Author's Notes: BACK! Woot Woot! FYI, I took a lot of creative license in regards to the Imperial Bridge Inn. Thank you all who have reviewed! I'm so happy that I haven't lost all of you with my new update schedule (once a month, y'all)! Fair warning, this chapter is dark...like, pretty darn dark. I watered down as much as I could, but the evilness was needed. XD The bold 'X' indicates such evil. You can skip it. Enjoy...?
WARNING: This chapter is rated M. for Sexual Situations, Violence, and Gore. You have been warned.
Love or Blood
Chapter Sixty-nine: The Imperial Bridge
xxxx
We traveled a long ways south, eventually coming upon a small establishment hidden in the wood and nestled by the Silverfish River. An old sign staked into the ground read Imperial Bridge Inn, the very inn Lucien Lachance so vehemently sought. The building looked to have seen better days. The bordering rock wall around the property's perimeter had begun to crumble and spill across the land while the thatched roof needed great repair. Behind the inn rested two old stables, one held several sheep, where they wandered its tight quarters while a small lamb bleated endlessly at its mother. The looked to be more of a sizable pen, rather than stable and housed seven or eight large pigs. However, all of this I hardly cared to absorb, doing so only to occupy my mind.
As the assassin and I dismounted Shadowmere, I found it astoundingly peculiar once Lucien hitched the mare's reigns to a nearby post. Usually, the man seemed more inclined to let Shadowmere wander freely about the forest so that she could do as she pleased. Tonight it was not so. After Shadowmere was secured and Lucien shouldered our packs, he ran his hand down her black mane, looking contemplative as he did so. Since the witch's cottage, the assassin had seemed a touch darker than his norm and I was not so foolish as to not have noticed.
I knew with sickening certainty that the Dark Brotherhood Speaker had some business with Melisande that had yet to be concluded. The more worrying aspect was my involvement. Lucien's near frantic stare earlier spoke volumes to me. I knew something was amiss but knew not what it was. There was much that the assassin kept from myself, as I had asked him, but having his shadowy dealings brandished so boldly unnerved me. More so as my involvement was made obvious. Lucien had also strongly let the witch know of his malice, evoked by her slip, and it was his manners and expression that sealed my association to the secret. He would not have overreacted so had I not been present.
I could not help but wonder if the hidden dealing was one of the assassin's many secret implements to keep me from Skingrad. Which, in turn, made me worry further, as I feared for the Count...
Entering the small inn, I vaguely took in my surroundings as Lucien sat me at a rickety table. He placed some of our packs aside, planting a small kiss atop of my head before mumbling something that I did not care to listen to, as I was far too cold from earlier. He then walked to the counter, where the inn's proprietor dusted the shelf with her back facing us and soon made himself known. To my great astonishment, the Dunmer woman who I assumed was the inn's owner looked pleased when her eyes finally fell to the assassin, gleaming with a remarkable friendliness and recognition.
"Ah, Mister Lachance! We have not seen you around these parts in quite some time." She noted, her expression and voice both genuinely kind. I blinked in surprise at the woman's lighthearted greeting, watching in a mixture of confusion and curiosity as she quickly procured a dark porcelain cup before putting a small kettle of water over her stove's cookfire with equal swiftness. "How have you been? Have the trade routes continued to be kind?"
Lucien smiled, displaying an equal softness in the look. It was easy to note that the Dark Brotherhood Speaker and the Dunmer were on a friendly basis. I grew curious for only a moment as I pondered just how 'friendly' their relation was. However, I disregarded those thoughts, finding them much less interesting than I should have. "Davela, had you known the true extent of woe a traveling merchants life entails, you would never dare pose such an inquiry." He teased, watching the black-haired mer rush about as she readied the assassin's preferred drink...coffee, of course. "Though I suppose I can admit it has great benefits too."
"Oh really? Such as? The last I heard, you were thinking of early retirement." The Dunmer, Davela, smirked as she finished readying Lucien's drink, placing it before him carefully. The assassin moved to the side the slightest bit, allowing the Mer's gaze to fall over to myself. She blinked and straightened, her smile growing curious. "Mister Lachance, who is this that you have brought to my inn and have yet to introduce?"
"That is my Abigale. My intended."
"Oh..? Oh, my! Congratulations!" The Dunmer nearly stammered, looking genuinely delighted over Lucien's news. She beckoned me to approach the counter. I did so reluctantly, putting on a brave face and forcing something akin to a smile. "Please, forgive me for not noticing you sooner. Your ever crafty fiance here had blocked you with his person. It is so good to meet you, Abigale. Why, I never thought I would see the day this swindler caught himself anything more than a mediocre bargain. What a beautiful surprise you must be for him. I do hope that you count your lucky stars, Mister Lachance!"
