[A/N]: Well. So I wasn't quite expecting that response I received last chapter - which was extreme. Theories and identities flipped left and right. I shall be honest and say unto you all that I...was surprised. But pleased too, of course, no denying that! Suggestions of Pyrus, Ollos, Vylornar, vampires...and somewhere in Sovngarde Hadvar dryly remarks, "What next, giant snakes?"

In any case, have a slightly calmer chapter than that firestorm of a last, and anticipate Pyrus's next chapter only three updates away...

On a side note: YEAAAAAAAAH ALL BLACKS! World winners AGAIN! We're proud of you, boys!

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-Viper-

It was the evening of, according to the others, the fifth day of Viper's stay in Sanctuary when she turned to the nameless Dunmer and told him, "Explain your mask to me."

He was delighted at her request. "You may hold it, if you wish," he said, and pressed it into her hands. She took it; the fabric was soft and supple where it was loose, and stern where it was not, shaping a face even when there was none behind it.

"Every assassin has their own individual mask," the Dunmer explained. "It becomes their trademark and calling card beyond Sanctuary, for none but family may see our faces. Inlaid with wonderful enchantments, they do well to veil our identities."

"But your voices," said Viper, frowning, "wouldn't people recognize your voices?"

"Did you recognize mine, when you first awoke?"

"No," she realized. "You sounded…un-Dunmer."

He chuckled. "I and my family are ghosts to the world," he said, "for the few who know of us know us only by the masks. Each is different, as you will have noticed. Each is made custom to us, and developed to further enhance our ability and success in every contract to come and to go unseen, like a gust of wind that bears a deathly scent. Mine was patterned in the likeness of the three deities I kill in the names of; Boethiah, Mephala and Azura, the Anticipations of the Tribunal."

Viper was puzzled. "You don't worship the Night Mother?"

"Of that I do," he answered, "for from her shadowy womb I was reborn, and to the Void I send the hapless souls that unknowingly call for death. But from these three I draw my strength, as do many of my people. You have heard of the Tribunal?"

"I heard a story of the three who made the Tribunal," Viper offered, "during the Year 2920 of the First Era; Sotha Sil, Almalexia, and Vivec." She liked retelling the twelve books to herself often. She'd rather enjoyed those.

"That is a good beginning to understanding, Sister-friend," the Dunmer assassin nodded, "and the three names you speak are true. The Good Daedra, who accepted the divinity of the Triune Ancestors, are the three whose sigils I have placed upon my mask, and whose names I spoke earlier. The sword that crosses my right eye is to represent Goldbrand, the golden blade, artifact of Boethiah. Oft is this artifact speculated to have been forged by the ancient dragons of the North. The Twilight Star upon my left is Azura's most sacred symbol, for she is the Dusk and the Dawn and the Mother Soul. The spider depicts Mephala, the Webspinner."

Viper studied the sanguine symbols more insightfully than before. "Do all the Dunmer race cherish these Daedra?" she asked.

"I would not be so bold as to say all," he answered, "but certainly, many of my people respect the Good Daedra. Their influence has grown in Morrowind especially since the bloody herald of the Fifth Era. Throughout my childhood I was raised to respect them, and respect them still I do. My soul may belong to the Void, and my loyalty owed to the Night Mother, but my faith is not denied, and so I honour the Anticipations."

She handed the mask back to him. Not so fanatical, then, she brooded. So they uphold this Night Mother of theirs, as is their duty as one of the Dark Brotherhood, but they may still believe what they wish to. And the more she learned of the assassins, the less of a desire she had to leave. More seriously, Viper contemplated the idea of joining them permanently, of becoming a Sister to them all, and pledging herself to the service of the dark forces they enamoured.

It would not be a lonely life. Difficult, cold and demanding, no doubt, but she would not be alone—and, if the Listener could be believed, never again would she be betrayed. That alone was a tempting offer, for she would never forgive Cenrin, nor turn a mournful eye to the south of Skyrim again. To the Guild, she was dead and lost.

But I live and breathe, and I have the opportunity to become something else.

It was the thought of killing that unsettled her most. Viper feared death, so how could she give it willingly to others? And when she took her first life, she faced a lifetime of murder in the Brotherhood. But is that not a good price to pay, to walk in perpetual darkness, to strike and leave unseen? To the world I could become like everyone else in the Sanctuary, a murderous phantom that spills sanguine for…

For what, though? So she was made uncomfortable by the idea of religion, and gods, and deities. She believed in getting things done by her own ability. But she was free to do just that with the Brotherhood, was she not?

