Middas, Hearthfire 2, 4E201
4:59am
Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary, Falkreath Hold

Amara woke alone, curled up on a rickety cot and covered in several thick furs. Cold, damp air nipped at her exposed face. She shivered and groaned, curling up into a ball beneath the warm furs. Wait, she thought, where am I?

Slowly, she peeked out of her makeshift den. The room was dusty and full of cobwebs, though 'cave' might have been a more accurate description than 'room.' Cicero's bag was sitting on a nearby table, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen.

It didn't take a great leap of logic to realize that she was in the Sanctuary, trapped with her new assassin 'Family.'

Amara made a high, whining sound in the back of her throat and ducked back under the furs, curling up into a pathetic ball. Terror and despair crashed over her in a black wave, constricting her chest and making it difficult to breathe. "Talos," she prayed in a choked whisper, then stopped. What was there to pray for? What was there to fix? As terrible as the realization was, she hadn't made a mistake. This was as inevitable as the setting of the sun, and she had best get up and deal with it.

She did not want get up and deal with it.

It was only the pressing urge to find Cicero that convinced her to emerge from her den fifteen minutes later. She was still wearing her dress from the night before, but her boots had been removed and set neatly by the cot. She was quick to tuck her toes into the fur-lined warmth of her boots—the stone floor was both dirty and freezing.

Amara made an unhappy noise at the cold, picking up one of the furs and draping it over her head and shoulders as a makeshift cloak. Cautiously, she poked her head out of the archway that led into the room. When nothing appeared immediately to slit her throat, she took one step out into the unknown, then another. She breathed in shakily, clutching the fur in a white-knuckled grip.

Amara slowly crept through the hallways, peeking in each open door as she passed. There was no sign of Cicero—or anyone else, for that matter—until she felt a warm, ghostly hand brush against her cheek. "Mother," she breathed in relief, hurrying along after the beckoning sensations.

Mother's sarcophagus was standing on a low dais in a chapel-like room, framed beautifully against a stained-glass window. Amara hurried between the benches and sank down beside the sarcophagus, pressing her cheek against the chilled metal. Nightshade and ash and blood filled her nose. "Hello, Mother," she whispered, tearing up as the presence wrapped firmly around her. "I obeyed."

You did, my dear Daughter, she said, fondness in her voice. Warm, intangible lips ghosted over her forehead. Obedience will always be rewarded in my House. Love and approval flooded Amara's soul so intensely that she burst instantly into tears of joy.

"I'll always obey you, Mother," she sobbed worshipfully, pressing closer against the freezing coffin. "Always and always, I promise."

Mother hummed in amusement, kissing Amara's forehead once more. Now, go on, my Listener, she said, gently nudging the little Nord. Go meet your Family. Amara stood at once, still giddy with emotion, and kissed the coffin before she left. She had barely stepped out of the chapel when Cicero appeared beside her.

"Cicero!" she squeaked, practically jumping on the man.

"Little Listener!" he said with equal enthusiasm, sweeping her up. "I see you found Mother."

"I did!" Amara chirped, wrapping her legs around his waist and arms around his neck. "She's pleased with me!"

Cicero laughed and patted her back. "How could she be displeased with you, little Amara? You are obedience incarnate. But come now, there are some people you must meet." He put her down, keeping a hand between her narrow shoulders, and steered her away from Mother's chapel.

Amara's stomach swooped dramatically at the reminder, but, still riding high on Mother's approval, she followed obediently. Cicero led her through a kind of common room, filled with beds and strewn-about personal items, and down a steep ramp. At the bottom was a deep pit-like room, with a cooking fire roaring to one side and a long table in the center. Two people—the early risers—were sitting at the table.

One was a Nord woman, fierce-looking with dark blonde hair. The other was Argonian. They both looked up as she and Cicero approached. Amara didn't miss the way their eyes lingered on her. She ducked a bit closer to Cicero, blushing shyly as the warm glow of Mother's approval began to fade.

The Argonian spoke up before Cicero could, his voice kind. "Hello, Listener," he said. "I am Veezara. It's quite a pleasure to meet you."

"Hello Veezara," she returned, dipping her head in the greeting Papa had taught her. "You can call me Amara, I don't mind."

The blonde spoke up. "Hello, Amara. I'm Astrid, leader of this Sanctuary." Her expression was inscrutable.

A frightened chill swept up the little Nord's spine. "Oh!" she said, dismayed. She reached out blindly and grasped a handful of Cicero's tunic. "Oh, I'm sorry! I'm not making trouble for you, am I? I don't want to, I'm sorry!" She hadn't even considered the possibility, so consumed had she been by fear of the entire Family. But this was political, wasn't it? Papa had often spoken about such adult things, preparing Alar (and her, to a lesser extent) for the courts of the Jarl. Their time in the Imperial capital had only reinforced those lessons.