"Every morning and early dawn," Lucien answered slyly, one of his hands going to my hip as he drew me into his embrace, the other reaching for the mug before him. I pulled away the smallest bit, still feeling odd towards the Dark Brotherhood Speaker's behavior from earlier in the day. I was not so much afraid or angry as I was conflicted. Lucien had earned my affection. It was not a rational occurrence but I knew it to be the best for my position. However, that did not stop my love for the Count, who I currently worried over. "Now, would you happen to have any space available for the two of us?"
"Of course I most certainly have a room, and it's good to hear that you have turned a small but humble...Anyway, the good chamber upstairs is yours. My regulars have all but vanished as of late. I am positively aching for adult conversation...So, now, how did the two of you come to meet? You never sit in one place for very long, Mister Lachance. Did you bump into each other along the road?" Davela asked, her chin in her hand as she watched the assassin drink, eager for communication of any sort.
"Well, yes and no. I took one look at her while she shopped and knew that she was made solely for me. So, I stole her away from the Castle she resided in," Lucien remarked all too casually, causing me to stare at him in utter surprise. The Dunmer only laughed before turning from us both, missing the glare I shot the assassin as she did so.
"Of course you did. Got yourself a princess, eh?" Davela sniggered, shaking her head. "Well, congratulations again, princess Abigale. Mister Lachance is quite the useful fellow, provided you can tolerate his poor manners..." She suddenly stopped in her tracks and slapped her palm to her brow, turning sharply back to me. "Gods, I am the one with poor manners! I am so sorry, I got all caught up in chit chat...Can I get you anything to eat or drink, dear?"
"No, thank you." I again tried to smile. "I am a bit tired though, Lucien -" My words stopped in my throat as the door to the inn flew open, banging with excessive force.
"That s'wit of a lamb won't shut up!...Ma!?" Shouted the small intruder. I could only stare as a little boy Dunmer stormed into the inn, his gray skin flushing to an indignant purplish hue once he took note of Lucien, Davela and myself. His apparent mother, the proprietor Davela, gave him a stern look that made his head bow. The young Mer rubbed the back of his neck nervously and closed the door behind him with the utmost care. "I...sorry, ma."
"As well you should be, Berel." His mother glared, her arms folding over her chest. "Swearing of any kind should not escape your lips, company or no. Do not let me catch you doing so again, I care not for how frustrated you are; mind your manners. Now, come here. We have guests. You remember Mister Lachance, don't you?"
The boy Berel shifted his stare to Lucien, who contently sipped his drink with his usual smirk hidden behind the dark mug. "I...yes. Hello, Mister Lachance. I'm sorry for my poor manners."
Lucien shook the comment away, revealing his grin. "Language does not offend me as much as the average Imperial. Worry not, Berel. But may I ask what you are doing fussing with sheep at so late an hour? Worrisome behavior, Davela..." Davela stifled a small chuckle behind her hand as her son gave an irritated huff, turning a darker shade.
"The little lamb bleats endlessly and right outside of my bedroom window. It has been making me crazy! I have yet to get a full nights sleep in over a month." The boy complained, walking to the counter as he did so. "I may be only twelve but despite what you or my ma think, I cannot survive on 'youthful vigor' alone. I need rest too!"
Lucien scratched his chin in thought before persisting to further tease the boy. "Twelve already? Hmm, you are quite the little thing. Small boy...I thought you were eight and no more." His mother laughed again, shaking her head as her son pouted, his blush creeping to the tips of his pointed ears.
"The last time he saw you, he was, Mister Lachance." She eventually commented, feigning a sympathetic look to the youth who only mussed with his black hair in response, a prominent frown still displayed. Having had a terribly poor experience in the past with a Dunmer, I still shamefully found myself leery, though I knew it was wrong to feel such a way. Instead of thinking about my nightmarish memory, I looked the boy over curiously. His red gaze, black hair, and small stature made me smile, as did his little scowl set upon the assassin. If not for the gray skin and tipped ears, his natural traits greatly resembled another...should the Count of Skingrad be a boy of twelve...
"Well, he is short enough as it is. We certainly do not want to stunt his growth further...Why don't I take a look at this lamb? Perhaps it is a foe that can be reasoned with." Lucien offered, polishing off his coffee with one more great swig.
"That is kind of you. Really, it is, but I cannot accept such charity."
"Charity? Were you under the delusion that I was paying for that drink?" The assassin laughed, pushing away from the counter as he did so, causing the Mer to tut playfully. I only continued to watch all, doing my best to keep from the boy observing my stare. It was difficult, if not impossible, to pull my eyes from him. "I will, however, be paying for our room now. My dear lady here is weary from travel and needs rest. We may be lodging here for several days too, provided the arrangement is agreeable...how does fourteen gold for two days sound?"
"...Make it seventeen and your coffee is on me for the duration of your stay."