It seemed she was granted many liberties in the Brotherhood. She remained friends to one and all. Sister-friend, they called her, and days on they still expressed their gratitude for how she'd helped Nevada. Viper was allowed to explore and talk to one and all, and the questions she asked were answered. There was only one answer they would not give when she asked for it, and that was their names. She was not a sibling to them yet, and until she was, their names they concealed from her. Only Nevada's she knew, for Nevada had given it to her freely, to win her trust in such a situation that demanded just that.

The Nord had slipped into the clutches of Cadmir during a recon assignment in Gahriknaar. The Listener had sent her to observe the movements of the necromantic Dragonlord, but something had gone wrong that had resulted in her capture. During her stay in the cold cells, the Listener lost sight of her, and so the Brotherhood had mourned the loss of their Sister.

"But why were you sent to trace Cadmir at all?" Viper had asked her, after hearing this three days past.

Nevada, who'd been resting in an armchair beside one of the blazing hearths, closed her eye and sighed slowly. "Technically, I can't say," she said, "but I think you can have a pretty good guess why."

Viper had guessed. "There's a contract on his head."

Nevada's twisted grin appeared, though it was brief.

"For years, we've been approached by the people of Skyrim. Countless Black Sacraments have been performed, asking us to kill the three. Kill Ollos. Kill Cadmir. Kill Vylornar. And we have tried, Viper. The Listener had her mightiest assassins prepared for each individual tasks. Others of the Brotherhood gathered information about the targets. Multiple blessings were laid upon the chosen. And they never returned. The Dragonlords cannot be presumed, not when they themselves are imbued with dragon magic.

"But contracts remained, and so we are bound to completion. We have taken our time with them, however. Failure followed failure, but the Listener would not give up the contract, and nor would we. The Dragonlords' souls have been called to the void, and we must heed that call by our pledge to the Night Mother and the Dread Father."

As though sharing this knowledge had wearied her, Nevada sank back into her chair and turned her mutilated face to the glow of the flames. "I'm the first who's ever returned when they've faced the wrath of a Dragonlord," she said. "Aye, at a terrible price…but to be honest, it's you who they're interested in more, my Sisters and Brothers both."

"Why?"

"Why? Two of the three you've encountered, and both you escaped unmarked and unblemished. Your triumphs have excited the Brotherhood. You made Ollos weep, and stayed Cadmir's hand. At both your strongest and weakest, the Dragonlords couldn't touch you." A twinkle lit Nevada's eye. "So no wonder they respect you so, Viper. Where the best assassins have failed, a serpentine thief succeeded. Perhaps a snake is what is needed, not a phantom."

Thinking over her words once more, Viper was subject to a most peculiar sensation. They need me—they hope I stay, then. It is like they are in awe of me, a thief whose luck turned sour. But she couldn't deny her victories, and the sweetest of which had been escaping from Ollos. Sanctuary couldn't be found, and the dragons with their sharp eyes had lost sight of her. She'd been liberated from him—and as the fearsickness waned from her soul, she viewed the memory of him in a steady mind.

But escaping him has left me indebted, she knew. I was certain to die, but I was saved, and my life belongs to these assassins, whether they have given me free reign to leave or not. It seemed businesslike, really; before Viper was certain what life she could make for herself outside the Guild, this debt had to be repaid.

And so, more out of curiosity than anything, she asked the Dunmer assassin, "What is it like when you kill your first?"

He was pleased at her asking this, and his deep scarlet eyes glimmered with memory. "It is indeed a changing and binding thing, to lose your virginity to death," he said, "for you will never forget the first life that was taken by your hand. Mine was lost in the ashen fatherlands of Morrowind, on the thirteenth of First Seed, Year 39 of the Fifth Era—sixty-three years ago, with my adolescence still a fresh memory in my mind. During a game of cards, I became aware that I was being cheated—and by my own blood, no less. In my youth I freely confess arrogance and bloated pride, and my honour was paramount above all else, even family.

"Do you know another name that Boethiah is known by? The Prince of Plots; and plot I did, murderously indeed. I pleased the three Princes upon my mask on the thirteenth of First Seed, for as my victim slept I stole into his room and drew my dagger from ear to ear across his bare throat. I never lost the look in his eyes when he opened them in horror, and found me standing over him, satisfied in my vengeance. Then he became but another bright candle to light in Azura's realm, his soul claimed by Oblivion."

Viper was unsettled at how quite unremorsefully and pleasantly the Dunmer spoke of this. "You said he was of your own blood," she said. "Who was he?"

"My brother."

