Author's Notes: Alrighty! Lot's of stuff in this chapter. I'll admit I had a little difficulty meeting my deadline for this one. (Got busy playing D&D, don't hate! XD) But here it is! Also, no *sigh* Janus in this chapter. He simply wouldn't fit. This is a Lucien oriented chapter. There will be a dream sequence, which I like to write a little weird and choppy (Like most of the dream sequences I write). So, be prepared for the italic overload! XD And thank you all SO much for the feedback! I wish I could answer some of your questions but I can't! Ugh! XDXD I can say her cycles did stop. Waaaaay back in the beginning, Hal-Liurz and Hassildor had a little conversation for him to expect such a thing with her being in his constant company...it never occurred. Again, I CAN say that, as it really doesn't reveal much...bum bum bummmm~
WARNING: This chapter is rated M.You have been warned.
Love or Blood
Chapter Sixty-five: The Hanged Man
xxxx
Little over another week flew by before we entered the County Kvatch, slowly making our way towards Drakelowe once more. Thankfully, the assassin did not rush me in the least. We took our time, venturing slowly, spending some days in the woods, doing nothing as I remained in my memories. So much had happened and I was left so very tormented by all. Flitters of my childhood came to me as I dreamt. Sitting with my mother, the feeling of her skin as we sat together beneath the Anvil tree, talking about menial things my limited child mind thought great. My father, standing by our family table, hunched over me as he taught me how to read, ushering me into another world of bliss and knowledge.
I was not quite like them. I was always too shy, too reserved, too...everything they did not want. My father enjoyed my 'unique' qualities as a child, my mother pointed out how problematic it was for a daughter to be so bashful. A lady was to be bold and beautiful, not timid. I was anything but what they wanted...What I would have given to be as they desired. To be a healer, lovely and confident, married - perhaps to the temple - and happy. Not this thing I had become. Fearful and untrusting, cynical and resigned to being wrong. My life had played out strangely. I knew better than to fantasize happiness in Anvil. I was not as they wanted and would have never been happy doing as they envisioned...and I longed for happiness. I still did.
It was cruel. I had only known true happiness before the age of eight and then again under the care of the Count of Skingrad. Perhaps that was all I was to be granted, as I denied all plans laid out for me, both by parental design and divinity. Should I have stayed in Anvil, I would have surely been forced to travel to Skyrim, to their Dibellan temple, be thoroughly examined and taught their ways, returning as my mother's dream - stuck to decay by the Gold Coast as a being of lust and healing.
Was it truly so awful? Why did I not want that? Why did I not want to be there? I did not understand. Lust was good. I enjoyed sex. Healing was interesting. I was surprised that I still scorned the role I was to take. I did not understand. Why did I not want to stay? I was now well acquainted with the key components of a Sybil...yet I felt soulless at the thought of lying in a chapel, naked and surrounded by incense and flower petals. To be worshiped by outsiders for my looks, for the joys of my flesh. Heal men and women with my body and magic, knowing them intimately, but not by who they were...I could not. I already felt I had lain with too many. I had once dreamt of celibacy. The Count's touch made those vows crumble with remarkable swiftness...
I fell easily to temptation and that thought made strange emotion swirl within me. My anger turned restless inside and I could direct it at no one but myself. My eyes would burn with tears but my body turned hot with unquenchable rage. I scratched the long faded mark upon my shoulder as I eyed the man before me, my stare a mix of lust and violence, though I knew not why.
Strangely, sex became even more frequent, initiated by myself. I desired the assassin, his body a beautiful medicine for my woes. It was a bittersweet thing to realize just how very much I enjoyed all things carnal. I allowed Lucien Lachance to do to me as he wished and posed no opposition to his desires. I welcomed all and refused nothing. On the contrary, the more we joined, the more licentious and depraved our actions became. His vast knowledge of all things sexual left me sore, confused, ashamed and oddly satisfied. I wondered in the far back corner of my mind if I made my mother proud...
I sat by our old firepit, packed and ready to venture forth. We needed to make a quick stop in Kvatch and then again travel to see the witch. I watched the assassin move, hooking our things to Shadowmere, said rage again churning in me for no apparent reason. I had nothing but myself to focus my violence upon. Lucien Lachance, however, became another way for me to work out my frustrations... "I want you." I proclaimed quite out of the blue, ready to pacify and distract myself from all that ailed my soul. Before the assassin could turn, I worked down some buttons of my blouse and reclined on the grass some. When Lucien finally settled his gaze to me, I was already pulling up my skirts.
"My dear, it is impossible to deny you...However, my manhood is beginning to greatly protest our constant activities. As is your body. You have been bleeding..." I only quirked my brow at the assassin, reaching down to my smalls and pulling them to the side to flash him my sex - an instinctive action that no longer felt my own. I readily displayed myself for him, using my body as a weapon to gain as I wished...something that repulsed a small part of me. A part that was presently too upset to hinder my actions.
Lucien's protests vanished quickly. The assassin walked to me, filled with lust and want, crouching to me with swiftness and purpose that I still found startling. I felt nothing but sadness, anger, and desire. I knew only to act on these feelings now. Lucien took me as he wanted, as I needed, and I found joy in his touch. Fear and discomfort mattered little. For now, I would be pacified. His lust healed me and nothing else would.
XXXX
With a bruising grip, the assassin again spilled himself into the girl on the grass. And again she wept, both tears from her eyes and a small trickle of red from her sex, their combined fluids turning a milky pink. Although being pleasured, she would weep shortly after her release and bleed...but still, she initiated their joining and did not so much as whisper a refusal of his touch or motions. Lucien knew better than confuse her tears for that of pain during their union. No, it was all sorrow to the loss of her parents. Sex aided her in coping. She posed no opposition as he tested the waters of mild violence in their union. She welcomed it, responding positively to the abuse - much as he observed some weeks ago now. It was also proving to be a very long trip back to Drakelowe with all her anguish and desires - an odd mix that was shamefully not entirely unwelcome. Because of this, more supplies were needed and they were to stop again, this time in Kvatch.
Lucien showered her with kisses and cleaned her tenderly, supporting her to stand, righting her clothing and situating her onto Shadowmere, riding as gently as he was able. Not once since Anvil did they speak of her loss, nor did the assassin wish to. He did long to comfort his Abigale Lynn, of course, so he did all as she wished. Sex, food, rest...as she asked, he complied. Still, the girl now seemed greatly detached from Nirn, only coming back when he was inside of her. Dibellan's tended to find solace in flesh, so he was unsurprised by her methods. Sex became a physical need, the deepest closeness and connection one could physically share and was greatly important. He tried to accommodate her in all ways but still knew something more was amiss.
In her sleep, she spoke of Skingrad. A restless 'Sir', rousing and infuriating him on several different occasions now. Regardless, Lucien did not bring up such a thing, nor would he dare to dwell on his disdain for her longing of another man - another possible comfort. After all, Lucien Lachance himself had been the one to slay her parents, her suffering was his doing so the repercussions were simply that - repercussions. He would tolerate them, as was owed and suffer his wounded ego in silence. He bit his tongue, finding the punishment laughably befitting, as he held many more damning secrets than the one recently brought to light.