"Excellent."
xxxx
Time had slipped me by as I retired alone. The assassin, in his helpful facade, was attempting to fix the small sheep stable. His repairs went well into the night. I had taken his recommendation of rest to heart and had already undressed and crawled into bed. Regardless of the bed's softness and the peacefulness that seemed to surround the weathered inn, I could not sleep. Despite feeling on the very brink of exhaustion I only tossed and turned, haunted by my own mind. Slumber eluding me with ease as my thoughts encircled the Count of Skingrad once more.
In truth, my spirit never strayed too far from the Castle. During Lucien's time away, I needed to distract myself with Vicente, as my thoughts had been so strong one could almost call them painful. I had listened to the elder vampire as he sang the Count's praise. He longed my return to him. I longed my return to him but such a thing could not be.
In a mix of fear and shame, I had cemented and 'bound' myself to Lucien Lachance...just as the assassin had claimed some weeks prior. I was too frightened and disgraced to return. I did not want to fall victim to the Count, nor did I want to look upon him with the deception that tainted me, but a part of me wished to see him so very strongly. It was an awful feeling. I had lain with another. I cared for another. And although it was not love, for I did not love the assassin...not yet...I felt my compassion towards the deadly Lucien Lachance to be a greater sin than having just shared flesh.
The Count of Skingrad was a man who knew much suffering. He had many woes hidden beneath his luxuries and lavish accommodations. He was alone. So very alone and given eternal life to wallow in said loneliness. All those he had loved had been taken from him, whether through the passage of time or other more terrible means. He was the last Hassildor and there would never be another. There would be no one to ease his emptiness or warm his cold soul...for he deemed me a suitable companion and I had betrayed him. The man could trust no one, not even himself.
The Count had hurt me. He had killed me. A man I had vested so much trust in, the man who held my life had turned so very cruel. Somehow, all of that mattered little to my heart. I longed for him. I ached for his cold hands and warm command. In ways I could not fathom, I longed for the Count, so much so that it surpassed all other thoughts and feelings I harbored for Lucien Lachance. I could only try to stifle the endless call to Skingrad, for I knew in my soul that it was my doom.
His magical pull over my spirit was a whisper in the void of my heart, beckoning me back to the somber threshold of his Castle...leaving me yearning for my doom, so long as it was within his arms.
I could do no more than try to focus on Lachance. I needed the assassin in my life now and there was no alternative. I vowed to open myself as much as I was able. If I could accept him, if I could try to love the assassin, all would be better. All would be well.
XXXX
Lucien Lachance entered their small room, observing the figure on the bed. Abigale Lynn stared into the candle by the bedside, the quiet fire in her eyes much brighter than that of the light that captured her gaze. He closed the door and stepped closer, startling the young woman into sitting upright. It was a normal occurrence, as his step was trained to be silent. "Forgive me, my dear. I did not mean to startle you so...again." He apologized, smirking slightly at her fright and labored breaths.
"I-it is alright. I am used to this." She stammered, her hand falling to her breast to her no doubt thumping heart. "...I just cannot sleep. I am unused to this bed, I think." Abigale Lynn shifted, her words not once fooling the assassin. Lucien could see the question in her eyes as she shifted her stare to the flooring. Her thoughts haunted her once more. Regardless, her lie gifted him an opportunity, one that caused his stomach turn in the oddest of ways...
"Perhaps it is still from the magical lift. Let me get you something for it. I believe the cookfire is still lit. I'll brew you a drink. Some tea to ease you into sleep." Lucien offered slyly. Yet as soon as the proposal left him, the assassin felt a strange rush of heat along the back of his neck and jaw. Guilt and unease filled him with absolute dread. He silently prayed to Sithis that Abigale Lynn would refuse his kindness but was granted no such clemency. The girl gave Lucien a soft smile and nod, further filling the assassin with extreme trepidation. Still, he only gave an equally pleasant smile before wordlessly turning to leave the room once more.
Lucien Lachance walked down to the inn's entrance and helped himself to the boiling kettle on the fire. The proprietor Davela was nowhere to be found, not that the woman would have objected to Lucien's actions, regardless. The assassin had met the Dunmer long ago when she had first been widowed. She was a good and honest woman. Her husband had perished tragically in the mines of Vvardenfell, leaving Davela to travel to Cyrodiil heavily pregnant. The assassin offered his aid whenever he traveled to the inn. He made small repairs for discounts on goods, as the proud Dunmer would not accept charity. Lucien had garnered a great respect for the young mother, which made his current task feel all the more peculiar.
With a foreign sweat along his brow, the Dark Brotherhood Speaker took his mug from earlier and filled it to the brim with boiling water. The steam ailed him. As the heated whips caressed his face, his mind traveled back to his Abigale Lynn upstairs...
'And what if you have no say in the matter?' Lucien had asked, looking intentionally devious, hoping to coax Abigale Lynn into a little fit. He so enjoyed her spiteful glares... 'What if the next time that necklace falls from your nape, I take advantage of your vulnerability? I could fill you with my sons. Hassildor certainly would lose interest then. You would be a free woman. The perfect plan. When shall we start?'
