Hello again! I'm back, for now. Let's see if we can finish this.
The blood-red haze of Oblivion was nothing new to her. The sulfuric stench was the same as it ever was, the denizens of its damned halls an equitable amount of horrid and fascinating. All was the same, yet all was so much worse.
Normally, Elisif could take her time, pick her way through the traps and plants and stench, arriving nearly unscathed at the top of the highest tower and pluck the Sigil stone from its home. That was always the trick, to pluck out the stone. This one was surely no different except in its size. Then again, there were so many waiting on the battlefield. So many would die if she failed. Martin risked much to garrison himself and his Blades in front of the Great Gate, waiting on her return.
Raminus had objected at first. They'd grown so close, terribly close, and she'd been so fearful of late that he insisted to be brought along. She was to blame in this, to be sure, but there was no helping it. He was a formidable mage, but magic was not what helped one through an Oblivion gate so much as stealth, and of that he possessed little. So instead he lingered on the field with Martin, protecting the fledgling Emperor with his many magicks and awaiting her return. She did not risk a glance behind her before charging headlong into the flickering, flaming maw of the gate, worried that she'd lose her nerve.
So she told herself that it was the same, only with a time limit. A siege engine was being heaved towards the gate, but it was cumbersome and large, so she estimated an hour at the most. An hour to slither through tunnels and snake her way to the top of the tower. To pluck the stone from its pedestal and present it as a gift to her friend, the newly anointed Emperor Martin Septim, claiming his bastardly birthright. It surprised her how easily she evaded the dremora, but Raminus had enchanted her armor, had strengthened it somehow. She'd not asked it of him, but she knew of it, could detect the magicks it bore, and she was grateful. She moved as the shadows, silent and swift, and the time she made was stupendous. Nary a guard detected her presence.
Still, the Deadlands had a way of wearying a person, of making them paranoid, and she was certainly that. Every so often she felt a presence, as though just a few feet behind her lingered a set of eyes watching her every move. It made her hair stand on end, her teeth clench, her fingers tighten on the hilt of her dagger. Perhaps someone did follow her. If they did, they made no move to stop her as she made her way to the top, treading over the horrible musculature of the ramps, finally drawing the attention of a mage. He summoned a beast to fight for him, casting spells that singed her leathers, attacking her with his heavy mace when she slay the scamp. It took longer than she wanted, longer than she could afford, and still she felt the presence lingering, watching as she took a strong blow to the back, knocking the wind from her, shoving her to her knees before she rolled out of the way of a fatal blow. The mace stuck in the ground where her head was only moments before, and then she was flinging fireballs and dodging swings, weaving her way towards the pedestal where, most unfortunately, stood two more guardians that attacked on sight. The first was dead, though not before he had broken her sword arm, so she shoved her dagger into its sheath and dashed for the orb, gripping it with both hands and a scream as the guardians wailed at her back, taking the impacts, feeling the shattering of ribs and tearing of flesh. Her gloves burned away, something that had never happened before, fading to ash, the orb searing the flesh underneath, but she dare not let go as the gate disintegrated around her and the presence drew near. Another blow, and then the guardians were gone, both dead. She couldn't look, but she heard their deathly gurglings, the pitiful little chokes they made on their own black blood. Whatever the presence was, it didn't desire her death at their hands.
Her hands, however, were a mangled mess. The flesh was fair melting to the stone, the heat radiating up her arms, blisters forming and rupturing, skin crackling and blackening. She couldn't stifle her screams, didn't care if whatever lingered in the shadows witnessed her pained howls. Then the Deadlands faded, and she was on her knees, the battlefield all around, clutching the orb to her chest for dear life as blood streamed down her forearms. Her left arm was a throbbing, mangled mess, the bone exposed, and all around was the sound of slaughter, though it seemed in her haze that it was in favor of Nirn and not Oblivion. She struggled to her feet, orb clutched to her, shuffling from the gate, trying her best to weave around the combatants, when a dremora spider scurried before her, bare-breasted and horrible. It eyed her, eyed the orb she bore, and then it lunged, only to fall to the ground, throat sliced. More fell to her right, daedra of all ilk, seemingly taken by surprise as their black blood stained the snow. Their killer remained unseen, but she couldn't be sure if it was due to stealth or her own failing senses. Her fingers clenched the orb tighter. Her nerves screamed, but still she moved, her invisible protector slaughtering all that came her way until at last the Blades and the gathered forces had beaten back the horde. Dead littered the fields from both sides, though blessedly more daedra than anything else, and then the vanguard parted to reveal Martin Septim and his Blades marching towards her. She raised her blurred vision, searching, but she couldn't make him out. Raminus? Raminus?