This sickened her, and she recoiled. The assassin smiled wanly at her expression. "I do not blame your disgust, Sister-friend," he observed, "and it pleases me, your reaction; it demonstrates that you have what many of us lose, a heart unsullied to a killer's cold blood. It is lost slowly by some of us, and I was no different. My brother was cold and dead in his bed, and I looked on his corpse and regretted it at once…but only for a time. I only knew now that it was time for me to take my leave, and never return, for fratricide is a sin viewed with deepest shame. My folk are depicted as proud, clannish, ruthless and cruel, and often this is true, but loyalty and family we uphold above all, and I had betrayed both. I would not be forgiven. So before the last star faded, I was away from home, and journeying far to where I would not be found by those seeking vengeance of their own. And in my travels, I lost all remorse, and reveled in my new ability to kill when I needed to. The blood of my people is fire, so it is said; but in my veins it ran chill as ice, and I welcomed it."

He looked at her, quite calmly. "A virgin kill is your most important," he said, "for it shapes your soul and defines you as a whole new being. If it does not mean something, then you will regret it, and the consequence of ill judgement will be a burden. Yet, Sister-friend, your continued hesitance intrigues me."

Viper narrowed her eyes. "How so?"

The Dunmer assassin placed the tips of two fingers upon his lips. "Your poisonous kiss is indeed something to fear," he said, "but serpents I find such serious creatures. They do not play with their food."

"So what do you suggest?"

His dark eyes gleamed. "Make it their last."

To this, Viper smiled wryly. Yes, there was that possibility. It would be simple to make her poison fatal; amid the other ingredients, essence of nightshade would tip the balance she'd made, and all vital organs would become as paralyzed as the body. "A batch that kills," she mused. "To what end? I am no assassin."

"That road remains open to you, Sister-friend," the Dunmer reminded.

"But I don't know if I can," Viper confessed.

He offered her a look of reassurance. "There is bitterness in you," he said. "Welcome it. You hate much of the world, and let that guide you. Our Listener's wisdom is unerring. If you allow her, she will shape you into another hand of the Night Mother, to guide the souls of the wicked to their rightful place in the Void. But, and this is most often the case, many of our new Brothers and Sisters discover the potential within themselves on their own, and they grow on their own."

"And you think I'm one of these independent assassin sleepers?" Viper snorted.

"I can imagine you to be."

The answer was solemn and earnest, quelling her immediate disdain. Once more she wondered; could she make a new life for herself here? The thought no longer seemed so outrageous. And she had had time to think over it, to accustom herself to all that had occurred since her leaving the Cistern almost a month ago.

Repay the debt I owe, Viper decided, and perhaps that will inspire me to come to a final decision.

She stood. "Where are you going?" the Dunmer asked.

"To speak with your Listener. Where can I find her?"

"Listening."

Viper divined the meaning; it seemed that was where the Listener was always to be found, in the silent stone chamber where even the faintest sound was grossly augmented. She knew her way around the Sanctuary well enough to find her way there on her own. Outside the room she lingered and quelled the last dubious thought in her head. This is my choice, she frowned, for good or for ill. I owe that much to these people.

So as quietly as she could, she opened the door and entered.

The Listener was exactly the same as Viper had first seen her, seated upon the floor before the upright coffin. As fluid as a stream, she rose to her feet and turned, with her candle-like eyes shining with welcome.

"You have had the necessary time, my child?"

"Yes, thank you." Viper dropped her gaze. "I know you haven't called for me…"

"To come when called is obedience," the Listener said softly, "but to come uncalled is initiative. Now, sweet child, what purpose is this pleasure?"

Viper looked up. "Until I repay my life's debt to you and your Brotherhood, I cannot decide. I feel obligated to join, because Nevada saved me, but I do not enjoy being forced into doing anything. Any decision I make must be my own, or I resent it quickly."

The Listener blinked. "That is reasonable."

"Help me, then. There must be something I can do to unbind me from you."

"There is, child. Sister Nevada spoke highly of your skills, and your reputation precedes you. Such talent must be put to use. Demonstrate this to me and to the Brotherhood—and clear your name, if that is how you view your spared life—and consider this trouble relieved."

Viper folded her arms. "What do you need?"

The Listener smiled. "Come, then, willing child," she said, and silently she departed the chamber.

Viper followed her through the Sanctuary until they came into a small but tidy dwelling that could only be the Listener's quarters. There was a large table occupying the centre of the room, and a small hearth that blazed quite cheerfully in one corner, with a bed across from it. Upon the table lay various scrolls, parchments and inkpots. One scroll was unrolled across the desktop. A closer inspection revealed that it was a map of the Jerall Mountains, the alps that divided the south of Skyrim from the north of Cyrodiil.