The assassin was thankful that his work appeared as suicide for her mother...but why no one knew of her father's actual suicide was beyond him. Perhaps his friends in the guard did not want him shamed and believed 'succumbing to heartache' a more compassionate cause of death. Mourning one's wife could cause a loving man to fall to the emptiness in his chest formed by her absence...
However, Claude Biencourt's end was spurred by everything except his dead spouse...
XXXX
Several weeks had passed since his last visit to Anvil and the assassin was very much intrigued to carry out the finishing touches of his latest contract, though the exact terms were still a mystery to him. However, this mattered not, as he did very much enjoy a good mystery.
Lucien Lachance entered the little house opposite the great tree of Anvil, finding the door unlocked. Approaching again as a Speaker with their meeting scheduled, the openness of the home was not uncommon, but the stillness certainly was. Usually, once due a preordained visit from the Dark Brotherhood, one was naturally cautious while awaiting a Dark Speaker's presence. With this, the assassin was rather puzzled as he entered the quiet. The only thing to great Lucien happened to be a lone candle flitting in the darkness, perched upon the table in the vastly empty space. The assassin quirked his brow, hand to the hilt of his sword as he scanned the utterly silent home, soon noting one wicker chair missing from the table's placing...
Locking the door behind him and welcoming himself further into the home, Lucien soon did hear small sounds of life. Soft shuffling in the stillness, indicating another in the vicinity. His client, Claude Biencourt, was too soon alerted to the assassin's return. The bold clicking of his family door latch and Lucien's purposely noisy steps warned him of the shadowy presence that entered into his home.
"Assassin?" Called a voice, gruff and with the smallest hint of an old Breton accent. Lucien turned in direction of the call, casually following the sound with all the confidence only one as he possessed. Some would be wary of wandering a home they were mostly unfamiliar with. Lucien Lachance was not such a person and maintained excellent composure and moved with a remarkable amount of self-assurance. One would think the abode his.
Off of the little foyer and down a step into the darkness was a humble den. The room was mostly concealed by a thick white stone wall and no light graced the space. The assassin rounded the corner, taking all practical precautions as he did so - regardless of his confidence, he was not foolish - and soon found his client awaiting him. Claude Biencourt stood barefoot upon the missing wicker chair that Lucien Lachance had earlier noted. Adorning the Bretons neck was a thick rope, which was firmly attached to the rafters of his finely crafted home. The Speaker quirked his brow and swept into the room, gifting his client a charming smile as he seemingly stepped from nothingness. The Breton gave a currently unconstricted nod of acknowledgment before speaking, gesturing to his noose as he did so. "Forgive me for not receiving you properly, Mister Lachance. As you can see, I have been a mite busy."
Lucien Lachance chuckled, eyeing the ropework approvingly, now thoroughly grasping his reason for return. This assignment was not yet complete, his new target standing before him, perched precariously on his own furnishings. "Ah, again, I find your etiquette refreshing, Claude. And your ropework too. It is quite good." The Speaker smirked, walked further into the room, slowly circling the chair and eyeing the unflinching Breton appraisingly. "I see now why you wished my return. Well, here I am again before you. And I greatly admire your steel and dedication to death."
Claude Biencourt scoffed, meeting the murderer's gaze unflinchingly - as far as the rope and his position would permit. "Death is kind compared to being away from those you can never love, assassin. I pray you will never know this." Lucien finished his circle to again face his target, one dark brow quirked and curious, a little smile playing along his lips.
"Save your prayers for me...say one for yourself in my stead." The Speaker inclined his head ever so slightly, again eyeing the coarse rope with intrigue. "Such a shame, Claude. If you so wish to take your own life why not simply do so? The glory need not be mine."
"I wish to join my daughter." The Breton proclaimed boldly, his face falling into a stern and solemn frown. "I do not expect one such as yourself to understand, but suicide will send my soul to Oblivion...I long to be with my Hummingbird. My daughter. That is why you are here." Claude's shoulders slumped the smallest bit before he regained composure, shaking away the woes of a broken father and again donning the mask of a man vexed. "My death is yours, assassin. When you are ready, kick out the chair. It is how I wish it."
"I gathered that much," Lucien remarked coolly, turning his gaze to the chest of drawers at his side and the several little ornaments upon it. "I shall do as you ask, provided the necessary payment is -"
"Your gold is in the bottom drawer of that bureau you're eyeing." His target interrupted, nodding over to said dresser. "And it's key is in the pocket of my breast. It is all there, every last Septim. You have my eternally honest last words." For the first time since knowing the Breton, Claude Biencourt looked the smallest bit apprehensive of his choice. Obvious nerves and doubts plagued him. His decision was made from sorrow and spite. Lucien would certainly not try to dissuade the man. No, no, no. His soul would go to his Dread Father. However, the Speaker grew ever more curious. This man, though of humble status and little wealth, struck him as proud. Most knew of the Biencourts of Anvil, as his late wife dragged their name through the mud and back, but such a thing was easily fixed with another more advantageous marriage. And the man had lineage, despite his favored child no longer being among the living. There was plenty to carry on for...
"Good. You thought this through well." Lucien hummed in contemplation, again assessing the apparently strong man before him, his target's inner workings suddenly a great deal intriguing. "Permit me to say so, Claude, but you do not seem the type to bring death to yourself. I know you have pains from your loss of a daughter, but is such a hurt worth your life? As a matter of fact, don't you have two other children? Another daughter and son?"
"Bah!" Claude's cheeks reddened, his nostrils flaring the smallest bit. "That whore of a wife was pregnant long before our wedding night. I gave the eldest my name out of love for her. The youngest...again, not mine. I was away once he was conceived." The Breton glared before softening, staring off at the far wall behind the assassin. "It was only her - my Hummingbird. She was mine. A product of love. She had my eyes, my complexion, my...my..." Lucien remained placid and utterly stoic as the man before him turned glassy-eyed. Again, the Breton shook his emotions away, straightening and bold beneath his noose. "She had my everything. She was my everything. A man is not a man until he father's a daughter. Tertia frightened her away with all her Dibellan whore nonsense. My Hummingbird panicked and ran. She was beautiful and delicate, too much so for this cold world. She has been eaten alive. I feel it in my bones and I lack the strength to go on without her beautiful smile. It has been years since I last heard her voice..."
"Indeed, what is life without our beloved daughters? I commend you then for carrying on as long as you have." The Speaker offered, approaching Claude Biencourt once more, staring up and into his green irises. Lucien found the man's gaze intriguing. Ready for death. Absolution to his end. Determination. But there was more - a yearning for something unnameable. "Although...I can see much in your eyes. Unfinished work, perhaps? Hmm, I shall admit it is most pleasing to see one who has embraced their fate so freely, but I am willing to hear your final words, should you be partial to sharing them." It was the Breton's turn to stare and he did so almost blankly, his murderer still so very curious. "I gave your wife a quick death, as promised. I ask you now, have you any declarations or requests of your own or for yourself before I send you to the void?"