The girl had only silently poured herself some water from the pitcher before her. Lucien quickly sensed something was amiss as Abigale Lynn tried to seem unhurt and indifferent. He had overstepped, much like he often strove to do. However, the silence grew tense as the emerald eyes of the woman across from him grew contemplative and woeful. 'There is a flaw,' She finally stated, speaking without emotion.
'Oh?' Lucien inquired, masking his own rising unease with a smirk, watching on as the girl mindlessly toyed with her cup, gently turning it in her hands.
'I cannot have children.'
Lucien's eyes darkened at the memory. With a deep frown, the assassin reached into his pocket and removed the small envelope of herbs from the witch. The paper felt peculiarly heavy in his hand as he glared down at the now cooling water he had poured. Abigale Lynn was completely oblivious to the child she carried in her belly. Still, the assassin ached over the secret, far more than he ever could over the death of her worthless wench of a mother. What currently thrived within Abigale Lynn was not some pathetic relative. No, this was a part of her...and possibly a part of him...or possibly a part of Count Janus Hassildor...
The assassin tore open the packet and poured the dried herbs inside. Lucien watched on curiously as the contents of the cup melted into nothingness, smelling no more menacing than an average cup of tea. He wondered then if he was taking away Abigale Lynn's only ever possible chance of having a child. Could she conceive naturally? Was this some random miracle occurrence? Was he robbing her of life?...
No, for he had seen their future. The witch had him glimpse his possible fate. She could have more children. This one was simply too risky to keep, as it may not be his...
But the child is hers. It is a part of her. The assassin swallowed thickly at his own thoughts. He carefully grasped the mug, feeling its weight, it too seeming remarkably heavy...
'My children will be my children, regardless...'
Lucien stood, contemplating his own past words to Abigale Lynn. They rang loudly now, echoing within him with a haunting intensity. He wondered then, as he eyed the cookfire, if he could raise another man's child as though it was his own by word. If the child was born a spawn of Count Janus Hassildor, could Lucien overlook such a thing and comfort himself with the knowledge that the infant would also be a part of Abigale Lynn...?
Lucien eyed the mug in his hand. The cookfire needing dowsing...
But the assassin turned away from the flames and wound his way back to his and Abigale Lynn's accommodations, poison still in hand. Each step closer to their rooms took more and more out of the Speaker. He saw in his mind's eye a small red-haired girl with black eyes...but his Unholy Matron too had sacrificed her own flesh for the love of Sithis. The Night Mother killed her Five Sons to give birth to the Dark Brotherhood so long ago. Would it not be hypocritical of him to flinch at doing the same? He was a Speaker. He was the living, breathing, fleshy embodiment of his Night Mother's sacrifice. He would and could kill his own child to please his Matron and Dread Father.
Lucien stopped at the door and straightened, inhaling deeply and holding the breath inside of his chest. He could hear his own heart in his ears and he tried to will the sound away. The assassin had killed his own mother. He had killed countless children of varying ages...some born, some not. Some perished inside the wombs of their mothers as Lucien ended their housing body. This song of death was not new to the assassin. He was well versed in all of its darkness. It was a melody he knew too well and reveled in. Now, how bleak and cold it was to have to be at the end of his own deadly lullaby. His own killing hands.
But he would prevail. This task was his own, and should his child stand before him now, he would cut her down lovingly if ordered to do so. He would mourn, he would even weep in the quiet of the night at the loss, but the deed would be done...
The assassin opened the door. Abigale Lynn sat upon the bed, combing her long hair out with her pale fingertips. She was ever beautiful and alluring. Inviting and warm. Her form gave him courage. Strength. He stepped forward. Abigale Lynn looked to him and smiled...
It was then, as the assassin took another step closer and then another, as he stood before his maiden, did a horrific thought again echo and strike him...Could he hurt Abigale Lynn?
No matter the father, no matter who sired the child in her belly, the baby was hers. It was a part of her. An extension of her very soul.
Lucien Lachance, a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood's Black Hand could cut down his own child, his own Family, his own self. But the sudden panging in his chest brought a weakness to light. A weakness that the trained assassin never thought he could ever harbor, but indeed it had him in its hold.
He could not hurt Abigale Lynn.
He loved her.
He loved her every part. He loved the child inside of her, whether his own or not.
He was an evil man, but he was ever loyal to his Family, to those he loved.
This was not a contract. No one ordered this murder. This was pure foolishness. This was blasphemy. This was a mockery.
The cup slipped from his fingers before Abigale Lynn's feet, clattering to the floor, shattering on impact. "Lucien!" The girl gasped, jumping back slightly on the bed as she did so to avoid the still steaming water and porcelain. Staring down at the puddle of heated poison along the floor, the assassin caught his reflection: pale and stern. He quickly looked away from the image, dropping to a knee, shaking his head slightly as he did so. He felt his very soul was in an uproar. Nevertheless, Lucien pulled himself together, muttering something unintelligible to himself about the mug slipping from his hold as he bent to collect pieces of the broken cup. The hot porcelain burned his calloused palms as he gathered it but the pain was welcomed. Wholly welcomed. It felt good in comparison to what he had almost done...
