Random Point: See if you can spot the 300 quote in this chapter. I watched the film while writing it so I figured it would creep it's way in somehow.

Observation: Since everyone is making such a fuss about their hit counts, I thought I'd point out some of mine, especially since my story is longer. Therefore, take note, this is what your story shall become. I have just over 2000 hits, almost 800 of which are on the first chapter compared to only 200 on chapter 2 - almost half my hits are in the 1st two chapters. Chapter 20 has a measly 20 hits, 19 has over 50. So, all you people pointing them out, don't feel hard done by, in 500 hits time this will be my most popular story!

Chapter 21

The Khajiit was boxing in the concealed room within his house when the assassin came calling. She peered around the doorway while shrouded with a chameleon charm to catch sight of him throwing deadly-looking punches at a training dummy while dressed only in a pair of leather trousers and wearing some leather gauntlets.

A smile graced her thin blue lips as she reached into her black armour and silently pulled out a silver dagger inlayed with obsidian and tapered into a deadly point; it had been a gift when she had first entered the Brotherhood, her Blade of Woe.

She crept behind her mark as he landed a fierce right hook on the training stand which appeared to groan with the strain of remaining in one piece and rocked away from the blow in protest. The Dunmer had her knife to his throat in an instant, enjoying the way in which J'Ghasta's body stiffened upon feeling the sharp object against it and unconcerned that her chameleon spell wore off.

"Why do you visit me?" the boxer asked simply, his voice portraying no emotion.

Idari grinned beneath her hood. Though the Khajiit was considerably taller than her she had the obvious advantage of holding the dagger and was thus in complete control, or so she thought. "Sithis wants your soul," she whispered into a furry ear, using her acting skills to mask her thick Morrowind accent as she spoke.

"Sithis?" her target asked in obvious surprise, the first telltale signs of anger beginning to amass in his voice. "What is this treachery?"

Treachery? The concept was odd and impossible but it made the Dunmer pause a moment long enough for an elbow to make contact with her stomach and a paw to grab her wrist and disarm her. Idari roared in frustration, her gut throbbing painfully as the Khajiit braced up to throw another punch. She drew a silver shortsword instinctively, holding it high despite the almost crippling pain, and awaited his first move.

J'Ghasta threw a punch skillfully and the assassin only just managed to avoid it crashing into her neck and almost certainly breaking it. She brought her sword up in defence and slashed back at the boxer with coordinated precision, drawing a little blood from his left bicep that dripped down onto the hard floor unceremoniously.

"Who sent you here assassin?" the Khajiit demanded as his right hook missed her by a fraction of an inch.

"I serve only Sithis," she growled in reply, slipping back into her heavy accent during the heat of battle. This was by far among the toughest of opponents she had faced thus far. Then she loosed a powerful bolt of electricity through his bare chest.

The target's body spasmed involuntarily in protest to the magic coursing through it but shockingly he seemed to make an almost immediate recovery, leaping back up to throw another punch. This jab had less power to it and was delivered at a slow enough pace for the Dark Elf to step out of the way before it made contact with her.

"You are a liar ashlander," J'Ghasta spat, swinging his left fist in her direction before she had a chance to counterattack. "You are a traitor."

Idari gritted her teeth to hold back the anger and slashed at him viciously, causing only minimal damage as he blocked her attacks with his gauntleted fists. His words fell on deaf ears from that point, she took particular exception to being called a traitor no matter what the circumstances were, even if the weight of evidence seemed to be drawing the intelligent part of her brain to reach the conclusion that something was very wrong here.

"I do not take kindly to insults."

Another shock spell zapped from her left hand as she spoke, her right bringing up her sword to slice upwards into his gut as he was temporarily immobilised. "Traitor," the Khajiit whispered as she twisted the sword sadistically to cause him as much pain as possible before the end. He brought up a fist resiliantly and she withdrew her blade in a smooth motion, slicing through his arm until she felt the familiar feeling of metal striking bone.

"Sithis take you," the Dunmer growled at him, using her bloody sword to finish the job that she had started and slitting his throat. His body crumpled into a heap on the floor and she spat on it, aiming a kick at his head before the whole area became too bloodstained for her liking.