"There is a task which I must attend to," the Listener began, beckoning Viper to her side. Her long, golden fingers traced a mark she'd made among the peaks. "Among the shallowest peaks, a day's ride southwest from the mountain pass, lies an ancient citadel whose ruins trace back to the days of the Akaviri. It is a site unknown by many, for it is forgotten—but the Night Mother has told me that shadows gathers in the mountains there, cast by great black wings."

Viper turned quickly to her. "Dragons, you mean?"

"Indeed," the Altmer frowned, "and not only dragons—leaders shall gather here, in the ruins of this old Akaviri outpost. In secret, a council has been called. The southern fires are dwindling now, the rage of their inferno subsiding. But this has not escaped the Night Mother. She has bade that I must also be in attendance, but wreathed in the welcome darkness, where I may hear all that would pass unheard. It will further the hunt we lead for those over and over sought dead."

"The Dragonlords are meeting here," Viper realized, and immediately she thought of Ollos, and Cadmir. Vylornar will probably be attending as well. "To what end?"

"That is what I do not know," the Listener answered, "and what I must find out."

"So what do you need me for?"

"I would like you to come with me."

Viper knew she should have expected this, and through her growing haze of unease she berated herself. "Why?" she managed.

"Your experience," said the Listener gently. "I admire your success over Ollos and perceive it to be a good omen. You have natural talent, and this may be applied again. I will not travel to the Pass alone, and your company will make certain that we shall come and go unseen. The Night Mother herself believes that you are the one best suited to join me on such a mission."

"Does your Night Mother know I don't believe in her?"

"Her thoughts are her own—I only listen and obey, for she has never led me wrong."

Viper clenched a fist, but could bring no further protest against the Brotherhood's belief. "If we are found?" she inquired, and shuddered at the quite real possibility. To walk into the maw of the dragon… "I'm no warrior, or a killer, just a thief down on her luck."

"But you are more than just that." The Listener's warm hand rested on Viper's shoulder. "You helped Sister Nevada, and the two of you triumphed over the twisted Dragonlord. If you will help me, we will have a victory over much more than Cadmir. There is knowledge to be gained from this, and this new century shall be the one when the Dragonlords will fall from power, by our hand, or by fate's. It matters not, so long as our contracts stand fulfilled."

"Your contracts, you mean," Viper corrected, carefully. "I'm not one of the Brotherhood."

"You are Sister-friend, and mine, my child," the Listener smiled. She pressed both her palms upon the map between them. "And that will not change if you refuse—but if you seek to repay our kindness, then you are most welcome to aid me."

Viper closed her eyes. I decided this, she thought, but could not ignore the twinge of fear in her soul. Dragonlords…not one, but all three, and perhaps even more. "I'll be recognized," she murmured. "They've seen my face."

"Such a thing is easily amended, my child."

The Listener turned to a small cabinet set at the foot of her bed. She opened it, withdrew something, and returned, bearing a dark folded bundle in her arms. This she presented to Viper, who became aware of a leather feel in her hands. Streaks of deep burgundy were visible against the dark fabric. "An assassin's raiment," she murmured.

"It is more than that," said the Listener. "It is the armour from my days preceding my leadership over the Brotherhood. This set was granted to me when I was first welcomed to the family. It has served me well, and it shall you for this most trying of tasks. The inlaid enchantments have aged in strength with the time that has passed, and shall resonate with your gifts."

With instructions to find her at the stables once dressed, she excluded herself so Viper could change, which was done mainly out of curiosity. The studded leather was worn but tough, and clung to her slight frame as if it had been tailored for her—perhaps the mentioned enchantments were responsible for that, as the Altmeri assassin was much taller than the slim Breton thief. It felt sterner than her Guild leathers, and had plenty of belts and buckles and almost no pockets at all, but she liked it very much. The boots fitted well and the gloves even better.

Once the last dome on her wrist had been fastened, she reached for the final piece of the set. In her gloved palms she held a hood as black as night, not one of the full-face assassin masks as she'd expected. There was a band of cloth that she could use to cover her mouth and nose, leaving her eyes to peer out from beneath the hood's rim. A real assassin's cowl, Viper thought wryly, as she donned the hood and pulled the cloth mask over the bridge of her nose. She investigated her new appearance in a basin of water, and was pleased. Her visage was shrouded.

She smiled and lowered the cloth mask. It will serve.