"Stop! You will hurt yourself." Abigale Lynn chided as she went to join him on the floor. On a reflex that frightened the young woman, the assassin put his hands upon her shoulders quickly to stop the action, mindful not to let the shards cut the girl. He did not want her to drop to his aid, nor did he want her to touch the foul brew. He did not want her to even look at it... The assassin found himself staring hard at Abigale Lynn, perhaps too much so. However, to his great astonishment, the young woman did not so much as flinch at his glare. Instead, a small frown formed on her pretty face. She carefully placed her cool hand along his brow, a look of concern taking over her features. "You are so pale. Lucien, are you unwell?"
The assassin only continued to stare before forcing a nod, again swallowing hard. "I think I am." He managed, leaning into the girl's touch, feeling so peculiar by all the current epiphanies that assaulted his conscience. Abigale Lynn shook her head, smoothing the assassin's hair back with a small smile touching her full lips. She called him proud, teased him for what she had thought was a brave face. This only further moved and disturbed the still crouching assassin. He longed to do something but was unsure what that 'something' was. Again acting on impulse he moved. Abigale Lynn only startled ever so slightly as the assassin dropped the porcelain he held to embrace the girl's waist. Perhaps he moved too quickly, perhaps his grip was too tight, but it mattered little as the girl's hands fell gently to his back.
"I am sorry," Lucien whispered into her waist but was unsure who he said those words to. He further buried his face into the young woman's torso, his nose pressed into the fabric of her nightdress. He exhaled, feeling so strange. Relief and guilt. His words dropping to a whisper as he spoke this time to her belly. "Forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive. Lucien...you are perspiring. Come, lie with me. Let us rest. We will clean the mess in the morning. It is only tea."
Lucien eventually managed to pull himself away from the woman he held. He joined her on the bed, kicking off his boots and removing his tunic swiftly. The assassin was quick to bury himself and Abigale Lynn in the coarse linen sheets. He embraced her from behind, his hands encircling her small form...one resting protectively over her lower belly, where it remained for the duration of the evening.
xxxx
The following morning, I awoke to the mess on the floor cleaned and an ill Lachance still curled beside me. The previous evening, the assassin had been overcome with a sudden sickness. I too still felt unwell and wondered if we had come into contact with something foul or simply caught a chill. It mattered little, of course. We simply felt poorly and so resigned ourselves to bed.
I lied there, facing Lucien Lachance's back, watching his slow rhythmic breaths as he slept and thought of his behavior hours before. The man had looked pale, sweat beading along his brow as he dropped to his knees to clean the mess he had made. I had watched him gulp, his hands tremble, and his brows fix with confusion. I had never seen the assassin so vulnerable, and when he nearly flung himself at me, I was shocked...and also humbled.
Tentatively, I touched the Dark Brotherhood Speaker's broad shoulders. I traced some faded scars with my fingertips and traveled the few paths of freckles that dotted his skin. I was uncertain of my feelings once more. I acknowledged my growing affection for Lucien and my rising uncertainty that paired with it. He was a killer. Purely lethal. Deadly. Malicious and cold...and I could not help but wonder if he was born such a way or groomed to be so. I knew placing blame on his upbringing brought no reason for his actions now, nor did it absolve him in any manner. Still, I stared, again feeling wrongly sympathetic and attached to the man who killed for enjoyment.
Lucien Lachance was an enigma. I longed to keep him a mystery for my own sake, yet I wondered if having someone to confess to would aid him. Many had come to me in search of an ear to pour their secrets. As much as I did not wish to know of Lucien's darkness, I found myself ready and willing to listen, should it bring him comfort. Someone so broken down over their own physical weakness was a poor thing to witness. The man apologized for being ill and weak. His desperation sounded familiar. The assassin sounded like me.
"You need something?" Came a still sleep-laden voice as Lucien woke abruptly, causing me to flinch away the smallest bit. The amount of concern in his voice was equally jarring as his sudden movements. "Pain? Do you have pain anywhere?"
"No, Lucien," I answered fast, feeling a level amount of concern myself for the assassin. "I confess I do not feel myself but not so poorly..." The Dark Brotherhood Speaker, now facing me, looked the smallest bit better than he had last night. Still, his expression and stare were disheartening. Delicately, I placed my hand upon his brow, searching for a fever and finding none, despite the odd look on his face. "How are you?"
"Similar, I suppose. Better now that I know you are alright." He replied as he sat up fully, causing me to retract my touch. The assassin rested his elbow on his knee, his hand taking the place where mine had been a moment before. He sighed deeply, black eyes regarding me from the corner of his vision. I frowned, thinking on his words and movements, finding both peculiar.