Claude Biencourt sighed, sounding thoroughly taxed. "No, assassin, I have none. I am beyond help and fully finished with this life. The mistakes I have made are many, too many to speak of before dawn. I doubt I am capable of doing good. Nothing I have done can be rectified, so let us end this."
Lucien Lachance gave a polite little bow. "As you wish." With great force, the assassin then kicked the chair out from beneath the Breton, startling him for only a moment before the inevitable panic of impending death took hold. The Speaker smoothly stepped away a few paces, crossing his arms behind his back as he watched the dangling man thrash about wildly. Claude Biencourt instinctively gripped his noose, seeking breath, his bodily actions more involuntary. Lucien only watched on, ever the curious assassin as the man's legs kicked at air. Claude gurgled, his fingers gripping at the rope, his arms strained, eyes bulging and skin growing pale...eventually, stillness followed, a slight purple hue creeping to the Breton's lips and rims of his eyes, his stare unfocused.
Once life had left the Breton, Lucien Lachance strode forth and retrieved the key from the man's breast pocket. The assassin whistled as he wandered back to the dresser and retrieved payment for the impromptu assassination. He counted the gold before the slowly swaying corpse, satisfied with the amount and all that transpired. With a final look, Lucien assessed the damage appraisingly. It was not every day that an entire lineage could be swept off the face of Nirn, but indeed it happened, and at the assassin's capable hands. Claude and Tertia Biencourt killed one another, Lucien had only been the weapon.
xxxx
We rented an Inn in the city of Kvatch and planned to stay for only the one evening. Lucien and I were quick to set off and resupply, browsing the little market near the entrance of the Chapel. I walked about mutely, the assassin's hand upon my hip a great comfort as we strolled. I leaned into him mindlessly, thankful that most of my anger had abated. It was a confusing and conflicting existence now. I went through the motions and tried my hardest to focus on the trivial and mundane. I needed little things to busy my hands and mind.
My thoughts drifted to the Count, his feelings...absent. Almost as though a great wedge had formed in his heart for me. I wondered if this was intentional. Did he hide his rage to lull me? I put nothing by Nirn now. Most cruel things seemed to find me. Still, I longed to sense him, even if only his anger...the thoughts of him again swirling a strange desire in my belly. It was a...complicated need. I tugged at the assassin's sleeve as he finished paying for some provisions, aching inside in many ways and yearning to ache with him once more.
As Lucien Lachance had earlier warned, sex was proving more and more painful and bloody. I was not too sure why. Again, I understood nothing about my body and simply allowed all. The assassin's gentle violence did not aid in my comforts...but nor did I wish to stop him. I wanted his pleasure. He was my assassin and I required his happiness to hopefully, someday, retrieve my own. Perhaps I would learn to love Lucien in my own way as he assuredly loved me. A small part of my heart felt guilty for not loving the assassin, but I tried to shut that bit out. I had far too much to deal with. I hoped some semblance of love would follow. I could do more no more for us than that.
Lucien turned and eyed my hand upon his arm, gaze soon drifting to my face. He knew what I desired, it was no secret, but having lain together only several hours before, and having bled terribly after, I could see the refusal on the assassin's features before I could even hope to verbally express my wants. He quirked his brow and gave a slow shake of his head. Being in public, an outright refusal of sex would be impolite, but we both knew what the other was conveying. I pouted at him, shifting my gaze to the counter where he placed down some gold for our goods. The assassin sighed and patted my head, leading me to another market stall and I followed him wordlessly.
"I will purchase you a few potions of healing, my dear." The assassin said to me softly as we walked, keeping his tone dipped so that only I was to hear him. "An eve without sex will not kill us. And a few potions may help to make all more pleasurable for you again. It may also help you to feel better in other ways...Rejuvenate your mind, so to speak." Lucien offered, gently rubbing my arm. "...There also happens to be certain fungi and the famed Laudanum that may better help your state of mind, rather than me ruining you on an hourly basis."
I scoffed, unsurprised by his offering. I knew our activities were taking a toll on us both, however, it was insulting to hear that the assassin wished for me to be medicated until I was in a better mindset. Lucien Lachance did not possess the ability to understand the hurt, confusion, and anger I felt. He wished to implement other means to speed along a recovery that he had little knowledge over. "So you wish to sedate me until I am again happy?"
"My dear, I do not think I have ever seen you genuinely 'happy'." He countered all too casually, him vocalizing my earlier musing caused my cheeks to turn pink. "It was merely a suggestion. Feel free to refuse it."
"Consider it refused then." I snapped, folding my arms over my chest, staring down at the cobblestone. I paid little to no attention to the city around us. I was still too gone in my head. Gray stones. Gray stones. And more gray stones. I could not gather anything more. I was also reminded of a sleeping draught I took religiously after the Count's first betrayal...
"Fine, Abigale." The assassin grunted, walking on ahead of me the smallest bit. "You know I would never let you fall to a vice...which is another reason why I believe abstaining to be the most beneficial option. And the kindest to you." Again I scoffed, refusing to follow Lucien for a moment as he wandered to the nearest vendor. I stared at his back, finding my anger misplaced. In his way, he was right for denying me, as I was using sex as a method of distraction and not for the closeness he so wished. I knew I was being cruel, I knew I was having difficulties processing my emotions in a healthy manner but I no longer knew what to do.
My parents were gone and I was trying to accept it. It was a painful thing. I was angry with the assassin for knowing and hiding it from me, although I knew why he did. Despite his mostly honest ways, I would not have believed him. I hardly believed Velwyn once he had told me. It was not something one wanted to hear. It was not something one wanted to know. A small part of me resented him for keeping it from me but another part felt almost indifferent. Lucien Lachance. I could only expect so much from him - the man who longed to tend to me in ways that were morally wrong. At least it was tenderness, even if lopsided.
Another whom I missed happened to feel nothing for me at all. No anger. No hate. No heartache or joy. The Count had seemingly fallen off the face of Nirn and left me feeling utterly alone. I tried to view it as a good thing. Perhaps he had relinquished his ownership of me...but the thought made me feel wrongfully empty. The severed connection was missed, despite it being foolish, as I knew better than to enjoy such a thing.
I scratched at my aching shoulder, my gaze shifted to the temple behind me. The Chapel of Akatosh seemed a welcoming haven as I felt very much overwhelmed by nothing and everything. "Lucien?" I called to the assassin who was quick to turn, still obviously frustrated by my attitude towards him. "Would you mind if I went to the chapel? I would like to sit."