Her knees buckled once Martin drew near, the orb cradled to her chest, searing her flesh and bone. The Blades held back hesitantly. Her eyes were growing weak, her limbs as well, but her hearing was fine. She could hear Jauffre cautioning Martin, telling him to wait, to see what was wrong with her, but then he was before her, worried and bloodied but whole. She held out the orb expectantly, crying out only a little as it was peeled from her skin, the blood flowing anew, speckling the snow. With what remained of her vision she witnessed the orb wrapped in leather, carried off by the Blades, and then she was collapsing on the filthy snow, allowing the chill to sooth her brutalized flesh, the relief immediate, though the pain in her arm multiplied tenfold. Where was Raminus? Was he alive?
She stood unsteadily. The pain made it hard to see and harder still to move, but she did so, cradling her broken arm and trudging past the dead. She kept her dim gaze on Martin who had begun his return. Martin, who was running to her. Where was Raminus? She couldn't breathe, broken ribs marking each breath as a lesson in agony. Words failed her, and soon after that, so did her sight. She felt that it was Martin who picked her up. It had to be him. She knew his scent, could recognize the smell of the herbs they'd burned the previous day. The smoke clung to his hair, to his skin. He was talking to her, but she couldn't understand it over her own breathing. Where was Raminus? She kept asking, or she thought she did, but he would not give her a response. Her head banged against Martin's chestplate in his haste to wherever they were going, and her wounds screamed at every hurried step he took. Still, she was limp with unconsciousness in moments.
It was a simple matter for Lucien to steal inside of Cloud Ruler Temple; the tired soldiers on duty had been comically easy to slip past. The medics tending the wounded paid him no mind, not that they could see past his enchantments, and the only ones suspicious of him lay unconscious in separate rooms. To kill the Emperor of Tamriel would have been simple indeed, but he wasn't in Bruma for that. His mark lay on a plush bed, washed and bandaged and broken, waiting her turn since all the healers had exhausted themselves. The ones who'd seen to her had taken the time to dose her with potions to keep the pain at bay, to keep her unconscious until such time that she could be made whole again, but still, it was surprising to see her so vulnerable.
Soon the halls were empty. Though guards protected Martin's quarters, Elisif was ensconced well away from there, so he felt it safe enough to move leisurely about, locking the doors and casting spells to deaden any noise that might emit from her quarters. He worked briskly at the alchemy set, swirling draughts of various tinctures, preparing anything he might need for his work before settling down at her side. Elisif had not look so broken since he'd known her, so small and frail. Watching her work in the Deadlands had been invigorating at first, as he did love to see women do their killing. Soon, however, even he had to take pity on her. From that pity grew genuine concern as her arm snapped, the limb flopping at her side in a sickening fashion. The last straw came when her brains had almost been splattered on the ground, and he could abide no more. He was not one to coddle others, and it was clear she could handle herself, but the stench of her burning flesh made his stomach turn. Even now, in her sick room, spanking clean and fragrant with firewood and herbs, he could smell her pretty skin adhering itself to the orb.
Once all was in order, bottles and bandages lined up precisely, he began the delicate task of unwrapping her wounds. First her hands, the burns reaching very nearly to the bone, and then he moved up each arm, erasing the blisters and leeching away the heat. Once her skin was fresh and baby pink he moved on to the bigger issues, weaving her broken bones back into place. He poured every bit of magick he possessed into her, replenishing his stores with potions again and again until he was nearly toxic, but he was a man obsessed by that point. Sweat gathered at his brow, and once he'd tended to her ribs and ravaged back, Lucien found himself in the very embarrassing situation of shaking. With the last of his strength, he mended her face, battered and swollen, watching with satisfaction as her bruises faded and flesh shrank to its proper size.