"Why would I not be alright?" I dared to venture, watching Lucien visibly wince at the question. He inched closer before running his fingers through my hair. The assassin was again quiet and contemplative. Confused, perhaps. I only continued to watch him curiously as he sought comfort in the feel of my locks in his hand.
"...I had a dream." He eventually mumbled, appearing embarrassed as he did so. My frown turned into a pout as I wondered what type of dream could cause Lucien Lachance to seem so timid. A fever dream, perhaps. Not even he was immune to such things. "It was not a pleasant one and has left me rattled. I apologize for this weakness."
I could not help but to smile incredulously at the man. It was a touch comical that one so dangerous received a fright over a normal occurrence. He, of course, did not appreciate my mirth and further darkened. "It's alright, Lucien." I tried to soothe, shaking away my smile. I was unsure of how to respond in a way that would not be so condescending. It was not my intention, after all. "There is no need to worry so. It was just a dream. Do we not all have nightmares?"
Lucien further surprised me by standing from the bed. He grabbed a clean tunic from his pack in one sweep of a motion before storming to the water basin to wash. "I am the nightmare."
XXXX
The assassin stared down at his own reflection once more, this time pooled in his own hands before dowsing his face with the image of himself. Indeed, the Dark Brotherhood Speaker did have a nightmare and it was that terror of an experience in his slumber that had him deeply questioning his soul. The night before had left him in quite a state. When sleep finally took him his mind was assaulted by images of a shadowy figure as it ended the lives of five squirming babes. There was no doubt in his mind that his 'dream' was a dilapidated depiction of his Unholy Matron slaughtering her Five Sons...Lucien had spectated quietly, grasping the meaning with disconcerting ease.
As a member of the Dark Brotherhood, there were sacrifices to be made. Sacrifices of the bloodiest kind. Lucien Lachance felt in his darkened heart that a child was now wanted by his Dread Father for his present inability to end life. Perhaps it was his weakness manifest and was nothing more than his poor imaginations. Perhaps his Dread Father wanted nothing at all from him, and the assassin merely felt weak by his own failure to end another being...but Lucien would not take such a chance. He was ready to bloody his hands as a precaution and for a small appeasement to his Father.
As it was not contracted, he would not kill the babe within his Abigale Lynn. No...but he would silence the heart of another child in supplication...and the events of the prior evening already gifted him a target of excellent selection.
XXXX
Hours earlier, the assassin woke from his fitful sleep and carefully rose. Lucien eyed his woman, still feeling dirty, apologetic, weak and guilty. He knew not how to handle these emotions, however, and so he silently stood from the mattress and began to clean the mess on the floor. He collected the pieces of porcelain and frowned deeply. The wood had absorbed most of the moisture from the poisonous tea and so left Lucien with little to clean. However, he needed to be rid of all the evidence...looking at the dark area on the floor caused his stomach to turn.
It was then as the assassin stood, muttering under his breath, glassy eyed and holding shattered bits in his hand once more, did he note the presence behind him.
Lucien turned, glaring quietly at the boy who spectated the assassin's movements. Realizing that he had been caught, the young Berel audibly gasped before scurrying from the door's crack. Lucien Lachance marched purposefully towards the boy Dunmer, flinging the door open angrily, mindful to keep it from hitting the wall and making any sound.
The boy stood in the hall, stammering, his gaze wide and fearful as he looked up towards the glaring Imperial who toward over him. Berel swallowed hard, pointing nervously into the room, managing to force himself to speak. "T-the ceiling in my room was leaking. I just wanted to -"
"Snoop?" Lucien swiftly interjected, moving the smallest bit forward, his look intensifying. Knowing someone had seen him in such a weakened state made him feel so very pathetic... "Did your mother ever warn you not to look into patrons rooms without alerting them, regardless of what drips from the ceiling?" The boy nodded, paling some and moving back. The assassin watched the action and fought off a scowl. Lucien took a deep breath, forcing composure as he watched the shrinking boy. He was reminded all too well of his Abigale Lynn's behavior when they had first journeyed together. The Speaker again felt far too odd and did not find any measure of pleasure in the boy's fright. "...It was only tea, Berel. A knock and complaint would have better suited you. Peeping will get you in far greater trouble. Remember that as you enter adulthood."
"I will. And I am sorry, Mister Lachance. I was not thinking..." The boy's eyes again darted into the bedroom to the sleeping Abigale Lynn, lingering for only a moment before tearing his gaze away, his skin soon again blushing purple. Lucien's brow quirked as he turned his attention to Berel's line of vision, steadily grasping the young Mer's true intent, leak in his room or no.
"How troublesome was this 'leak' to you, Berel? I think your intentions stray from your words." The boy perked up slightly, shaking his head, his blush worsening. Lucien Lachance's Abigale Lynn had gained herself another admirer...a small, gray, admirer. "She is beautiful, is she not?" Lucien asked darkly, a smirk snaking its way across his lips. In truth, he was not the least bit angered. The boy, though in need of a good swat from his mother for his indecent actions, had committed a small crime, in Lucien Lachance's eyes. He was no more but a curious boy enamored by a pretty lady, hoping to get a glimpse of her sleeping form.