Then she retrieved her Blade of Woe from the floor before it became enveloped in the expanding pool on the floor. She didn't sheathe her sword just yet since it was dripping with crimson blood and instead carried it with her out of the secret room beneath the dead Khajiit's house. Looking around, she wiped her sword clean with the black robes that she had thrown across the room, surprised when something hit the floor as she picked them up again.

It was a book, something that she had not previously noticed and yet something she knew she would recognise anywhere. She had a copy of it herself: The Five Tenets. Her initial reaction was one of subdued shock followed by confusion and then ultimately understanding.

"I'm exempted from the tenets," she reminded herself aloud. "Lucien obviously had some reason to make me take care of this liability and I carried out his orders to the letter. I am in no position to be questioning my Speaker." After that she thought nothing more on the subject; in her mind the robes were merely there to conceal the book, something which they seemed to have done well.

It simply never occured to her that a darker destiny was approaching fast.

xxx

The silence was long and enduring, broken some hours later by the obvious and inevitable question of: "So what do we do now then?"

In truth neither the Altmer nor the Argonian had any idea what they ought to be striving to achieve while they sat in the crypt surrounded by mounds of ectoplasm and ancestral bones.

"Wait 'til nightfall," was the easiest answer that they could offer, but it was barely midday and the pair were growing bored already, particularly the Argonian who had no reason to be hiding in the dark anyway.

"Risk it?" Turner suggested unhelpfully. The vampire rejected this idea with little thought at all for he had already experienced the discomfort of being out during sunlight, and that was when the sun was still rising several hours earlier.

Seanturco's own idea was decidedly more morbid. "Lure one of the townsfolk down here, drink their blood and then make it look like an assassination." He didn't mean a word of it literally, he merely wished to make a valid suggestion before he died of boredom.

"I don't think that's a great idea..."

The Altmer shook his head. "No, I didn't either," he chuckled softly. "Besides the only person up there who might be worthy of me was some stuck up Breton. I can't imagine Breton would taste very nice..."

"'Worthy of you'?"

"I'm an Altmer," the vampire shrugged. "It's a social preconception that we think ourselves above others. That's why the Imperials call us 'High Elves'."

"I guess we're stuck here then."

"You're not."

"I'll get mobbed if I go up there and someone sees me," Turner smirked. "Nobody's ever wanted to speak with me before."

Seanturco sat on the stone floor, his back against a pillar that stretched from ceiling to floor and his arms resting gently on his knees. "If you insist on staying here then I suggest you start being honest with me. I usually make a point of knowing who I'm working with."

"Honest?" the Argonian replied, obviously surprised. "There's nothing to say."

"I don't even think that the Hero of Kvatch knows enough about you, so you're obviously lying. You don't have to help me, you don't have to stay, but if you do then I intend to know the truth. For starters your name is obviously made up, other than that... you've kept everyone in the dark."

"Maybe that's the way I like to keep people," Turner replied flatly. "My name is Turner. There is nothing more for me to tell you." Then he sat on the step leading into the crypt from the door and averted his eyes to the ground.

The High Elf continued to press the point. "I have never seen an Argonian with golden eyes before..." he observed. "Perhaps an unusual family trait?"

The assassin glared at him angrily. "And I have never seen a High Elf with red eyes before," he snapped violently. "There is no explanation as to why Argonians usually have bronze eyes, as there is no reason for Dunmer to have red ones, but that does not mean that exceptions like me are unusual or different or..." His voice tapered out to nothingness and he sighed heavily. "I don't know the reason."

Seanturco smiled weakly. "My eyes are not naturally red," he replied with surprising humility. "But it is natural for you to come back with that insult. I apologise for my impertinance, it was out of place and I regret it profusely. Forgive me?"

Turner nodded. "In these dark times we need allies rather than more enemies. At nightfall I'll retrieve my horse and we'll ride to Vahtacen, then we can find this witch and be done with this stupid business of finding a cure, then... Talos knows."

"My guild needs me. The necromancers... Let's just say, the threat is pretty big at the moment so after this I have to go back," the vampire shrugged in reply. "What will you do?"

The Argonian thought for a moment. "The Hero of Kvatch does not need me, but I need her or I'll be useless forever. She shut the gate, I would've died in there if it weren't for her..." Then he sighed heavily. "I'll answer you five questions if you promise not to pry any further into my answers, then you must extend me the same courtesy."