Lucien sighed and walked back to me, fixing me with an odd look. "You wish to be alone?" He inquired, still very skeptical. I nodded, which caused him to again grunt before he scratched his chin, still looking irritated towards me. "Although I find it unfair that you are the one able to break away from all this shopping nonsense...Fine. But no running off and..." Lucien Lachance paused and pulled a remarkably small dagger from his sleeve before grabbing my wrist and tucking it into my own shirt. "Be cautious and use this only if required. Be careful with it too. It is for your defense, should you need it." The assassin then fixed me with a strange look, still holding my wrist in his hand. He then squeezed me a bit, almost painfully. "Do not bring that to yourself in any manner. Should you perish by your own hand, I shall drag your corpse to the nearest necromancer just so that you may be revived to die by my hand. Agonizingly painful and relentlessly long suffering, again and again...Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly, Lucien." I rubbed my fingers across the small hidden blade, thinking of the last time I held such a weapon and understanding the assassin's concern. My mother took her own life, after all. "Know that I would never do such a thing...And thank you."
xxxx
Sitting quietly in a lone pew, I stared ahead at the many stained glass depictions of the Nine Divines, purposely avoiding one certain Goddess in particular. My mind roamed as I sat in the utter quiet, going over many random little things that plagued me. Again, I thought of my family. I considered their deaths my fault. I knew it was wrong to do so but it was something I could not stop. They both had loved me in their own way, as I had them. I tried to be a child worthy of their attentions but failed terribly. I still failed, every day. Not only as a daughter but as a woman. I was weak, cowardly, and readily gave myself in trade for protection...I felt some for Lucien Lachance, I truly did. But my feelings for him were wrong. I enjoyed what he supplied me - stability, security, assurance - above that I simply desired him. Such sentiments were not good enough reasons for me to lie with another...but I had and would continue to do so.
It was odd. I was using the assassin to gain as I wished, which was an utterly vile thing to do...I also guiltily caught myself thinking of another while Lucien and I were entangled. I would bite back his name when entering bliss. It was all so confusing. I missed my Count. I missed my parents. I had Lucien as a substitute for all. He tried to be good to me but he was not a good man. I knew what he did and it gnawed away at what little soul I had left. I myself was a lowly person and in no position to judge the assassin...I had to accept him. A part of me did. All was difficult. I wanted to love Lucien Lachance. I felt I needed to in order to survive him. Should he come to find that I did not, and questioned my capability to do so...
I shuddered at the thought and hugged myself quickly, mentally going over the qualities that I enjoyed in the assassin when my musings were cut short.
"It is a bit drafty in here, isn't it?" I jumped, my heart quickly going to my throat. Sharply, I turned to the direction of the voice, calming the smallest bit as I recognized the gray robes of a priest. The man then nervously laughed some at my surprise and closed the book he had been holding. "I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you. Are you alright?" Swallowing hard, I gave a small nod and further absorbed the priest before me. His hair was a light brown and unkempt, his voice was warm and kind, his skin sun-kissed, his eyes a piercing blue...
I knew him.
The priest looked closer at me as well, noting my bewilderment and steadily recognizing my features, no doubt. We both stared, his expression contorting to mild confusion as he fought to recollect why I was familiar. "I..." He began, stepping closer. I did not flinch in the least. "I seem to recall you from somewhere. Surely, not from worship...?"
"No," I smiled, small, soft and unbelieving. This was the man - this priest - was the man who aided me once I had first left Anvil. I had been attacked on the road by a lone wolf, near Kvatch. This follower of the Divine helped me. He caused the animal to flee and assisted me back to his temple. There he attended me, healed me and we spoke the smallest bit about the Nine. I told him that I had run away. He encouraged me to reflect on my actions, to do what was best for my soul...he had also offered me a place in the temple too while I sorted my thoughts and life wants. I refused, and he had then given me a small bag of goods for my journey and advised me to return to Anvil and confront my family about my sorrows instead of running away. "You helped me once, long ago," I told him, feeling almost apprehensive as the words left me.
"I did." He said, realization soon dawning on his features. "I do remember you now. There was a Timberwolf along the road. You were badly injured. You could hardly stand."
"Yes," I nodded, causing the priest to smile tenderly at the memory.
"That was years ago and here you are standing before me again...well, sitting. I feel it is fate." Tucking his book under his arm, the priest then motioned to the bench, all his features still light and kind. "Might I join you?" Again, I only nodded, finding fate strange, indeed. I remembered this man fondly, his every move and gesture open and tender. When I had first met him, I felt very much confused and conflicted, as I presently felt now. I had been hurt and questioned my ability to live. Little did I know how right I was in that respect... "It is good to see you. How odd it is for us to recognize each other. I hope you have been well all these years."
"Yes," I easily lied, watching as the Priest smoothed his hands over the cover of the scripture he held once he settled himself beside me. "Forgive me, but...I do not remember your name."
"Martin." He smiled, extending a hand to me as he did so. "I'm sorry to admit that I cannot recall yours either. May I have it?"
"Abigale L-" I swallowed again while taking his hand, stammering nervously over my own name for a reason I knew not. Lucien Lachance did not call me Abigale Lynn. I thought perhaps I should abandon the extension as well. "My name is Abigale."
"Abigale. It is so good to see you again. I thought of you often and still do. Why, just the other day while I was walking the road, your face came to me." The priest, Martin, smiled at me once more. I found his features so very genuine. So much so that looking him in the eye felt raw. I had become accustomed to Lucien Lachance, all hidden motives and illusions. Martin seemed to show his intent as if it were written plainly on his face in the blackest of inks. "Memory is a funny thing. The qualities and circumstances we choose to remember are so very intriguing...You were just a child then. How you have grown."
"You have not changed at all. I-if memory serves me correctly, you are very much the same. Surprisingly so." This caused him to chuckle softly as he gave a weary shake of his head.
"I am afraid there you are mistaken. The priesthood has been anything but kind to me or my features." I remembered then that the man I spoke to now had only recently become a devoted follower of the Nine, several years prior. He had been a bit of an apprentice, of sorts, and was now a legitimate priest. "Enough of me and my petty woes. What brings you to Kvatch?"
"I..." I opened my mouth and closed it quickly, replacing my words with a shrug. I did not know what to say to Martin about my visiting. My mind went blank and I felt his stare too intently. Looking away, I toyed with my hair, attempting to appear nonchalant. "I am just passing through. I grew a bit weary out in the market, so I came to sit and gather my thoughts."
"I hope you pardon me for the interruption then." He again smiled but this time his eyes searched me strangely, his tone laced with a hint of concern. "And if you do not mind me saying so, you seem troubled. Perhaps our meeting was not chance, after all. Perhaps you are in need of some help?" I looked at him questioningly, unsure how to take his words. "Most do not venture into the chapel unless they are in need of something."
"Something?" I echoed, my brows slowly raising.
"Yes," He said quite easily, his smile returning. "Guidance, consoling, healing...there are many things the Gods are here for. They are eager to protect you, and you, in particular, shine very brightly in this temple. I am drawn to you like a moth to a flame. This is no mere coincidence, Abigale. You are in need. Let me help you?"
"I..." My lips pressed into a thin line as I watched this open man, willing and wanting to help me. Priests were holy, servants of the Divine but I was unsure how to take his aid. Shifting about nervously, I nodded at him. Martin. He was a good man and had assisted me for no gain long ago and was again willing to help. I did need help but what he could possibly offer, I hadn't the faintest clue. "Alright." I sighed, turning to stare down at my hands. "I doubt that you remember this, but I had run away from home the last time we met."
Martin nodded. "I do remember."
"I did not take your advice. I never returned home to them." I began and then stopped, partially surprised at the ease in my words. "Well, that is a lie, I...I just came from them. It has been almost six years now. Both of my parents are gone. They passed away some years before. I never knew." I sank into myself as the words left me, thankful that the statement did not yet bring up fresh tears.