It was only when he finally had finished his work on her body that he took proper notice of it. He'd not seen her this vulnerable in a decade, nude and sleeping and completely oblivious to his presence. She was still the same, pale and fair and lovely. Sleep took away the haunted look she wore in her waking hours, peeled back the years. But there was no denying the changes in her. Her paranoia, her fearfulness. Her scars. It seemed she was meant to be scarred, because she bore far too many. He'd seen them before for the most part, but one in particular drew his attention. He studied it at his leisure. After all, when would he get this opportunity again? His fingers traced the line across her abdomen, surgical and precise. Damning. After a moment he rose, gathering the discarded dressings and tossing them into the fire, along with a fresh log. It was at that moment that she began to stir, to respond properly to outside stimuli.
As for her, pain lived in every joint as Elisif awoke. The room in which she lay was dark, cool, the fire having recently been allowed to sputter out. She lay naked and exposed, the covers pulled down to her waist. A quick inventory found her whole and hearty, her flesh and bone mended until nary a scar remained. The ache of her former injuries lingered, however, a sign that she had only just been tended to. Quickly she sat up, looking around for Raminus in vain, but surely he was the one who healed her. Where was he? Panic, or as much panic as she could muster in her currently drugged state, seized her, and she tried shakily to stand, only to lay back as a raw wave of vertigo crashed over her. This wasn't her normal room, but it was in Cloud Ruler Temple, so at least she was in the correct place.
"Raminus? Martin?" she called hoarsely, throat dry and scratchy, but there was no response, no stirring in the halls. For several moments she tried to gain the attention of anyone near, but it was no good. She closed her eyes, tried to relax, tried to recall anything at all useful, but it was blank. All was silent in the Temple, so it was more than a little startling to hear a log tossed on the coals followed by a spell to coax it back to a cheery roar.
The light flashed vibrantly and her eyes flew open as a weight settled at her feet, a hand resting on her ankle, and who should she find but Lucien Lachance, hood down, wreathed in the fire's happy glow. Her heart pounded, but she kept her eyes trained on him much as one would a deadly viper. It was an apt comparison, at any rate.
As her sight adjusted, she could better see the look he bore. He was studying her, looking over every bit of her that wasn't covered by the heavy blankets, gliding over her skin as though he had just been reacquainted with it. She sat silently, boiling with rage, gut twisting in apprehension, but she sat there all the same and endured his even stare.
"Wh-" an agonized cough escaped her dry throat before she could continue, reaching toward the bedside table for water. Lucien only watched with patience and an unnerving smile. It wasn't the cold, calculated leer he held before striking, but something gentler, something off. A remnant of the times that he'd smirk before crawling into bed with her after a long absence. She tamped that down immediately. "Ugh. Lucien. Why are you here? Where's Raminus? If you've hurt him-" Instantly he began to laugh, a genuine chuckle that was far too loud for her liking, as if he were not in the least bit afraid of being discovered.
"Is that any way to speak to me, dear Elisif? After all, I did keep your pretty brains in your head, instead of letting them decorate the halls of the Deadlands." She was taken aback only briefly by this, only surprised at his dogged following because who would dare to travel there? After a pause, he gestured to her freshly mended arm, "May I?" She made no response, but she did not pull away as he took it gingerly in his hands, turning it to trail his fingers down her wrist. "You're very lucky I was here to heal you. All the mages had already exhausted themselves, and you must be a low priority in their estimation. Not for me though, Elli. Out of an entire army of people, there is only one that I would try to save. Isn't that flattering?" He smirked at her angry expression. "It's your own fault, my dear. We'd never have come to this if you'd simply stayed put instead of running away and hiding behind that fool mage." He thumbed her knuckles, turning them over and looking at her fresh, pink palms, fingers tracing the lines, seemingly inspecting his work with a disarming tenderness before looking up at her with a steely grin. "When did you become a coward?"
With a huff she jerked her hands away, wiping them on the covers and shoving herself from the bed. It took much effort, but she was able to support herself, anger fueling her movements. Summoning a magelight to her palms, Elisif peered about for clothes, but there was nothing lying about, so she rounded on the assassin who still sat beaming at the foot of the bed, paying no heed to her own nakedness. "Why are you here, Lucien?"
"Because we are bound by fate, you and I. You do the deeds of the Night Mother, and she approves, so she sends out her children to bring the family together." she frowned at that. "You cannot run from it, Elisif. You can feel it, can't you? Otherwise you wouldn't have been running scared with your mageling. Poor Raminus. What did he say when you told him? Some trite shit about protecting you from the darkness, never leaving your side? But, dear Elli…" He leaned closer, smiling conspiratorially, "He's not here now."
