more distracting. The ignition had been the very fact of how perfectly Lucien had chosen to step in, and I knew, not simply thought that Merlyn would never have done the same, not for anyone. It occurred then that I knew that not one of the people I'd supposedly been in a caring relationship with would have done the same.

But I'd admitted even to Lucien that they hadn't loved me, even when I thought I loved them. As well as that, they'd known almost nothing about me, whereas Lucien knew practically everything.

I couldn't even recall looking at them in the same way I looked at him either, not with the same intense reaction. Every gaze seemed to expel the world, each smile the most sincere it could be. The first moment I'd seen his smile was carved into my memories as if with a chisel, even if I had been threatening to kill him at the time. Yet I'd agreed to his terms, joined the Brotherhood, all because I had his word that the offer was genuine. He could have been an extremely well-informed sellsword, in addition to being rather charming, but I'd trusted him. I'd trusted him more than anyone I'd ever met even then, and he hadn't even known my name for most of that time. Even his voice had haunted me. But then, it always seemed to.

While all this unravelled through my head without much meaning as of yet, it seemed that in his eyes, Lucien was grasping for something; something he knew of; something he thought was important, and yet each time there was a pause in conversation and he tried to speak, whatever words lay in his throat recoiled and caused just silence. But, although I didn't exactly know what it was about, I continued the dialogue, because I liked the time I spent with him too much to have it be just empty.

I truly liked it; loved it, even.

When I'd wandered into the Sanctuary covered in dirt that day, probably nothing would have made me more happy than seeing him there as well, when I asked myself again. If anyone could have given me the dead-drop orders I would probably have still chosen him. Even this surreal time we'd spent running from a psychotic vengeful traitor, I'd accepted it because it was him, as well as down to protecting him.

But I had chosen that role myself.

I could admit that in my life I had never really chosen to be a truly selfless person, and yet for Lucien's sake that motto was ash in the wind. I could protect him and myself because Lucien seemed to actually be thankful for it. He looked at me like he wanted me there, acted as though I was someone who mattered to him. I'd chosen to protect him because he mattered to me, and I wanted him with me.

And then it struck me, and somehow panicked me a little. I'd realised why my gaze sometimes mirrored his; why exactly I reacted when I did when he looked so intensely; why that perfect smile of his was so memorable, and perhaps why it was so perfect when I saw it. There was a reason I hadn't wanted that Helgen tavern girl near him, and for the frequent feeling of disappointment I'd finally deciphered.

The people I'd expected to love me hadn't, but perhaps the one I hadn't, could.

Those same people were the ones I'd thought I loved, and never had. I cared so deeply and instinctively for Lucien and thought it wasn't the verb that so many others might call the feeling.

I panicked because the notion of it came so quickly, as though my mind believed that I deserved it for being so delayed with realisation. But I could allow myself that: it wasn't an emotion I'd ever felt so like this, but I hadn't believed that would be its title. To think, I had to process this and the concept that it may not have been one sided. I went back through my unravelled thoughts which I imagined to lay as a tangled ribbon before reaching the conclusion.

I may have wondered, even hoped now and again whether Lucien in fact felt something stronger behind the seemingly playful flirting and indulgent stares, but now it felt as though I had known and told myself otherwise. I hadn't believed what it truly was because I had never known it like that.

But I'd never loved them. I loved him.

This final thought lingered within me as my consciousness returned to the real world where I was listening to his soft voice filling in his part of the conversation, though I still couldn't have known what he was saying. It appeared that a new light had fallen over my vision, or rather that a veil had been torn away. It wasn't much different than before, but it revealed to me that instead of just realising how he might care for me, my eyes suddenly able to spot signs I'd ignored, or thought nothing of because I thought them all to be simply in Lucien's character. I'd not seen this behaviour around, for example, Antoinetta, who had practically begged him for affection. No wonder she had tried to warn me away from him.

As his hazel eyes scanned mine with question, noticing my absent stare, all I could do was allow a new smile to appear on my face as a thought I never could have anticipated came to mind: I'd actually needed Merlyn to show me that I felt something do positive. But not for him of course.

It was after even the innkeeper had left that one of us decided we had to sleep at some point. It was just outside my room's door that Lucien stopped with me to say his goodnights, gazing deeply and somewhat longingly into my eyes, an idea brimming before he spoke, but waveringly retreating at the last moment.

"I'll see you in the morning," he declared smoothly in mocking formal tone, a flirtatious half-smile on his face.

For the first time in a very long time, I returned something that was quite similar to a short giggle. It may have been him, or it may have been the couple of glasses of Alto Wine I'd also ordered. "Likewise," I replied in the same tone.

While I wasn't concentrating, I suddenly realised that he'd reached out and put my right hand in his, which he brought towards him and kissed, eyes never breaking the hold they had on mine. Both the kiss and his eyes lingered for possibly a second more than he intended, and it felt like he was assessing my reaction before he pulled my hand away. Inside I was ecstatic, and by Sithis did I want to kiss him, but if I let that take over on the surface then I believed that I'd lose how exquisite this moment really was. I kept his gaze, smiling just enough so that he knew it was fine, while it seemed he was refusing to let go of my hand.

Eventually his gaze dropped for the briefest instant, rising again only to speak. "Sleep well," he smiled, turning with reluctance towards his room.

When I finally did close my door and lie down, it was all I could do not to - for the second time since I'd met him - relay his voice in my head, watching the entire evening's events again until exhaustion got the better of me.