Author's Note: As always, thank you guys so much for reading! I just wanted to take a moment to address the recent scare re: fanfic apps on mobile platforms. I checked out the major one in question (that now appears to have been removed from both Apple store and Googleplay) and it did indeed have several of my works on it. I was, of course, NOT a happy camper and I'm very glad to see the apps gone!

So, a sort of PSA: While I might discuss Dust on other platforms, here and A03 are the only sites you should EVER see this work posted on. (I did post some works on Deviant Art a lifetime ago, but those are heavily outdated and still under my username, Quillweave.) Please let me know if you see any copycats, and PLEASE, safeguard your own work, as well. We work hard on what we do - no one but you should profit from it.


I spent the night drying my clothes, the next day doing tests on the vials of the pool water I'd taken home with me and mulling on what I'd learned in the ruin. I knew the why, now. I knew those gifts Sheogorath offered were something I would try to fight for. But I still didn't know the how.

But I knew one place I might just find out. Approved even by Lucien came the thought with a sneer.

"Ye've got books. Ye've got eyes."

"Then join the Mages Guild, if you must. It would be good for appearances, to have you a part of them."

Their voices echoed in my head, intertwining, leading to the same conclusion and destination. I hovered before the door to the Cheydinhal chapter of the Mages Guild, hesitant. I'd be welcomed, I was sure. It hadn't been that long since I'd left the Arcane University – I was still a member of the guild, a scholar, an alchemist. It only made sense for me to be a part of them.

Still, I had to brace myself before entering. Mingling scents greeted me – the tingle of magicka, herbs, old books and a faint hint of sulfur. A familiar face greeted me, relief making my knees weak as Eilonwy smiled sweetly at the table in the foyer.

"Ah, it's good to see you again!" She stood and clasped my hands briefly between hers, lowering her voice. "I heard about what happened at Riverview after we left. Awful thing. I'm so sorry – I'm sure you did what you could."

I felt bile rise in my throat and forced it back down with a smile. "… Thank you."

"You must be here to join officially, yes? It's good to have the resources here – not just the books but the people. If you ever wish to work on your Alteration, I'm sure my love Orintur would be willing to teach you. First, you should speak with Falca –" She paused and bit her lip, gaze flickering away. "Forgive me, Deetsan. There's been a change in leadership, recently. She's the Guild Head – she'll be up in the library."

Joining up was almost effortless – the Argonian welcomed me as a member of the chapter. I signed my name in the ledger, paid my guild dues for the month, and that was that. My name and my shop preceded me. She gave me a quick, business-like tour and left me in the library, to my own devices.

Books upon books upon books, on tall shelves, littering tables. Other members sat and pondered silently over their work, the only sounds the muffled din of the evening outside and the scratching of quills. I felt like an apprentice again, first entering the University – new, hopeful. Of everything I could do, trapped between choices as I was – the Brotherhood, the Madgod, my own fear and indecision – I could educate myself. I could learn.

I made my way to the shelves and began my search, looking through section by section and stacking them at my feet. Some basic tomes on Daedric Worship and heresy, about faith and gods. My gaze wandered to the highest shelf, fixing on another book – 'The Doors of Oblivion.'

I stood on tiptoe, straining, but barely reached the shelf below the one I needed. Dammit. I glanced around for a chair to stand on, finding them all in use. Dammit, again. Should've picked up telekinesis at some point. An echo of a memory, distant. You really ought to think of your more vertically challenged guests…

I shook away the thought with a little growl and made to try again, wedging the tip of my boot against the bottom shelf to try and hoist myself –

"Dust!" I jumped back, nearly falling off the shelf and staring wide-eyed at Deetsan behind me, who only shook her head. "Please, I realize you are new and may not be fully acquainted with the rules, but do not treat the shelves as your personal ladders."

"Sorry." I shrank on myself, meek and flushed red as she turned away. Dammit, again! Idiot. I rubbed a hand across my cheek as though hoping to drag the prickle of embarrassment away. And I still needed that book.