"I am sorry for your loss." He mumbled softly. "Sometimes we have trouble understanding the gods. Your parents are in a better place, Abigale. Take comfort in knowing that this is part of a divine plan."
This caused my stare to harden the smallest bit. I eyed the man before me, skeptical and mildly irritated as I thought of all that had wronged me. My losses were terribly great. "A divine plan that is most cruel to me. Perhaps the Nine simply loathe my existence."
"It may seem that way at times but I assure you, it is not the case." Martin offered, moving closer, his hands upon his knees as he looked to the stain glass depictions of the Divines. "There is much good in the world. Think of your joys. They will outweigh the bad, in time."
"I can only hope." I glared, following his line of vision. "After I left you I became a beggar, then a thief..." My confession caused Martin to frown slightly, despite me withholding much. "All has been difficult."
"The workings of fate may be seen in this, too." He offered, meeting my gaze with great sympathy. His words made me needlessly defensive, his absolute faith irked me. "Everything happens for a reason. We can only watch all as it unfolds. The Gods gift us with many things, it is up to us to recognize them as the gifts they are. The Nine will never leave you." His declaration chilled me, as it was almost an exact echo of my mother. It was her mantra for all good and bad. When she did something morally wrong, she used it to justify, when she needed to work to better our lives, it was said so that she could remain idle and not have to worry. She pacified herself with the wrongful belief of watching all unfold and doing nothing.
"Everything happens for a reason...Even when I was held captive, beaten and starved? That was a gift? That is the workings of fate and divinity? Were they there to bear witness?" I questioned, voice indifferent, my curiosity almost genuine. Martin only blinked in surprise. My anger continued to bubble and grow but I kept it quiet, only detected lightly in my words, not tone. "What about when I was sentenced to death and instead became a slave? What good came of that? What of when I was attacked by someone I cared for? Someone I trusted? Loved? I...I..." I bit my trembling lip as I stared dumbfoundedly at the priest, unbelieving that the words left my mouth, that I confessed such things to a stranger with ease and determination. "I am sorry. I...I am just hurt..."
"Do not apologize, my friend. You are in pain and have suffered many trials. I cannot speak for the Nine, I will not wrongfully claim such a thing, I do not always know why they do what they do. There are many mysteries with the Divine. Sometimes it seems they work in riddles, but they do indeed work for us, just in the ways we do not expect, and when it is least expected." Martin placed his hand upon my shoulder, the action again a genuinely kind gesture...or at least, I hoped it to be. I wondered then if priests were immune to my Dibellan curse. "Heartache is a terrible thing. You need some time to adjust. Do not give up hope."
I leaned away from him, my face shifting from disbelief to shame. Eventually, I managed a nod and a mumbled thank you. I wanted to apologize further to Martin for being so rude and open, I also thought of telling him of my Dibellan blood, my curse from Molag Bal, everything...but never managed such things.
"Am I interrupting something?" I turned then to see Lucien Lachance. He stood with a quirked brow, one arm draped against the pew, his tone oozing suspicion. He looked to me with great irritation before eyeing the hand upon my shoulder. His gaze then shifted from the hand to the man it was attached to. "Well now, don't you seem well acquainted with my wife. Odd, as I do not recall meeting you before..." He glared, leaning in closer, as he cynically looked over Martin, his black eyes full of nearly tangible contempt and repulsion. "Hmm, frail limbs, filthy robes, a misguided determination to your stare...Would cleric be a correct assumption?"
I blanched, my mouth gaping at Lucien's absolute rudeness, but Martin countered swiftly without even a hint of hurt. "Yes, I am a priest. Do you need a priest?"
"Like blade in my chest." The assassin remarked with a chuckle, straightening to his full height, fingers dropping along the wood of the pew. "You lot are much like vultures whenever someone wanders through those doors...well, so long as that someone's chest is bountiful or if they are underaged boys, of course."
"Lucien!" I squealed, rising from the bench, turned pink from embarrassment over the assassin's lack of manners. Lachance was very possessive, this I knew but I would never have imagined him to be so cruel to a priest...though, he worshiped the deity of abject darkness, so it was foolish for me to hope he would be respectful. "Martin, I-I am so very sorry." I babbled, turning to watch the other Imperial stand with me.
Martin waved away my apology. "It is quite alright, your husband is only being protective of you. Although..." The priest turned, eyeing Lucien with cool regard, still remarkably dignified after the awful slew of insults Lucien had thrown his way. "Is it not usually customary for a husband and wife to share rings?" Almost on instinct, I covered my left hand with my right, watching the assassin's change of expression as grinned, flashing all pearly teeth at the horribly perceptive Martin.
"It's being sized." Lucien blatantly lied, not caring to even feign honesty with his looks.
"Be that as it may, your wife had simply come in here for rest and guidance. Confessions are a private thing unless she consents to an audience. You are unwelcome to attend. I am sorry." It occurred to me then that my early admissions to Martin made him believe that Lucien Lachance was the root of my woes. He wished to distance him from myself and offer private aid, should I need it. The thought was kind but Lucien was not the source of my problems.
"Please, it is alright. This is Lucien, he is my husband. He is a good ma- he is good to me. He is protective because of the things I told you. H-he took me from all of that." If Martin was surprised or swayed, he did not show it. The priest only gave a small respectful incline of his head. Feeling obligated, I forced myself to continue and usher on our parting. "It was good to see you again, Martin. I am so sorry for all this rudeness. Perhaps if we are to meet again I shall have better news and a more tactful husband. Farwell."
"I look forward to the chance. Farewell, my friend. You are always welcome here."
xxxx
"How dare you!" I seethed as the chapel doors swung closed behind us. Lucien only went to place a hand on my shoulder, unperturbed. I swatted him away and stepped out of reach of his grasp. "W-who do your think-? Ugh! Why on Nirn would you be so horrible to him?! Why?"
The assassin scoffed before grabbing my wrist and pulled me back to him harshly as we began to walk. He also swiftly retrieved the blade he gave me. "Oh please, he had his paws all over you. It was repulsive. I put an end to your molestation. You should thank me." I blinked, then futilely tried to pull my wrist from his hand.
"You are delusional! How dare you be so rude to him. Martin is a good man. A priest! I know you hold no value to any religion that is not your own but could you not at least pretend to be moderately respectful, please? For me?" Lucien waited patiently for me to finish as we strolled. I only stared, both imploring and angry.
"Oh, women and their complexities." He began smartly, a smirk teasing at the corner of his lips all the while. "Why, dear beloved, would I pretend respect for anything? You are my little companion and I value you greatly, but you cannot make me as you want me. I am as I am." His smirk grew more defined as I grew further flustered. I turned from him sharply, bristling as he planted a small kiss atop my head. "Be happy that I did not smear your beloved cleric all across his pretty temple."
"Lucien," I glared, thankfully gaining his attention as he turned to me, still astoundingly arrogant and smug. "He was the one who helped me when I was attacked by a wolf as a girl. Martin helped me to Kvatch and healed me. He only wished to help me once more." In an instant the assassin's jeering stopped, his face falling slightly. He eyed me disbelievingly before softening entirely.