"Lucien." Elisif was quick to respond, "Lucien, have you seen him? Did you-Is he-"
"Oh, he's alive. Apparently he had exhausted his magick whilst healing the wounded and collapsed. Suppose these great and mighty Blades aren't the formidable group they make themselves out to be, or they'd have no need for his magick, much less the healing hands of their Emperor. A pity neither of them saved their energy for you. No matter. Your true family is here now, and we take care of our own." After his little speech he seemed quite pleased, stretching out on her borrowed bed, hands clasped in his lap as he watched her from the pillows.
She was silent. She was stunned. What she had feared came to fruition and much sooner than she could have ever dreamed. Now she stood staring at an assassin in her bed, watching her expectantly as he fiddled with his fingernails.
"Lucien, please." Elisif started, giving up on her quest for dignity and pants and choosing instead to settle on the bed beside him, her legs wobbly and tired as it was. "This is a mistake. Surely you can see that. Not even a year ago we were set to kill one another, and now we are meant to work together? You can't want that. We hate one another, don't we? If the Night Mother thinks we can see past all that-"
"I don't hate you, Elisif." It was a quiet acknowledgement, but it cut through her words like a knife. She raised a brow at his admission. "I did. Oh, my sweet Elli, the ways I would have cut you up. The thousands of times I've thought of killing you...you've no idea, and I am an inventive soul. Leaving was one thing, but then, afterwards, the betrayals? My dark brothers and sisters attacked, and the finger pointed to you somehow, to a whistleblower that knew of my dealings. I could have let you leave and forgotten all, but betraying the Brotherhood. That is something else entirely.
"Then you killed that Dunmer, and I was sent to follow you. I watched you with Rufio, stumbling upon him by accident, and then afterwards, in the bath, scrubbing at your skin until it glowed. Working those little bits of Rufio out from under your fingernails. Then I saw you, truly saw you, and I thought perhaps I was wrong. You didn't know anything about the Brotherhood, couldn't have betrayed me even if you wanted to. Besides, the Night Mother wouldn't invite you into the fold if you were a traitor from the start."
"Saw me?" she replied, mildly repulsed, and Lucien gestured.
"Your scars. Your suffering. I saw it. I saw all of it. I've been following you ever since, and to be honest it's been a struggle not to kill Raminus where he sleeps every night. How can you stand someone so insufferably sweet?" Lucien was still grinning, and Elisif shoved at him in outrage.
"You watched us?" she cried angrily. "Then perhaps you've forgotten, dear Lucien, that there was once a time you were insufferably sweet as well. Whispered love and stolen kisses and all that drivel." She made to strike him, slapping him hard across the face, then he was on her, hands gripping her wrists like a vice, all amusement gone.
"Take care, Elisif. You're part of the family now, but even we have rules."
"I'm no family of yours, Lucien Lachance. Not anymore." She replied coldly, but she was staring at him all the same. He was so close to her now, face looming over hers in anger, a face that had aged but remained much the same as she remembered. Once she had loved that face, had kissed it upon each happy return to their home. Maddeningly, the feel of his skin, even in their violent exchange lingered. It made her fingers itch and her heart hammer, the memory of his stubble scraping her skin. Something about his words brought it all to mind, a reminder of their playful seriousness before their lives had been shattered.
Then he asked the question that stole the breath from her lungs faster than any crushing blow, and it most certainly put any wayward thoughts she had to rest.
"I saw them all, Elli. Every single one." He seemed hesitant, as though he would rather not know the answer, and if she only knew how true that was she'd see he was no threat to her. After a moment's indecision he plunged ahead. "Did you...is our-" He didn't say anything else, only stared at her, and for a moment she did not catch his meaning. No, not until he placed his hands on her did she understand. It was a brief touch, the barest acknowledgement, but when he made to withdraw she held him in place, refusing to meet his gaze. She had dreaded that question, was surprised he hadn't asked it of her sooner. Even though a decade had passed, the pain it brought forth was palpable.
"Gone. I tried escaping, and finally they realized why I never learned my lesson, why I wouldn't accept my place. So they...It never had a chance. Five months." The words were impossibly hard to utter, and once she did, she felt a familiar nausea at the memory, sweat popping on her brow in protest.