She certainly felt different. Her mind felt focused and strong. Into her heart she accepted that she was, most likely, to meet Ollos again, but under very different circumstances. He will not see me, she vowed, for in shadow or darkness I will conceal myself from all the world but those I have come to trust—but when I will be seen, and only by my choosing, they will weep red tears in my name…and more.

So Viper went, but did not immediately progress to the stables. In a little corner of the Sanctuary was another natural cave, in which dwelled a particularly ancient member of the Brotherhood. Viper had taken a liking to this particular assassin, whose alchemic abilities matched Celandine's, and that was where she found her now, seated at her alchemy table crushing herbs in a mortar. She had to stand on a stool to reach the table surface.

"What is it you're making now?" Viper asked as she entered, though in the frigid air the scent of dragon's tongue and blisterwort was quite stark.

"Oh, I'm just experimenting," came the idle answer. "All the important stuff I made this morning." She put the pestle down and turned, and assumed a startled expression. "You look different!" she chirruped. "Are you my Sister now?"

Viper shook her head. "I'm joining your Listener on a journey, that's all."

The alchemist giggled, brandishing particularly pointed canines. "I can see that now," she said. "You're wearing her old armour. You have a hood, and all the others don't now. Hoods are much better for hiding your eyes, don't you agree? But they're not as decorative, and I like decorated things. If I still kept going out on the field, I'd have a mask, but that would be annoying for me." She grimaced. "It gets in the way when you bite someone. Anyway," she continued, turning back to her mortar, "if you're going on a big quest with the Listener, you'd better get going. The Listener doesn't like waiting."

"I just want a few ingredients for the journey."

"Ooh!" Excited, the assassin bounced off her stool—her head barely rose higher than Viper's waist. "Are you going to make your poisons? Can I watch, please? Pretty please? I dearly want to know how you do it."

Viper smiled a little. "I never said anything about making it here."

"Aww…" The other pouted. "Please?"

"You said it yourself, the Listener is waiting. Do you have a spare satchel? I need to take some things with me."

"To make your special poison, right?"

"If it's needed."

The alchemist clapped her hands in delight. "That's awesome! Okay, what do you need? And I'm going to remember all the ingredients, you know, so I might just figure it out on my own. It might take a while, but it's not as if time's any problem, is it?" Her grin broadened, and her fangs were made all the more prominent.

A spare satchel was soon found and stored with apparatus and the required ingredients. The larder wasn't lacking, and each pungent herb, fungi, flower or root was carefully sealed and preserved so they could maintain their potential for longer. "I know I shouldn't really be asking," the assassin admitted as Viper slung the bag over her shoulder, "but I can't help it, I'm curious. Where are you and the Listener going?"

"South."

"To the greenwood?"

"Possibly."

A more businesslike manner overcame the youthful impersonation. "Well, if you happen across any Spriggans, could you ask the Listener to cull a few of them? Their taproot's invaluable and I'm starting to run low." Then she was bright and bubbly once again. "Anyway, good luck, and good hunting, Sister-friend! But you'll have to excuse me now, the spiders need milking."

Viper swiftly proceeded to the stables. She hated spiders.

Both the Listener and Nevada were waiting for her when she arrived. The scarred Nord took one look at her, and there appeared her lopsided grin. "You actually look dangerous now. Thank the gods. Anyway, here you go." Reins were thrust into Viper's hands. "He's yours for the trip, but so much as scratch him and you'll have hell to pay when you return. I've grown quite fond of this hairy one."

The stolen horse from Gahriknaar, restored to his full strength after six days of rest and loving care—with a slight difference. His bridle had his name etched in scarlet lettering, and his saddle was marked with a dark handprint.

"I'll try not to scratch him, then," Viper offered.

The Listener stood beside her own steed, an enormous stallion as black as shadow. It seemed to Viper that his rolling eyes flickered crimson in certain lights. She mounted him; over her pitch robes she wore a sable cloak that still permitted her silver hair to flow freely over her shoulders and front.

"Here, you'll need one, too." Nevada swept a cloak over Viper's shoulders and fastened it with a pin. "Night riding is bloody freezing—for you, at least."

Viper grinned. "I'll try not to fall off this time."

"We will ride under cover of darkness," the Listener said, "and pray for moonless nights to guide us swiftly to our destination."

Viper climbed into the saddle, relishing the solidness and heat of the horse under her. "So long as I'm not shoved in a damn tinder box during the day, I'll follow gladly."

"Then let us ride, Sister-friend. The sun has long set."

Yes, she thought with a smile. Let us go and visit the serpent's cousins.

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