"How could I have known such a thing?" He asked, not missing a pace as we walked, but I could see the thoughts reflecting in his gaze as he looked ahead. Lucien admitted to me before how he loathed what I had told him of my time on the streets. I still withheld things from him, as it made him angry. Still, he cared, and I was able to confide some things to him. It was something. "I apologize for offending you."
"You should apologize for offending him."
"No. I do not care for him, I care for you. Placating you will do me not favors, either. The damage is done." I went to respond, retort, still very much embarrassed over the entire situation. Unfortunately, I did nothing and resigned myself to silence. There was no point in arguing with Lucien, as he was not a man to break his standing on any situation. I was lucky to receive the apology I was given.
We wandered to our humble Inn accommodations. After a quick meal and bath, Lucien gave me a potion of healing. He himself had one as well, along with a brew in a little green bottle. I drank mine without complaint before climbing into bed with the assassin, thankful that the day was done.
XXXX
A young Lucien sat on the edge of the mattress in his and his mother's room. His mother, who presently was lying prone on their shared bed, was still very much mentally gone do to another excessive amount of moonsugar. The boy was still fuming, angry, very much repulsed over the entirety of his existence. His father - Matthias, was the Lord and Master of the whorehouse in which they all resided and had just proposed a new arrangement for his bastard son. Lucien had come of age, unfortunately. Twelve was the usual starting point for human whores, so, the child he had little love for was no exception to this rule - his rule.
Lucien's mother - Belle, was his father's favored whore, and she happened to be the only reason why Lucien drew breath. He was only allowed to be born due to her plea and promise that Lucien was the spawn of Matthias. Indeed he was, unfortunately being the spitting image if the man, there was no denying his legitimacy, but such bonds mattered little to one as cold as Lord Matthias.
From the time he could walk, he was given duties. Stripping soiled bed linens, cleaning sheep intestine and animal bladders for disease prevention, tending to the client's horses in the stables, tapping on doors when the allotted time the client paid for had run out, killing any vermin and animals that wandered too close to the Estate...there was much to do. However, after Lucien had threatened his father for striking his mother, a new task was given. Lucien was not above the rules of the Matthias Estate, and as such, he had to earn his place the same way all others did. He had to whore himself.
Being a boy of twelve, such a thing was horrifying. What woman would want a boy? He had thought, soon discovering that his clientele would not be females. No, apparently, there happened to be men and mer who lusted for young prepubescent boys like Lucien. He pleaded to his mother in private. They should run away, what held them there? Who cared that she was a slave, bought and paid for? She had no shackles!
His mother refused to relent. No. This was their life. This was what they were to do. Lucien, her child she claimed to love so very much, would do as told to keep the peace. The boy was left appalled and mortified. He would not do it, he claimed, his stomach twisting as Lord Matthias already obtained his first client. Lucien was to start his career as the only male whore of the Estate soon. The boy whore.
He would not do it. His mother had struck him before falling into a revolting fit of tears. The boy resigned himself to run away in the morning. He went to bed, climbing in beside his mother as he had done his entire life and went to sleep...only to be awakened by a lack of air.
In a drugged, fit of confusion, Belle had pressed a pillow to her son's face, weeping apologies all the while. Lucien was young but he was not helpless and quickly overpowered his mother after the initial panic. He tossed her weapon to the floor as she threw herself at him, another fit of tears and sickening apologies followed. "Lucien, my son, I know you wish to leave me. I won't let you go. Do as your father wishes so that we may stay happy here. If not, I shall die, you shall die! I'll end us both. You will ruin our lives..."
The boy only watched his mother, still breathless, still shocked. He had loved his mother so. It was only her and him in their pretty, little room, surrounded with all the luxuries an expensive whore could own...she was the only thing in the room he thought worth while. She had a mind to kill him, should he not comply. Kill. Murder her only child...Kill him. Murder him.
Murder...
"I'll do it." He muttered, carefully bringing his hands through his mother's curly hair. It pleased her. His consent pleased her. Indeed, he agreed. In the morning he would face his client. He had no intentions to run any longer.
So he sat and waited on their shared bed for his father to knock on the door, a knife from the kitchen rolled and tucked in the waistband of his trousers.
The thump came, his father beckoned him out. They wandered the lavish manor, down to the wine cellar, a small room having been made up for Lucien's new line of work. A place just for him. It was sparsely lit with a sizable bed in the very center of the room. A bowl of fresh and colorful apples gleaming at on the cedar chest by the footboard. Lucien said nothing, soon alerted to footsteps coming from the stairwell he and his father had just descended.
A Dunmer male, ebony hair in a topknot, cloaked in expensive priestly robes made of gold threads and ruby silks, entered the room. The mer greeted his father, they spoke idly, the mer looked over Lucien appraisingly. The black-eyed, tanned and softly freckled brunette, lightly muscled and lithe was 'gold well spent'. Lord Matthias left the Dunmer and Lucien - who wandered over to the bed mutely.
"Do not worry, boy. You needn't pretend to be so bold. I paid good gold to be your first, relaxing will make it mostly painless." The Dunmer smiled then, looking giddy as he again eyed the child before him. "You may find that you like it. Simply calm yourself."
"I am trying to," Lucien admitted, giving the mer a nervous smile. "I...would you mind turning around while I undress? I have never been naked in front of anyone before. I'm all jitters. It's embarrassing." The Dunmer looked ready to say no, but the boy pulled his shirt off quickly and tugged at the drawstring of his pants, gifting the mer a closer look at the dip of his trousers. "Please?"
This won over the mer, who chuckled and turned, plucking an apple from the bowl as he did so. "I suppose I should accommodate your comforts, boy. You seem eager to please, even if hesitant."
The blade slipped from the fabric of Lucien's trousers, he ran the pad of his thumb along its length. "I have always been curious."
Raucous laughter followed his statement as the Dunmer then took a large bite of the fruit in his hand, deaf to the soft sounds of bare feet approaching his back. "You are nearing manhood. All things are soon to be curious." Lucien said nothing more, instead, he aimed and thrust his knife upward and into the base of the mer's skull, much like he had done to vermin in his spare time. Men and Mer were different than animals, so the blunted knife slid in easily at first, before bouncing off of bone. Lucien was quick to withdraw in a messy yank, wrenching the blade to the side, tearing the mer's skin, leaving a gaping wound at the back of his neck.
Blood spattered him, hot and thick. Lucien stepped away to watch the Dunmer turn from his ashy hue to a purple tone. The bite his client had taken from the apple had lodged into his windpipe. By blade or asphyxiation, the mer crumpled to the floor. He spasmed, his pretty robes growing wet from his own blood, from ruby to garnet and gleaming. He held his throat with bloodied fingers, clutched at the wound in his neck, and thrashed about violently...and soon perished.
The boy Lucien sucked the sprayed blood of the Dunmer from his teeth and spat it to the floor by the mer before retrieving his shirt. He opened the door with extreme caution, finding the stairwell empty. He smoothed himself against the walls, peeked around corners and soon wound his way back to his mother's chambers. She was still sleeping, lying on her side, mouth agape. Lucien locked the door behind him and placed his sullied knife on the end table. with reddened fingertips, he pulled the pillow out from beneath her head. His mother was small. Weak. Drugged by her own hand.