The High Elf was slightly taken aback by this proposal but nonetheless recovered swiftly. "That is perfectly reasonable," he replied, though he had been willing to let the entire episode slide completely. "My first question: how old are you?"

"I was born in 3E414, you can work it out from there," Turner said simply, staring into the ground as he spoke.

"Your parents...?"

"Slaves." Came the reply before the question was even finished. "I don't know who they were, not for definite. They're dead now, almost certainly."

"Your sign?"

Turner cocked his head to one side and gazed at the vampire for a minute or so. "My sign? My birthsign. I don't know precisely. I think it was the Shadow."

Seanturco smirked. "You sound like the Nerevarine; uncertain day, uncertain parents. Let's just hope that that Nord woman got rid of Dagoth Ur once and for all... OK then, what is your profession?"

"That's your fourth question, you know," the Argonian pointed out, his head in his hands now. "To be perfectly honest I've never had one for longer than a year. I've been a sailor, a bard, a beggar, a mage, a manservant, an assassin. Don't hold the assassin against me though, it wasn't my choice."

"How did you come to be associated with the Hero of Kvatch?" the vampire asked, finally airing a question that had been puzzling him for quite some time. "You're complete opposites. She claims she listens to no-one and yet she listens to you."

The assassin considered this claim carefully. "To be honest, I shouldn't be associated with her," he said slowly, thinking about every word that left his mouth. "I should be dead. She should have killed me. I... killed someone, by accident, when she tried to stab me and then... we've been together since then. Our family... she killed them, because she had to, and I was the only one left, and I helped her, and since then... She treats me like dirt but she wouldn't abandon me, she has a strong sense of honour but a clouded sense of right and wrong... I don't think she's had a very good upbringing; better than mine, obviously, but not great. I wouldn't call us friends... acquaintances maybe."

"The Hero of Kvatch supposedly appeared in the Emperor's dreams and he entrusted her a quest before he was killed. I don't know why a Emperor, facing assassination, would trust an assassin like her. It seems... almost irrational," Seanturco viewed his opinion openly, taking care not to phrase it as though he were asking a further question.

"Uriel Septim was a great man," Turner replied stonily. "He must have seen something in her that we mere mortals cannot. It's the Dragonblood. His son will be a great man as well, after this crisis is over. The Dunmer will fix it, she knows how and she isn't the type to trust others, even me, but if the Emperor trusted her... I think we should too. Your turn to answer my questions now, I think."

The Altmer leant back against the wall into a more upright position in readiness for the questions. "That is a fair observation," he said slowly, watching the Argonian's face for traces of emotions that remained hidden and listening closely to his heartbeat for a sign of discomfort.

"I suppose I should start where you did: your age?"

"Older than you, Argonian," he said with an additional smirk. "I was born in 3E406 in Morning Star under the sign of the Ritual. We Altmer take great pride in knowing our birthsigns well."

"Who are your parents?"

Seanturco glanced at the ground momentarily before raising his gaze to focus on the Argonian once again. "My parents were not important people in Altmeri society. They lived in Lillandril and I was their third child. Did you know that nine in every ten Altmer children never reach the age of one because their parents strive for perfection and cull anything less. That's why we're a dying race. They were both low ranking mages. There's only so much you can learn from the Crystal Tower so I came here to further my magic studies... It appears to have been a bit of a mistake on my part."

"What were you like, you know, before you turned?"

"That's a deep question," the High Elf smirked. "I was a typical Altmer, tall, cultured, condescending. I should like to think that these experiences shall change me for the better, but I'm not so sure that they will. I can't change my nature."

There was silence. The clamour upstairs seemed to have died down as well and thus the silence was awkward and seemed to rebound off the stone walls just to remind them of its presence.

"I shall reserve my last two questions for another time," the assassin spoke stiffly. "I don't know what part of nature you have observed in your time, but I assure you this: change is nature; if you claim not to be able to change it then I suggest you think slightly harder about what you were before you turned and reconsider your position. If one cannot change nature then how do you propose we change you back?"

xxx

The snow persisted to the extent that the Dunmeri assassin feared she might be trapped in her target's house until the weather decided to take a break. Then she found herself preparing to leave.

She descended again to the lower floor of J'Ghasta's house to retrieve the black robes that she had wiped with his blood and pulled them on hesitantly, sure that they would provide some protection from the cold at least.