"E-excuse me…" I hardly dared to raise my voice, and of course no one heard me, absorbed in their own work. As much as I was irritated, inwardly I knew I would've been the same. I turned back to the obstacle with a glare, making one final attempt. If I could just edge it out even a little –

A shadow cast over me. A man – an Altmer. I thought I caught a glance in my direction but it was all over so quick I could hardly keep up. He slid the book from its place and into my grasp, took one for himself, then turned without so much as a word. I stared after him for a moment, blinking.

"Ah – thank you!" I called after him, but I doubt he heard me. Orintur sitting nearby stirred at that, casting a skeptical brow and scoffing.

"Don't bother." With that, he returned to his own book and the roll of parchment he scribbled on.

I glared for a moment after he turned away, hugging my findings to my chest. Don't bother? He'd bothered to help, at least. A shake of my head and I sought out a nook of my own, letting the little pile sit with a thump and falling into my chair much the same way. Four books – the last one seemed particularly useful. I'd start with that.

Doors – locations where the walls between planes thinned, where one might enter the realms of Oblivion. Places of power, of tragedy – Battlespire, the Dreaming Cave. A riddle of an alchemical formula called Jacinth and Rising Sun. That caught my attention, though I hadn't the faintest what it meant.

'The simplest and most maddeningly complex way to go to Oblivion was simply to cease to be here, and to begin to be there.' I nearly rolled my eyes at that. No shit. If only it were that easy. But no – he said I'd have to find my way in. Scouring books, questioning the cultists – gods, it could take months. Years.

But truthfully, if the door opened now in front of me – was I ready? To leave everything behind, everything I knew?

One step at a time. One step at a time, I'd find my way to freedom, whatever that meant.

It was late by the time I got home, the roads occupied only by crickets and frogs, hopping river to river in a crooning chorus. I entered quietly, peering around the door, half-expecting someone to be there waiting for me. Mercifully quiet – thank gods. Only Luke was there to greet me, rising from where he'd sat and moving to trot around my legs, tongue lolling.

"Hello, boy." I indulged him a pat on the head as I kicked off my boots, shifting the stack of books I'd chosen arm to arm. I'd be able to research easier at home between customers, taking my time to jot notes – not on the books themselves, gods no. Deetsan would have me flayed, I suspected. She reminded me of Tar-Meena that way. I chuckled at the thought, shedding my cloak before making my way upstairs, Luke in my wake. Tomorrow – right now my eyes burned from reading, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep.

"Good evening, pet."

"Lucien!" I gasped and jumped, dropping the books on my foot and hopping, letting loose a string of curses. "You – gods dammit, you fetching – " I hissed through my teeth as he rose from where he sat on my bed, glowering at him as I knelt down to collect the fallen books.

"I heard rumours there was screaming from your home, yesterday." His gaze was dark, darker still in the grey-blue dimness of night, sweeping over my books. I bit my tongue as he picked one up, examining the cover. "I thought it prudent to check in. Doing some research, are we?"

"Light reading." I shakily got back to my feet, extending a hand for the book he'd taken. "There was – a rat."

He deadpanned, unimpressed. "A rat."

"Is that so hard to believe?" I snapped in return, now placing my books on the bedside table, pushing the corn dollie I'd left there aside. "I – it scared me, so I threw my mug at it. When that didn't work I thought I'd leave a trap for it and go somewhere else for a while, check back to see if it was gone."

"Mhmn. Why don't I check this trap for you? If you're so frightened of the little vermin."

Dammit. I grit my teeth, avoiding his gaze. There was no trap and we both knew it. "… I put it in the basement and I'm not going down there in the dark. It'll have to wait until morning."

"Afraid of the dark, too, are we? My, my." He kept his tone cool, disinterested in contrast to how my temper rose. His gaze flickered to where I'd set the books, then on the little dollie there. He plucked it up between his fingers, examining it, raising a brow at me.

I held my silence for a moment, then responded as cold and crisp as he. "Her name is Charlotte."

"Mmn." He returned her to the nightstand. There was something – dark about the sight of it, the innocent, blank-eyed little doll between the black leather of his gloves. I gave a little sigh of relief, only to catch it in my throat as Lucien turned, catching my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing my gaze back to his.

"You've been keeping a lot of secrets lately, my pet."