He straddled her and pressed the cushion to her face, her reaction immediate. The fabric grew warm from her frantic pants and shouts, the mer's blood smearing the white casing..."Stop." Was all the boy thought to say through gritted teeth as he fought to dominate the full-grown woman who swatted, clawed and screamed endlessly. All was muffed. The anger was hot behind Lucien's ears, his every muscle straining and fighting to keep the woman down...
She stilled. He continued to apply pressure for a few moments more before removing the pillow from her face. He cringed at what he beheld. Her eyes were open and staring at him...yet not. Lucien swallowed hard and looked away, feeling some angry tears form in the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his sleeve quickly before they could even hope to fall.
His gaze shifted to her hands, fingers twisted oddly, her favored golden bangle adorning her wrist, winking innocently at him. Lucien took it. He was unsure why he did, why he felt the need to have it, but he kept it with him, tucking the gleaming circlet into his pocket before retrieving his knife and exiting the room.
One more, he thought, scaling the stairwell as silently as he could, his heart hammering away in his chest all the while. He came to his father's chambers, the door slightly ajar. Lucien peeked in, seeing Matthias as he worked a scale and gold, his back to the door. It was all Lucien needed as he slipped inside. A quick scan told him that they were very much alone. The lithe child moved quickly, every inch of the Estate committed to memory. He knew where to step and what to avoid, what boards made noise, what would cast his reflection, where his shadow would be...
He pounced. The flimsy knife was deadly once more as the boy plunged it into the back of his father's neck, then back, again and again. The Lord had been shocked as he reeled, swinging futilely at Lucien, shouting out in anguish before clutching the punctures in his neck and back. Lucien did not relent as the man fell to his knees, calling for help, his injuries too severe for him to fend off the boy, no matter how small.
In a fit of fury that made his vision red, Lucien climbed atop of Matthias and brought his blade down to his father's groin, stabbing with rapid swiftness until the man's loins were rendered to a bloody pulp. His blade again went to his father's chest, face, everything. Long after Matthias had perished, Lucien's arm continued to move in rapid succession, his muscles aching, burning, his clothing covered with sticky blood. Only when his knife broke at its handle did the boy's movements stop. He hated the man with a burning intensity. He hated all that he stood for. Mostly, he hated how he could not kill him again.
Lucien tried to catch his breath, the attempt failed as he was startled by a scream. He turned instinctively, bearing teeth at the whore who heard his father's final cries. Lucien came back to reality, fearfully, as the woman paled and dropped to the ground at the sight of the killer boy. Her shout alerted more, he knew, as the sounds of doors opening assaulted his ears. He jumped to his feet, to one of the many windows and opened it quickly. He leaped out and onto the rooftop, the morning still crisp. Cool. Comforting to the heat of his face and senses.
Carefully, he made his way down, utilizing ever jutting brick and tangled vine of Ivy, not daring to look back. Once his feet hit the cobblestone, he heard more frantic speech. They were looking for him. Guards were being alerted.
Lucien bolted to the stables and searched the stalls but the morning proved them all to be empty. No clients but his own this early and the Dunmer had arrived in a carriage, still out in front of the Estate. His chest heaved. His mind was frantic. Blood and hate covered him...but how could he direct it to escape?
Lucien readied himself to run into the woods...but stopped once he heard the softest of whickering to his right. He turned and watched in a mix of confusion and hysteria as a great black horse, larger than he had ever seen with eyes as red as the blood that stained him, emerged from the shadow of the stables. She stepped from darkness, the mare, her mane moving slowly, dreamlike as she trotted to him with deliberate slowness, as though not to frighten the murderous boy. She whickered once more, bowing her head to the very confused Lucien. He thought he was seeing things. Delusional. He reached up and stroked her softly, swallowing hard.
Voices were drawing nearer. Lucien mounted the horse and they sped out into the wood with astounding speed. He was never caught.
But life in the woods quickly proved problematic. Although liberating and strange, he knew not how to hunt, fish, make a shelter, a fire... eating berries that could be scavenged was hardly satisfactory, and he knew not where to travel. His clothes he had washed by the stream but the blood had stained the fabrics. Three days and he was again left shivering in the night, his only companion the mare, who watched him endlessly. She moved to him as he slept, warming him, an odd thing for a horse to do.
This night proved different. Lucien found no rest. He rolled his mother's bangle in his hands, the black shadowy mare at his back, and contemplated his actions...
He did not regret it in the least.
"You are quite violent for one so young. Intelligent too. And a good actor..." The boy reeled, grabbing his makeshift club to stare up at the man who spoke. Paler than the moon, cloaked in black, eyes a gleaming red in the darkness... "Truly, you are worthy of the attention you have been given, my dear child. We have been watching you. Your kills were most pleasurable to witness. You are not one to shut out darkness, are you?" The man smiled, fangs gleaming like little daggers in the night. Lucien answered the intruder with silence, swallowing his fear and narrowing his gaze. "Please do not let my appearance...unnerve you. My name is Vicente Valtieri. I am much like you, a hunter...but you are no prey, my child. You have proven that most adequately. Have no fear. Yes, no fear, for you are exceptional. One such as you is a valuable and rare commodity in this dark world. Should you hear me, I have an opportunity for you..."
xxxx
A violent jolt woke me from a blissfully sound slumber. I stared, suddenly very much alert at the assassin by my side. He had sat up in bed, his back covered in a sheen of sweat. Lucien dragged a weary hand down his face before looking over his shoulder at me. The expression was rather dark and intriguingly intense. I opened my mouth to speak and ask him what was wrong, but Lucien Lachance stood from the bed so abruptly that all words died in my throat. "I feel your questioning stare." He grunted, grabbing his shirt from the floor and pulling it over his head. "No. Simply no to any and all inquiries."
I blinked and sat up, watching in confusion as the assassin began to dress and arm himself, my brows raising high once he grabbed the satchel that contained his black robes. "What are you doing?" I finally managed, working up the courage to question Lucien Lachance. Despite our closeness and all he allowed me to do, I did mind myself particularly well when we were in bed together. Or when he was in an irritable state of mind. The assassin was dangerous and I would be foolish to forget such a thing; he also made it remarkably difficult not too.
"Did I not just say no?" He snapped, shooting me a dangerous glare as he belted his shroud. I flinched slightly at his tone but recovered quickly, trying to speak earnestly, without sass or sharpness.
"Lucien, please, what is wrong?" The assassin's expression warped slightly, as though he was astonished that I further pestered him in spite of his demands.
For a moment, Lucien only watched me before collecting himself and finishing his dressing. "Your priest, my dear. I cannot stop envisioning his hands on you. He may have aided you when you were more of a child, but such a thing no longer matters. I am a man. I know what men think and want. He wants you...and now I owe him a visit."