These look like the robes of the Black Hand, her mind remarked to her as she stared down at herself in the unfamiliar clothing for the umpteenth time. Then her mind added: Of course, it is likely that they are merely just black robes. What use would the Black Hand have wearing robes that were obvious in a crowd? Besides, she thought, the only member of the Black Hand I've ever met is Lucien and for all I know he might be being different just for the sake of it.

Then she stole into the snow, interrupting her own chain of thought as the cold bit into her skin and the wind lashed into her face angrily. She left her horse in the shelter of the stables and merely ran through the snow as best she could while casting the occasional heating charm to keep from turning into a lump of ice herself.

Though the snow had merely covered the slippery track up to Cloud Ruler Temple it had actually been made easier to walk on by the extra material available to use as a foothold. Unsurprisingly the Blades were gone from their guardposts, fled out of the weather because they knew all too well that any potential threat wouldn't be stupid enough to attack at this time anyway. The weather was just too treacherous.

The gates were shut and impossible to open due to the weight of snow on either side, but the now irate Dunmer simply levitated over the wall instead of staying to dwell upon such trivial matters as a door holding her back.

The Blades leapt in shock when the doors flew open in the middle of the snowstorm to reveal a figure in long robes in silhouette. A few reached for their swords suspecting the Mythic Dawn and those that didn't remained on high alert.

"Where is Martin?" the figure demanded angrily, further confirming the worst suspicions of the soliders around her.

"Peace men," a soldier at the back commanded with an air of authority above the others in the room, raising a hand to symbolise a cease in their actions. He had recognised her accent easily. "It is the Hero of Kvatch."

"Captain, where is Martin?" the Hero demanded again, anger rising with every word.

Captain Steffan nodded. "He's in his quarters. Cyrus will take you," he said, gesturing to a Redguard Blade to his left. "Please be sure to make your presence known to Jauffre when you get up there. He doesn't like unsanctioned visits to the Emperor under any circumstances, but I'm sure he shall provide you permission."

"He'd better," the Hero growled, shooting a glare at the Imperial before her. "I did not come all the way here in a snowstorm to be turned away by some foolish Breton who ought to be taken down a peg or two at the first opportunity. Well what are you waiting for?" she snapped at the Redguard that Steffan had indicated. The Blade jumped to attention instinctively and began leading her towards the door. "And I hope for all our sakes that leaving this place unguarded because of a little snow is the right decision to make." She left the Captain considering her words and followed the Blade out of the room.

She had been to Martin's quarters before and this time was different. Cyrus led her up the wooden walkway at a pace that she considered to be far too slow and then paused to clear her admission with Jauffre. By the time he had agreed she had already forced her own way inside.

Martin was pouring over a book that was laid out flat on a desk by the light of a small candle while surrounded by a host of other books piled in stacks around him. Baurus sat nearby, rubbing his eyes with weariness but still more alert than most of the Blades who were huddled from the weather downstairs.

The Redguard frowned when he saw the robed figure in the doorway, even though he could tell exactly who she was. "You took your time," he said in a low voice, but still just loud enough to draw a flinch from the Emperor as his attention was pulled back to reality.

The assassin allowed this comment. "An Oblivion Gate opened outside Skingrad," he explained briefly. "I was in no position to just leave it. My departure was delayed by perhaps a day or two." Though she still would not bring herself to stoop to a simple 'sorry'.

"Greetings Champion," the Imperial man said quietly, his voice laiden with fatigue and stress almost beyond comparison. The large black rings that had formed beneath his eyes were further evidence of this fact. "I have managed to decipher part of the text encoded in the Mysterium Xarxes..."

"Go on..." she bade him as he paused for breath. Both the men in the room knew by now that she was an extraordinarily impatient woman.

"It seems that I need four items to open a portal to Paradise, and so far I have only managed to figure out one. I require an artifact of daedric origin. It doesn't seem to matter which daedra you retrieve one from, but the nearest one to Cloud Ruler Temple is the shrine of Azura..."

"Azura?" the Dunmer replied cynically, raising an eyebrow. "I will not be associated with Azura," she continued after a pause. "Do you know the location of the shrine of Mephala?"

"Why Mephala?" Baurus asked inquistively almost immediately.