"I..." Gulping, Berel nodded, causing the assassin to chuckle before placing his hand upon the lad's shoulder, effectively causing the youth to jump.
"This is quite an indecent action. Watching a woman, one who is ignorant of your presence, is not a practice to continue. You are lucky that is was I who caught you. She would be rightfully offended." The boy bowed his head, mumbling a soft apology as he did so, not daring to continue with his facade any longer. "I should, by all means, tell your mother and my intended...however, I think we know each other well enough to know that this will not be happening again. As such, I shall remain silent on the matter. Let us keep this man to man, hmm?"
Berel, who had moments ago resigned himself to shame, doom, a mild beating, and chores, blinked before staring up hopefully into Lucien's black gaze. He was unbelieving of the man's understanding and truly grateful. "R-really? You won't tell?"
"No. Who would it benefit? I am sure you have learned your lesson by shame alone, have you not? More punishment will only turn you towards resentment." Lucien relinquished his hold on the boy and took a backward step to his room. "Scamper off to bed now and this will be our little secret."
Berel nodded, his smile broadened as he did as told. Lucien smirked at his back. In truth, he liked the boy. There was something about the little Mer that almost reminded the assassin of himself so very long ago...though he knew not what that 'something' was.
Eventually, Lucien Lachance made his way back into bed by Abigale Lynn's side. It was then that a fitful sleep would have been most welcomed in the stead of the premonition and realization that came with the dawn.
XXXX
The assassin dowsed his face with the water collected in his hands once more as his dream and the previous evening played out in his mind. He knew, regrettably, that he had always found a strange comfort at the Imperial Bridge Inn and with its owners...something drove him to it and the small Dunmer family. Watching a mother make the best of her poor states and dote on her only son was something the assassin had formed a quiet curiosity over. He knew the feeling of interest was formed due to his own upbringing. Lucien had only ever known 'love' from the Dark Brotherhood and his Unholy Matron. Strong bonds forged by blood and devotion...but the fleshy bond of mother and child was something of a secret wonder to witness.
Over the last few years, Lucien felt compelled at times to take a bed at this particular inn along the road, if only to watch the interactions he had never known. It was purely gratifying to witness. The Dark Brotherhood Speaker would swear that he could almost see what could have been in his own life as he looked down at the Dunmer boy on many different occasions. The feeling was something akin to an echo. When he sought comforts he did not understand, he took to the Imperial Bridge Inn. He had neglected the practice for years now, but with his current confusion over his Abigale Lynn, the practice repeated.
His dream - or vision, rather - left little room for argument. He would take no pleasure in the deaths that were soon to follow, save for the obvious peace of mind that would result in their completion. Still, the knowing made him bitter. He was to rob himself of good company, tear a mother and child apart all to save his possible own. It was a price to pay. It was fealty to Sithis. It was vital.
The boy Berel had to die. Lucien Lachance knew this with utmost certainty as his day continued on. The assassin carefully plucked at the ruffle of Abigale Lynn's sleeve, his gaze set on the fabric, his attention everywhere but as they dressed. The death of the boy was a small price, he told himself, but he would end the mother as well to be kind. She need not suffer the loss he had almost inflicted on his own self. Just the possibility of losing a child was an aching feeling...She would go first, the boy would follow. The assassin had three days to carry out their deaths and cover them accordingly. He took comfort in the safety that would follow the deed. He would secure his own. He was soon to be a father...he only needed to kill another child for good measure.
Abigale Lynn was, of course, not to know.
xxxx
We remained cozy at the Imperial Bridge in for three days time. The assassin recovered from whatever ailed him fairly quickly. I, however, still suffered from random bouts of fatigue and small nausea. Lucien still blamed the Brotherhood's old implemented incantations and I believed him. The smell of pig and sheep did not help in the least with my unease. Still, I managed, and we remained close...perhaps closer than ever before.
I watched Lucien as he aided the Dunmer proprietor, Davela, in making little repairs to her establishment. He did nothing for free, explaining to me of her pride, and worked tirelessly on the stables and floorboards for discounted goods. His generosity shocked me. I was more than baffled as he taught the boy, Berel, how to do this or that more effectively.
It was odd, almost surreal, watching him crouch by the boy's side as he taught him the proper depth for a post, dirtying his hands and trousers in the process...I could see a sweetness there, along with familiarity. This was not the first child he schooled and seeing him do such a thing was strange and yet oddly warming. Lucien had also confessed his like for the child, as he saw something that reminded him of himself in the boy, though he knew not what it was. I too found it odd, as the boy reminded me of someone completely the opposite of the assassin...