"N-no!" I stammered, standing from the bed as fast as I was able. "He has done nothing to me, Lucien! Nothing but good! Please don't!" The assassin only chuckled coldly, walking over to stand before me. Lucien lifted my chin and grinned down at me, his eyes absorbing my every desperate feature. I realized then the sheer amount of power Lucien Lachance held over my position. He could do as I hated, had done as I hated, what would stop him from doing more, knowing that I would be awaiting his return regardless of my feelings?
"You will forgive me. This is what is best. What kind of protector would I be if I did not end those who acted on their lust for you? You are mine. I am yours. We do not share, now, do we?"
"I won't forgive you." I glared, maintaining my composure the best I could at the assassin's dark grin. "I am begging you to not go. Do not do this, please. Lucien, stay here with me, please." The assassin only hummed in thought, his thumb running my lower lip as he regarded me mutely.
"...No."
"Lucien please!"
"No."
I grabbed his hand as he went to the door. He removed me with ease, still ever grinning as he pushed me gently back down to the mattress, holding both my hands in one of his. "Do not! I-I won't be here when you return if you dare to do it!" I threatened, unable to hold the promise within me. Unfortunately, Lucien's expression changed dramatically with my pledge. His smile vanished, his glare returned tenfold. He lowered himself at eye level with me, his black irises piercing me as well as any blade.
"And just where will you go?" He questioned, his head tilting to the side the smallest bit as he leered. "Do share your plans, my dear, but do so cautiously."
I swallowed hard, his intimidation effective as I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. "I...away." His smile returned, cruel and utterly cynical.
"Oh, will you now? You would leave me all for a priest who is a stranger to you, who desired to touch you... Do you really think he wishes to be your friend? Do not be foolish, Abigale. I am your friend. Your companion. Your lover. All else are nothing. Rubbish. Wastes of flesh." His free hand toyed with my hair. "You are again taking me for granted. It hurts me so. All the good I do for you is overlooked by a singularly act that you disagree with. Well, perhaps you need a reminder of how very important I am." Lucien released me and stood, walking briskly towards the door. He muttered something, a small incantation that I could not decipher that bathed the wood of the room in a pale green light before vanishing entirely. "You have overlooked my significance and compassion to your life. Our life. This is the last time you will do so. Let us test your resolve, hmm? And remind you of what you could return to. Let us also see if you make good on your threat to leave me. This will tell us both how much I mean to you." Lucien opened the door, his grin turning bitter. "Enjoy the bed to yourself, beloved."
The door slammed shut. I waited a moment before going to it, finding it locked and Silenced. He Silenced the room. Should I bang on the door and call for help, no one would hear me but I would hear them.
My heart pounded, my cheeks flushed. He locked me in purposely, a reminder of Skingrad, I knew. I lived in confinement withing the Castle. He confined me now to make a point. There were no windows in our Inn room and no one would come to mine or Martin's aid. Why he was struck with the notion to kill a man who had only shown me kindness was as horrible as it was astounding. I was afraid, desperately afraid and helpless. This was the man I was to find happiness in. I had to accept his darkness...
Could I?
There was nothing I could do. I sat on the floor and wept.
XXXX
The assassin had not dealt with such a dream in years...it was an odd thing to relive and spurred violence within him. Brother Martin happened to be the one thing he could exact his rage upon. He was the perfect target. And now Lucien stood by the sleeping priest, eyeing his pathetically humble form, blade at the ready and in his hand. Martin had aided his Abigale Lynn, yes, but that did not rid Lucien of his utter disgust for the man who so readily placed his fingers upon the shoulder of his female companion... Said shoulder was the one that the assassin often sunk his teeth into. He felt it was his territory that the priest aimed to piss on and mark as his own...
Was he being a touch dramatic? Perhaps. It mattered not. He readied his blade, twirling it in his hand, once, twice...
'I won't be here when you return if you dare to do it!'
The echo of Abigale Lynn almost startled Lucien, but the Speaker shook it away and again steeled himself, aiming his blade once more, twirling it a third time...
'Lucien Lachance...Lucien Lachance...?' The assassin pivoted on his heel this time, scanning the room for Abigale Lynn but she was not there. Again he shook it away, whispering a curse and scowling, blade twisting with determination for the fourth time...
'Your motives are plain. You and I both know what you want of me. It is a wrong want but it is as honest as it is raw. And you keep your word, small or great. You promise to meet me, you meet me. You ask to 'court' me and I do feel disturbingly courted. You threaten repercussion and I know you would gladly act on that pledge...'
Lucien's hand stilled and retracted. He eyed the sleeping Imperial before him curiously. Abigale Lynn did not want this man dead. That should have mattered little. It should not have mattered at all. The man's life was but a tool he was utilizing. Exact his rage and more. Lucien left to make a point to test Abigale Lynn, to see how important he was to her...
'B-but you expect me to accept you? It is unfair and hypocritical. Will you bully me for the rest of my life? I am sorry that my weakness repulses you so but I cannot stifle it. I-I try so hard to. I am not you, I cannot detach so quickly...I wonder if I can at all.'
The assassin's proposed lesson turned around on him. Instead of finding out how important he was to Abigale Lynn, he found out how important she was to him...so very jarringly important, that he left the room, silent and undetected, the priest unharmed and unaware how very close death had been to his nape.
He returned to the Inn, almost as though walking in a haze, unbelieving that his blade was unbloodied and that he felt so very lowly...but not for the lack of death, but for locking the girl in their room.
Little more than twenty minutes had passed in his absence. So, Abigale Lynn was sufficiently surprised as he stepped into their shared space. She had been on the floor by the bed, cheeks flushed, tears streaming, fingers twisting into the fabric of her nightdress...she looked to him fearfully, lip quivering, soon bowing her head as she accepted what she believed to be the inevitable.
The assassin did not know what to say or how to soothe. Lucien reached into his robes and procured the dagger he had ready for the act. He tossed it to the ground between them, clean and gleaming. She jumped at the clatter and eyed the blade, then him curiously. Lucien Lachance swallowed hard, unsure how to proceed with anything.
"He lives." He eventually ground out, the words making his tongue feel like lead behind his teeth. "I should not have done that to you, Abigale." Silence stretched between them. He stared at his own blade curiously. Killing was something he enjoyed and would never stop...but he had hurt her. He killed her family, this she did not know, but the repercussions were devastating. He went off to cause more harm, kill another she cared for, even if only slightly. It was not how he wished to treat her. It made him feel repulsed. "I have hurt you. I am sorry. You are already hurting and I was ready to strengthen your pains. This will not happen again, should you choose to stay..."
More silence followed but soon she nodded. Abigale Lynn retrieved his blade from the floor and carefully set it upon a chest of drawers as Lucien undressed. For the second time that evening they both climbed into bed. The assassin held the girl in his arms and stared at the far wall. Such strong feelings were more frightening than any nightmare...
The following morning, they left Kvatch without incident.
Author's Notes: WITHOUT incident! No Oblivion Crisis yet, ladies and gents! Sorry! XD And yay! Some Lucien backstory revealed! No proofing yet, guys! Sorry! I shalst go back and edit this chapter later! 8D R&R! I CAN'T wait for the next chapter. Unf. Hoping to get that one up on time!