Martin answered him. "The Morag Tong have strong links with Mephala; some say that their Night Mother is Mephala, but there is nothing definitive to comfirm this. I believe the shrine is in the Great Forest, east of the Silver Road and north of the Red Ring Road, but it is impossible for me to give you a more accurate description... You said an Oblivion Gate opened at Skingrad," he added with fear in his intense blue eyes. "Did you prevent a similar fate to Kvatch befalling them?"

Idari nodded. "The gate has been shut. I cannot say that they will be safe; you know as well as anyone that more than one gate opened to destroy Kvatch and chances are that this could happen anywhere at any time. One day it will merely happen in a place where I am not present. It would be better for me to teach other people the method of closing the gates, however that would take time which I do not have. Is there anything else you wish to tell me?"

The Imperial considered this question, sincerely wondering whether he wanted to be the bearer of bad news or not. In the end he decided to get it over with. "Are you aware that the Red Moutain has erupted?" he asked quietly, watching her reaction closely.

At first she did nothing, remaining in the same upright position as she had been prior to the question. "Red Mountain?" she asked, seeking clarification. "What of Morrowind?"

Martin's eyes suddenly found the floor, dreading what he might tell her next. "News is that most of the province has been destroyed, made uninhabitable. Only Solstheim and southern Morrowind remain."

"Sadrith Mora?" she demanded, her voice unwavering but her eyes burning.

"It's... uncertain..."

"Then I must go home," she announced, turning to leave. "If there is a chance that my family might be alive then I must abandon this province and damn the consequences."

"You'll do no such thing," a Breton voice at the door said authoratively before Jauffre stepped fully into view. "I will dispatch Blades to retrieve your parents but you have no choice but to stay here."

"My brother!" she shouted, her voice becoming more agitated. "I need to find my brother."

Jauffre glanced at Martin and Baurus briefly before his eyes returned to her. "Tell me where to search and I shall send soldiers," he told her calmly.

"You can't!" By now she appeared to be on the verge of tears. "He's... You just can't!"

The Breton's eyes narrowed. "Very well Dunmer, tell me a region and I shall tell you his chances of survival."

"West Gash," she replied, her voice quievering as she bit back tears. Any ignorance she had claimed over her younger brother's location had always been faked; she knew precisely where he was.

"Then it is unlikely," Jauffre told her solemnly. "Unless he was on the very western coastline. Could you be more specific?"

"Near Khuul, north of Gnisis."

"I have not yet heard news from Fort Darius. Sadrith Mora may have been spared by being an island, however it is decidedly hit and miss with Gnisis. I will send men to Gnisis, but if you cannot be more specific then they cannot search for your brother; I will not risk the lives of my men on a wild goose chase."

The assassin breathed heavily as if to calm her nerves before speaking. "You cannot send men to search for my brother; it would be foolish at best and idiotic at most."

"Then how do you expect to find your brother?" the Grandmaster demanded, the first tinges of anger in his tone.

"Friar Jauffre," she pointed out, addressing him directly, her face set like stone. "You cannot expect me to believe that you would risk sending your men into a hive of vampires."

Author Note: Yeah, I know, 't ain't great, is it? It was taking me bloody ages, I had no inspiration and I went with the first idea that hit me. The title is dreadfully ironic at this stage in the story; it's the name of the quest in this chapter sure, but Idari and Turner have both made a vow at some point in their lives to never speak of their pasts and both just broken them.

Why did this take me so long? Because I was reading Brothers in Arms, that's why. I Live Preview-ed every single chapter from beginning to end, just to see how well it flowed. To be honest I noticed some hideous grammar and some awful spelling but it wasn't as bad as other things I've written in the past. In fact I'm rather proud of it to tell the truth. I reckon it deserves its 60-odd reviews whereas The Seventh Son does NOT deserve its 90 one bit. It's terrible. 'Nuff said.

Oh yeah, and I believe that I accidentally quoted two films in this chapter. If you didn't notice fine, if you did then get over it. Quotes are not plagerism. If you took the time to work out Turner and Seanturco's ages - the story is set in 3E433 if you didn't know - then I also did not plagerise that. I'll have you know I wrote out how old all my characters were before I even started the story, so if you wanna go accuse me of plagerising that you can go and - Yeah. Sorry, angry moment. Anyway, hope you liked it. Review.