Redo! Yes, yes, it's been far too long. Anyways...onward!
Elisif was peering up at him so serenely he wondered if she truly recognized him. Her lips were slightly parted, and he swore he heard his name tumbling from between them. Still, it was barely more than a sigh (a sweet, longing, infuriating sigh), so he ignored it. The joyful expression was gone, anyways. He opened his mouth to speak, but she spoke first.
"Why?" she whispered, glancing up briefly then looking down.
"You know why." he grumbled, "It was certainly not my decision to invite you into the fold."
"A-an invitation, then?" she repeated shakily, "At least you won't have to waste all that breath on some prepared speech. I'm not interested." Her mind had been so at peace before, no thoughts of being hunted or tortured, no worrying about the floor being jerked out from under her feet. Panic gripped her at the sight of him, now that she was fully awake. Still, she never thought that her actions qualified as murder.
"It was justice, that's all, Lucien. I didn't murder anyone." the Speaker almost sighed in relief at her words, knowing her reluctance to join any order in which he was a part, but he had his orders. Orders that came directly from his Unholy Matron, and as much as it pained him, he'd not disobey.
"Was it, Elisif?" he answered softly, his voice rough and cold, "Your 'Master', surely that was justice, but what about the girl?" Her eyes widened at his words, "Ah, thought we wouldn't know of her? That pretty little Dunmer servant, naive and innocent. She truly thought to be your friend eventually, once you'd acclimated, but you slit her throat instead."
Elisif's answering whimper was satisfying and infuriating all at once. She refused to look at him, refused to look anywhere but at the coverlet.
"It wasn't justice, it was vengance. A misguided fit of rage. Hunger, thirst, lust for blood." Lucien gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him, "You cut her throat and bled her dry like an animal, and afterwards you left her in a burning ruin." She was exhilarated or frightened, he wasn't sure, though the sudden brightness in her eyes and rapidly rising chest were telling. She tried shaking her head, tried looking away. "Deny all you want, Elisif DuCarne, it makes no difference."
With a shrug of indifference, Lucien shoved the trembling woman back before pulling out an ebony blade and tossing it on her lap.
"On the Green Road to the north of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen. There you will find a man named Rufio. Kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete. Do this, and the next time you sleep in a location I deem secure, I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love of your new family." he gestured to the weapon, "The Blade of Woe. It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve you well, as does your silence." She sat the blade beside her own before mustering up the nerve to look at him. She was terrified! Good, he thought, and yet his traitorous mouth opened and words spilled out before he knew to stop them.
"Why do you still have that?" he asked bluntly, gesturing to the ruby dagger under her palm. At her shrug, he growled. "No. If you speak the truth, you were taken against your will years ago. They wouldn't have let you keep it. Don't lie." Her shrugged.
"It was important to me. One fights for what's important to them, or didn't you know, Lucien?" she sighed, "Faren had a good eye for weapons. I had it on my person when I was taken, and once he found out that it was a Skyforge blade, he kept it with him at all times. When I escaped I took it. Anything else? No? Let yourself out, please."
There was nothing he could think to say at that. Questions, the how and why of it all burning in his throat, but he simply nodded as though her answer was adequate. With a flick of Lucien's wrist he vanished before her eyes, a strong chamelion spell cloaking him.
"Your path is clear. Send Rufio to his death, and the Dark Brotherhood will embrace you as family."
Elisif moved mechanically about the room the next day. Clouds roiled in the sky, but she had to finish her tasks from Martin. Suddenly, helping the realm was of the utmost importance, as though by doing so she would purge herself of Lucien's presence. She launched herself headfirst into the Oblivion gate, fighting anything that got in her way. The count's son was a problem, but she maneuvered around him, sneaking into the tower fast enough that even that jackass didn't have time to get himself killed. Once the son was delivered to Indarys she left the city, rain following at her heels.
The road was wet and trecherous, but she swore she felt eyes on her, and the urge to flee was too strong. A wise person would have sought some sort of shelter, but she couldn't coax herself to stop, feeling that to stand still was tantamount to surrender. She was chilled to the bone by the time night fell, but still she pushed on.
Suddenly the sky, which had been so free of lightning up until that point, exploded with electricity, spooking the horse underneath her. After finding herself elbow deep in mud and without a mount, Elisif nearly gave in from exhaustion alone. Still her feet moved, trudging on and on into the darkness. She damned herself for not learning more alteration or mysticism, for surely spells from those schools would have been invaluable in this moment.
Finally, when her knees were as substantial as gelatin, Elisif spotted the light to an inn. She couldn't make out the sign, nor did she care as she staggered in from the storm, sloshing a monsoon of water onto the rough wooden floors.
