Note: So, I really like the Dark Brotherhood. You've probably guessed that by now. But really, who doesn't? I mean, you get freakin' badass armor, and that grumpy horse, and all that! What more could a girl want? What's that? Friends? Of course I have friends, don't be ridiculous *insert nervous laugh*. Enjoy.
"We've met."
"Of course we have, Laul. Don't you remember me?"
"No."
"Why, I'm offended!" The man sounded amused. Gareth felt anger rising, and his magic began to broil in his fingertips. But no use wasting it now. He'd have to wait until he had a clear idea where the insufferable bastard was.
"Get out of here now, or I set fire to your thick skull," he growled, raising his hand. The man tittered, sighing.
"Manners, manners. Of course I'll be out of here, but first, the proposition," he cleared his throat. "I'm going to ask you to join the Dark Brotherhood. I'm not going to force you, or drag you back to the base, or anything. Just going to ask."
"Oh, really? And if I say no?" Gareth could hear the faint swish of breath beneath a hood.
"You won't." The man sounded infuriatingly sure.
"Yeah? Try me."
Another chuckle.
"If you say no, I'll be forced to...persuade you. That pretty girl? How's she doing right now? Rid of her drinking problem?"
"You shut up about her, you son of a–" Gareth had to force the fire back down into his palm, breathing heavily.
"And your poor, elderly father, Captain of the Bravil Guard. Such a shame, those slippery docks. They're an accident bound to happen."
Gareth could barely think. Panic bit at the back of his skull, and his vision was fuzzy with rage. It wouldn't happen, not again, not like Lathon. he wouldn't let it.
There was a silence. A dark, heavy silence. The candle flickered, and spat.
"And if I say yes?" he said, quietly.
"Good boy. You just meet me in Cheydinhal. A bit of boarded windows here, some broken glass there, answer a question, and you're in," There was a definite pop, and a flapping of a coat. "Nighty-night now, Laul. I'll be expecting you in a month's time."
The candle went out with a gust of sudden, unexplainable wind.
• • • • • • •
The young woman had gotten used to Lathon Litte by now. He was a chatty fellow, and handsome. Too bad, she mused, that he was dead like her.
"You've been following Gareth and Laenafil?" he laughed, one night, seated next to her on an empty crate in the Market District, watching the beggars. "Well, I can't say they aren't interesting."
The young woman smiled sadly. She let her arm float a little, and merge into the crate. They sat in silence for a bit, then, as the moon rose higher and higher in the deep velvet sky, they sat up.
Gareth was walking home. The beggars and the thieves melted from the shadows, hungry for loose change or blood.
The young woman let herself rise a bit. Lathon followed, grinning. It was a nightly routine, one purely to amuse themselves, and spare Gareth the trouble of taking out a few scrappy scoundrels. It would weigh on his conscience, Lathon explained. Best for us to handle it.
Lathon went first. He grabbed the nearest beggar by the scruffy shirtfront, and shook him slightly. The old man, confused, took a stumbling step back. He dropped his rusty dagger, mouth ajar, and eyes wide with fear.
"T-Talos, help me!" he moaned, scrambling backwards, as Lathon loomed above him, doubled-up in laughter. "He's a d-demon!"
Gareth didn't even stop. He just spared the hunched-over thief a sideways, quizzical glance.
The young woman circled the large girl, who was swiping the air around her with her bent longsword, snarling.
"Dammit! Get away from me, you creeper!" She stared, terrified, at the blank-faced Gareth. Then, whimpering, she darted off.
Lathon and the young woman shared a last, lengthy laugh, and watched as Gareth walked safely away, looking over his shoulder with a look of almost mournful amusement on his face.
Lathon turned towards his fellow ghost.
"Same time tomorrow night?" he asked, drifting back down to the dusty crates. She nodded. "By the way, you never told me your name."
"Oh. I'm...Rose, I think." She said, somewhat dreamily. Was that her name? She could hardly remember anything, besides the fire, the Daedra, the sky stained with the blood of thousands.
"Rose," Lathon grinned again. He seemed to do so often. "I like that." And he floated off, waving at her with a pale blue hand.
If Rose hadn't been concentrated on that last, fleeting wave, a warm fluttering feeling coming over her, she might have noticed who was walking beneath her. She might have seen, if only briefly, a dark cloak and a pale face, as the man in black opened an inn's door, and slipped inside.