She hadn't thought of that in years, except to tell Raminus that she couldn't conceive, that it wasn't possible. She'd felt he deserved to know, should have any opportunity to leave whatever this strange arrangement was. Other than that, no matter what she was doing or where she was, she never let the opportunity to dwell on that arise. It was why she was always busy, why she spun through life like a whirlwind, helping and hurting as the situation required, but always always staying properly distracted, lest the past return to haunt her.
Now there was no one to save, no enemies to kill, and nothing to draw her attention elsewhere. It was insufferable, and worse still was the stinging in her eyes. No, not the tears themselves, but the audience that bore witness. Then again, why not him? He was as much affected by it as she, had lost as much in that moment. Try as she might, she could not fight it, and soon she was sobbing, no longer caring who saw. Vaguely she registered Lucien shifting, and she thought perhaps he was finally taking his leave. Then she felt him, saw his dark arms through the blur, holding her close and smoothing her hair, and she lost whatever tenuous control she had possessed. With utter abandon she pulled him close, held tight to his dark robes, soaking the cloth with her tears and utterly exhausting herself in his arms. It was as though the years had disappeared, as if they both were children again, with only each other for comfort. For a moment she forgot the rest, tossed aside how fucked her life had become. She could hear him talking, softly murmuring something, but she couldn't make it out over her own noise.
After an inordinate amount of time she finally slowed, her head pounding and face swollen, and she did all she could to avoid his eyes, suddenly very embarrassed of the entire situation. The thought of meeting his dark, even gaze made her ill, but meet it she did as he lifted her chin, directing her attention to him. It was worse than she had feared. Where once she thought only anger dwelled, now lived pity. Pity from him? She wanted to decry it, to curse him and his pity, but to be honest, she had wanted it for a long time. For years she had believed her captors, believed that he had betrayed her, and she had wanted him to see her sorry state, to regret what he had done. Now, in the face of their mutual misunderstanding, she received her wish. He did very obviously regret something, and it made her stomach turn.
"I'm sorry, Lucien. I don't know what came over me." she smoothed back her hair and wiped at her face, "Thank you for saving my life, and for healing my wounds. Thank you for bringing me the Night Mother's offer. And...and I am sorry." her hands clenched at her sides. "I'm sorry." Her throat tightened, so she forced out the words. "I'm sorry. I'm-"
"No more apologies, Elisif." Lucien replied, and if he sounded a bit graver than usual, she would not begrudge him. "You...well, you lived through more than I ever knew. More than I thought you could." His hand reached up, cupped her cheek, and he kissed her damp lips. It wasn't passion. No, what it felt like was comfort or perhaps reassurance, though if it was meant for her or him, Elisif couldn't say. Still, it was the same warmth, the same spice, the same feeling of home that she had felt a decade ago. The same hands that had held her back then, and the same man she had so desperately loved. Soon enough he withdrew, and if he felt as awkward as she did by his actions, no one would have been able to tell. Indeed, he behaved as though none of their previous exchange had occurred, shifting back into a businesslike tone.
"Take this." He said abruptly, shaking her from her reflections a she pressed a book into her hands. "The Five Tenets, though you already know them. Inside are instructions for you. Don't protest." He started when she did indeed begin to protest, "We haven't the time for arguments. Know that you will change your mind. You are born for this, Elisif, just as I was. Finish your business here, and then join your true family in Cheydinhal, in the basement of the abandoned house. A question will be asked of you. You need only respond, 'Sanguine, my brother' to be granted entrance, and then Ocheeva will see that you are settled properly." Once he finally cease his explanation, she started in on him.
"You won't be there? I thought this was your sanctuary." She found that after all of her resistance, she was entertaining the idea in spite of herself. Worse, she felt an unexpected sense of disappointment at his possible future absence.
"My duties take me all across Cyrodiil. You remember? We will meet again. Read the tenets, heed my instructions, and try not to get yourself killed after all the trouble I took healing you." There was a tone of finality in his voice.
"You're leaving? Now?"
"The guards are drowsy, the night is dark, and I have finally completed my mission. If you don't want your companions alarmed and attacking, I must leave now. Don't worry." He smiled as he pulled the hood back over his hair, obscuring much of his face in shadow. "We'll meet again soon enough." At this Elisif couldn't stifle a scoff.
"I didn't agree to anything. Your mission failed." He didn't respond, inly laughing as he cast a chameleon spell and disappeared. "You're mad, Lucien Lachance. I'll die before I join the Brotherhood."
Silence was her answer.