"Greetings, traveller! You look a little worse for wear." the Nord behind the counter called, beckoning to the bedraggled Elisif. "A pint and a room for the night? Whattaya say, friend?"
She nodded as her body slumped onto a barstool, her shaky hands easing the warm ale to her lips.
"A bath as well, please." Elisif chimed in after draining half the pint. The inkeep gestured to a sparce room in the hall, barely a straw cot and a wash basin. "Don't suppose you have anything nicer? I have the coin." She pulled out fifty gold septims and the bartender's eyes widened, a grin splitting his face as he pointed to the trapdoor.
After Manheim the Innkeep finished hauling water to her room, Elisif raised up off the stool, groggy from the bit of sleep she had taken as the man completed his chore, thanking him and staggering toward her quarters.
"I'm sure it won't be a problem, but I'd better be sure to tell you. Try not to bother the other guest. He's a bit twitchy and doesn't take kindly to questions."
"He'll never know I'm here." she grumbled, trudging over to the trapdoor and climbing down.
Sleep made her usually silent steps clumsy, and she dragged exhausted feet to the door at the end of the hall, pushing it open with perhaps a bit too much force as she rubbed swollen eyelids.
"Who in Oblivion are you?" a worn, agitated voice demanded.
"Wait, what?" Elisif blinked blearily.
"How did you find me?" the feeble old man backed away, reaching for anything he could find. "I-I had no choice! P-please believe me!" Elisif stepped closer, a nagging feeling, some awful pull forcing her feet towards him. No choice?
He charged, panicked and sobbing, swinging his fists at her madly. He was shaking, screaming, incoherent, but he was also weak and old. It was nothing for Elisif, even in her exhaustion, to seize his wrists, to knee him in the stomach, and then he was on the floor, coughing and crying pitifully.
"I-I didn't mean to kill her! I t-told her to stop struggling, but she wouldn't. What was I supposed to do? All that screaming, she'd have brought the whole Imperial Guard down on my head. Please, have mercy!" By this time he was on the floor, clinging to her mud-covered boots. From the stink it was obvious he'd soiled himself.
Elisif watched the cowering mass on the floorboards, and those feelings, fear, anticipation, lust, they flooded her mind. It tingled in her skin, her hands.
"Oh shit." she groaned, panic bubbling up her spine as she tried shaking the man off her ankles, "No. No, no, no, no." He whimpered as her foot made contact with ribs, "What's your name?"
"R-r-Rufio. Please, mercy!" His arms covered his head for some modicum of protection. "I didn't mean to kill her, please. She was just such a tease, but she wouldn't, she wouldn't-"
Elisif stepped to the door to shut and bolt it before turning to the man. Her hands shook with fear, with anger and excitement. With a little effort she dragged the old man to his feet, shoving him against the closest wall and pinning him there. Tears streamed down her face, but he only focused on the fine ebony dagger in her hand pressed against his throat.
"Fucking bastard," she sighed wearily, "I wanted to leave it alone. I would have left it alone, Rufio. I didn't want to kill you, to fall in with these people, but you had to start confessing your sins. Really, I should just cut your cock off and let you bleed out. Some cultures do that to rapists. Be glad this ends quickly." The blade was terminally sharp, and it took hardly any effort to slice through the sagging skin at his throat. One quick stroke, and then she left the room, not wanting to see his death throes.
Elisif felt that hours had passed, that it should be morning already, but in her own room the tub was still steaming hot. It took little time to strip down, to scrub the exhaustive amount of mud and grime from her body, to remove the little bit of Rufio gummed up under her nails. Her mind was deliciously blank as she scrubbed, and only when her skin glowed pink did she rise and dress in robes (her only clean and dry clothes).
Despite her exhaustion, sleep would be impossible now, so she paced and waited as long as she could before making her way out through the trapdoor. She crept slowly but needn't have bothered; Manheim was asleep behind the bar. There was no one outside, but she did snag a nearby horse. The rain must have stopped while she was inside which made for good speed.
She rode the horse hard and arrived about three hours before dawn, letting the stolen steed loose near the stables and walking stiff-legged to the University. The guards greeted her with a little surprise, but she ignored them, trudging on. Riding back to the city brought all the horror back tenfold, and with it came such a desperation.
What was she becoming, killing so suddenly? Sure, there was dread in her at the thought, but a strange excitement, too. It was sick. She was sick. She didn't want to sleep, not alone, not where Lucien could find her again. Roiling began in her stomach, and it took all she had not to vomit at the thought of his smug grin, his velvety dark voice welcoming her into the "family." Absolutely not. She would cleanse herself of this, and the darkness would never claim her again. She was sick, and she needed her healer.