I sneered, though holding his stare was difficult. The hardness, darkness of those eyes, the way they seemed to pierce through to my thoughts. Sometimes it made my knees weak – sometimes it made me want to cower. "How's that bite healing?" A jab at his own secrets. He only smirked, chuckling gently.

"Quite well, thank you for asking. And how is the hound? Keeping you good company, I assume?" A reminder of one of many ties between me and the Dark Brotherhood, a jab of his own. Luke lay curled up in the corner, watching us.

Were it anyone else towering over me like this, he'd have their throats in a moment. He was loyal to me. But he was loyal to the Brotherhood, too.

I jerked myself from his grasp, snarling. "You can't just creep in here and interrogate me whenever it suits you, Lucien. I'm not your prisoner."

"Are you not?" Carefully measured words, cold as frost and sending a shudder down my spine. He regarded me from lidded eyes, head tilted, like a hawk. "You are a servant of the Dark Brotherhood, clearly unwilling. I am now the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, commanded only by the Night Mother and Sithis himself. Thus…"

Thus, I was their prisoner and his.

I turned from him to hide my eyes prickling with tears, shoulders hunched, fists curling. Silence separated us for a moment, thick and muffling. Lucien's voice didn't break it – it slid through it, like a dagger through flesh, a whisper.

"It didn't need to be this way." I squeezed my eyes shut as he spoke. "You were given a choice. For reasons I cannot begin to fathom, you refused it."

"It wasn't a choice at all."

"Your mother made it. Your sister made it."

"I am not them. But if that's what you want – " I whirled on him, stalking closer. "An obedient little pet who'll do your dirty work and share a bed with you at the same time, go find her. I'm sure you've got plenty of impressionable, pretty things who'd be happy to kill for you, with Antoinetta at the top of the list."

His reaction startled me. Laughter – soft, rueful laughter as he shook his head. My lip curled as he spoke, voice strangely soft.

"I do, and if I wanted one I assure you, I would get one." His eyes closed, a wry little smile ghosting across thin lips. "Foolish. I had thought – hoped, perhaps…" He shook his head again and trailed off, that crooked smirk never leaving his face. Realization didn't strike so much as seep in.

"… You'd hoped I'd do it for you. Join the Brotherhood for you. Change for you. Kill for you."

"I would not be so bold as to say that." But it was true, wasn't it? I had never really understood it before, but now it was clear. Part of me recoiled in anger, but part…

I knew it would never happen. But part of me had so willfully wanted to ignore what he was, what he did. To cut away that part of him and accept only the rest. But it was entwined with him, as much as my rejection of it was to me. I'd wanted him to change, as much as he wanted me to change for him. And now, Sheogorath's offer always at the back of my head, fearing what I might have to lose to chase it…

The tears came back. I blinked them away with a slow inhale, shaking my head. "… Lucien. After everything - Applewatch, the traitor, Oblivion – "

"Which you seem all too eager to run back into." He placed a hand on my shoulder, sliding down my arm, my skin shivering in his wake. "You have seen what few outsiders have, and lived. You have seen the face of the Night Mother herself. You have had the Brotherhood protecting you – pulling you out of Oblivion, our Matron saving you from the traitor, the hound from yourself – yet it has done nothing to convince you."

"It – " I hissed through my teeth, pushing back the well of emotions that threatened to consume me whole. Memories, flashes of imagery. Him pulling me from the ice, catching me in Oblivion, his face eyeless and wet with gore, but I couldn't. No matter what he did for me, I couldn't kill for him. I choked down a sob, shaking my head as his hand moved to my cheek.

There was something there, in spite of myself. Hatred and love, mingled. Was it the same for him, this painful pull? My jaw shook. "… After all we've been through, all you've done, if you weren't one of them, I – "

"And if only you were." He pulled back, voice soft, so soft it ached.

"I'm sorry, Lucien." I owed him nothing after all the Dark Brotherhood had taken from me, yet I owed him my life. Perhaps my love, too. "It isn't what I want, who I am. I can't. I just can't." Not for him, not for my mother and sister, not for myself.

"Mn. So this is what you wanted, after all." His voice grew distant, light, yet lacking in mirth. "The pretty house and copper kettle." He picked up the doll again, small and fragile in his hand. "A husband and children. Yet you didn't go with Anya."