In her experience, adults did not take kindly to their authority being undermined.

Astrid looked quite taken aback by Amara's exclamation, her eyes widening as she drew back a fraction. Then, abruptly, her expression shuttered and became unreadable. "There's no need to be afraid, Listener," she said slowly. "You're doing fine."

"Just fine," Cicero agreed with a placid smile that didn't hide a razor edge, combing her sleep-tousled blonde curls back with his fingers. "Little Listener is still little. Leave the politics to the grownups, hm?"

Amara opened her mouth and abruptly shut it as Cicero ushered her to a chair at the table. She was young, yes, and certainly naïve, but she wasn't an idiot. There was unspoken tension between Cicero and Astrid, but she didn't have a clue as to why it was there or what she should do about it. So she did what she always did: she shut her mouth and did her best to be invisible.

Veezara, who she was sitting next to, shot her a kind smile and slid a mug of tea over. "Do you like tea with honey, Amara?" he asked. She nodded wordlessly and took it, pressing her palms tightly to the warm metal and inhaling the sharp aroma of whatever Argonian blend he'd made. Cicero came back from the fire with two plates and a mug for himself, setting one of the plates in front of Amara before taking his seat next to her.

Amara munched wordlessly on her bread and cheese after offering a prayer of thanks to the Nine. Others slowly trickled as the minutes accumulated. First was a drowsy, irritable-looking Redguard who was introduced to her as Nazir. The man himself offered a grunt of acknowledgement as he shambled over to the fire and started brewing some bitter-smelling Redguard drink.

Next was a graceful dunmer woman who regarded Amara with curious, knowing red eyes, robes impeccable and not a hair out of place. "Hello, little sister," she said pleasantly. "I am Gabriella. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Little sister. For a second, Amara's throat closed and her eyes blurred with tears. Alar, a part of her whispered forlornly. She blinked rapidly, forced the lump away, and offered what she hoped was a steady smile to Gabriella. "Pleasure," she forced out in response.

But these were assassins, the best of the best, who could read body language and subtle cues as easily as she would read a book. Gabriella blinked, surprised by Amara's reaction to her innocent words. "Listener? Are you alright?" she asked, taking a seat directly in front of the girl and leaning intently on the table. "What did I say?"

"Nothing," Amara said quickly, reluctant to bring up her brother (her über-powerful, impressive, Dragonborn brother) to these quasi strangers. "It's...nothing."

"Right," Gabriella said disbelievingly, but she dropped it when Amara stared down at her hands and refused to look up.

A distraction emerged at that moment in the form of two more assassins; an old man in well-worn robes and a young girl around Amara's age. The old man spotted her first, a wide grin crossing his gnarled face.

"Well then!" he said, his voice deep and scratchy. "There's the Listener! Welcome to the Sanctuary, girl. You can call me Festus."

Amara was busy staring at the little girl by Festus's side, her eyes wide with surprise. Am I not the only child? she wondered. Perhaps the average assassin was quite different from the stories. Was 'family' literal?

"Hello," the other girl said in a slow, considering kind of voice. "My name is Babette."

"I—" the words stalled in her throat as Babette came close enough for Amara to see her eyes. They were red, bright red, and her heart sank. "Oh, you're a vampire," she said, disappointed.

Babette stiffened, her expression shuttering abruptly. "Is that a problem, Listener?" She asked coolly.

Amara realized her misstep and paled. "No! No no no, I just… I'm sorry, I thought you were like—like me. I'm sorry, I didn't mean… no. Sorry."

"Ah." Babette relaxed, a rueful smile crossing her face. "It's alright, Amara. I guess that would be a bit of a disappointment."

Amara stopped talking after that, but it was nearly impossible to fade from notice when they were all staring at her. Her face was warm with what felt like a permanent blush. As soon as she finished scarfing down her breakfast she pushed away from the table, mumbled an excuse to Cicero, and hastily retreated back to Mother's chapel.

"I miss my home," she whispered to Mother, though her supernatural presence wasn't present. She fought to keep her breath even. "Not my house, I mean. My Home. With Mama and Papa and Alar." She wiped hastily at her eyes and sniffled quietly. "This is… good, I guess. It'll become my home. My Home." The sarcophagus was cold where she leaned her head against it. "Eventually. I'm just afraid that it will take a long time."

Amara shut her eyes tight and exhaled shakily. "Please don't let it take a long time."