I shook my head, gaze cast away, voice low. "… I'm trying to decide what I want." More, trying to carve my own path for what I wanted. The air, the silence felt suffocating. I swallowed back tears again, trying to press down on the guilt, the sense of loss building in me. "… I am sorry. That I can't be who you want, or – accept you for what you are."

"It seems both our hopes have died unfulfilled."

That silence again, weighing down on me. I hugged myself tight, wishing it away. Wishing he would say something, anything.

Then I wished the silence hadn't ended.

"Nevertheless, you have made your choice." His voice grew crisp again, businesslike. "You will continue to act as our alchemist and healer, and make the potions and poisons we list, or face the punishment of death."

"I know." I bit my tongue, bitter at the reminder.

"Furthermore, I forbid you from leaving the city, save on your work for the Brotherhood."

"What?" I drew upright, jaw dropping. "You – you'd forbid me?" I repeated, incredulous, anger rearing. "After I've told you, after we – what we just talked about, I thought you understood, I – "

"I understand you have made a choice. But prisoners have very few choices, indeed." His head tilted, gaze sharp. "I cannot risk you fleeing to try and escape your duty, now that it is clear your loyalty is fickle, at best."

"You – " I shook my head in disbelief. "Is this a punishment? For – for rejecting you? For bruising your gods-damned pride!?"

"Just a precaution."

"How dare you. You – " I inhaled through my teeth, fingers aching for how tightly my hands clenched. "I work for the Mages Guild now. They'll want me to go on expeditions, to scavenge for ingredients. What am I supposed to tell them?"

"Then you will inform the Brotherhood where you will be, and when you are expected to return. And if you should try to take the opportunity to escape…" His voice dropped, a purr. "You will be found. You will be punished."

"Fuck you." He seemed briefly taken aback, then amused by my vitrol, shaking his head with a chuckle as I continued. My hands shook, heat rising in my throat, my stomach, the ends of my fingers tingling with the urge to do something, anything. "I'll make your damn poisons, and I'll keep quiet about the Brotherhood. I'll obey the tenets. That is all I'm bound to. I don't owe you anything more in exchange for my life." Or did I? I pushed back the memories of our time together again, squeezing my eyes shut tight until I saw white.

He paused then. My eyes closed I couldn't see his face, but I could picture it. That calm, expectant look, the lidded eyes, the little white scar on his chin that shifted with tightening lips. "I could force you, of course. You won't dare disobey the tenets – Antoinetta's little escapade with you made that clear. I could command you to do as I wished. And you would obey, wouldn't you?"

I opened my eyes then, staring, hating. Hating that it was true. I couldn't disobey. I wanted to live, and more – I didn't want to die at the hands of my own mother. And if it meant obeying His…

Well, it was as he said. Prisoners have very few choices, indeed.

I swallowed and spoke, voice hoarse, almost a croak. "Will you, then? Force me to take up a dagger? Force me into your bed? You have that power over me, as you've so eloquently shown."

"No. I have seen what resentment breeds in a brother." The Traitor's face, wild with grief and lust for vengeance flashed in my memory. "I would not be the one to plant another traitor in our midst. No, Dust." He inclined his head, taking a step back. My shoulders slumped with relief even as I willed myself to stand tall, proud, confident against him. "If this is the life you choose then by all means, live it. Live with yourself, if you can." A slight sneer creased his features, mirthless and sharp.

"Make the best of it, as dear Abelle would say."

I was still trembling when he turned, striding down the stairs. Still hot and sick and shaking limb to limb, as though I were a potion about to explode into smoke. Only when I heard the door slam did I follow, running down the stairs, uselessly throwing the surviving mug of these past days at the door shut behind him.

I moved in a trance to get my broom, sweeping up the little, jagged pieces, the methodical task giving me a chance to calm.

Was this all my life would be? The choices of a prisoner, broken mugs?

No. No. I still had the Isles, even if it would take me years to get there. It was a tangible goal, something I had for myself and myself alone. I had the guild, I had my shop. And with that elated freedom I'd felt at the ruin ever present now in my thoughts, I had something to pursue, something all my own at last.

Damn him, I will make the best of it.

Somehow.