Davela seemed to be a good woman though I did not spend much time in her company. As Lucien worked, I found my stare glued to his form. I sought him out more fervently than ever before just to stare. I watched him teach, laugh, hold little animals and grin as he put up a marvelous facade that I too fell for.
The assassin was...different. Kind. At least, he again pretended to be, for such little gained. Even when we were alone this sweetness remained. He doted on me endlessly, to the point that it made me uncomfortable. He pampered me with all he had within him. Only when I begged him not to did this ease, but only slightly. Even while bedding me, Lucien Lachance was far more tender than his norm, as though I was made of glass. This was exceptionally unusual, as the assassin was very creative and a touch violent during sex. He would flip me, move me, move into me with power and passionate aggression, only easing should I ask. Again, this was something I had come to enjoy. His absolute worship of my every inch pleased me. He knew how to touch me and how much I could stand before breaking at his hand. So, his recent softness made all strange. He seemed almost uncertain and watched my reactions with extreme scrutiny, as though he feared a too violent roll of his hips would end my existence.
However, this was not unwelcome. I did feel a new and dire need for our usual union, along with a want for what I beheld in the day to stay. I greatly enjoyed the 'merchant' Lucien Lachance and his depth compassion. It made all far too easy to ignore the darkness inside of him, as it was not to be seen or spoken of.
All of this had me confused, frustrated, and positively swooning. My heart leaped at the sight of a worn and filthy Lucien, sitting for a meal and beckoning me to his side. I enjoyed his grumbles of 'stubborn' beams and loose soil. I laughed aloud at the dirt on his nose and his absolute disgust for his own mussed hair. It was amusing. He was human...and I wondered if he would always put on such a guise for me. I thought on the housing plans we had made as he spoke of them frequently. The man was almost excited to begin the project he had days ago lamented over and I too looked forward to it now.
Everything was a promise. An odd 'best of a bad situation' promise. Although it was beginning to no longer feel so. My heart indeed was still firmly rooted in Skingrad, yes, but as the assassin made an effort to please my heart and I did all I could to meet him in kind, it - we - felt good. Warm. I felt now more confidently towards Lucien Lachance. I fell merrily into his fabrication. The persona of a wonderful man...the greatest shame was the truth to the form. The Dark Brotherhood Speaker had the potential and drive to be anything. Some good did not undo a life of bad, and I was not so simple as to believe he would ever change, but there was yet another promise there for better.
And it was a promise I now accepted not only in word but in my heart, as I began to test the waters of greater affection for Lucien Lachance.
xxxx
Night fell on our final day at the Imperial Bridge Inn. As we ate our dinner by a weathered tapestry in the inn's main room, I found myself lost in thought. Soon the witch's brew would be complete, and my pre-contracted time would Lucien Lachance would come to a close. We would deliver the cure to Skingrad...but I was not to enter the city walls. I was not to venture close to the county at all and Lucien was going to the Castle at dawn alone. That way, there would be no feasible means for the Count to come to me, should he grow the want to do so.
I tried to shut out the thoughts as I so often endeavored to do. I tried so vry hard not to think of the Count, especially now that I acknowledged my greartly blooming care for the assassin. It was wrong to do so...but I could not fathom the Count's motives, his thoughts, his desires. I knew nothing and felt nothing of him now. A great part of my soul felt an otherworldly pull to beg Lucien to allow me to deliver the cure myself, so that I may plead forgiveness from the Count of Skingrad or just see him in the flesh once more. But it was too dangerous of a thing to do. One glance at the Count could cost me my life.
Shamefully, my heart dared to deem it worth the sacrifice.
As we finished in a silence that one would consider comfortable, had my thoughts not been so wild, I found the assassin watching me strangely. I quirked my brow and shot him what I hoped to be an incredulous look and not a timid, guilty glance. "Yes?" I asked, lowering my spoon, quite finished with the meager amount I found myself able to partake in. Lucien, who had encouraged me for days on end to eat more than what I was comfortable with, smirked over his third helping of stew at me.
"I see your mind again at work, Abigale." He stated loudly. Luckily for myself, the assassin and I were at present the only people supping in the Imperial Bridge Inn this evening. "Your paranoia is singing a tune so loudly that I could dance to it." Lucien continued, pushing his bowl away and wiping his mouth on the napkin provided. "Let us get your mind out of your woes and worries. We shall utilize that unique frightful melody of yours...Shall we?"
I watched on confusedly as the assassin stood and walked to my side. He offered his hand, which I only glared at with a wrinkled nose before fixing the look to the grinning Lachance. "Shall we what?" I asked, puzzled more as the assassin dropped his hand and pulled my chair out instead, startling me so that I gripped the wood I sat upon to keep balance.
"Why, dance, of course." Lucien chuckled, his grin wide, charming and positively roguish.
"Dance?" I again echoed him, blinking, to which he only nodded amusedly in response. I then looked around the empty space we currently occupied. No one had visited the Inn for the entire duration of our stay. The building remained empty nearly at all times, as much work was being done to its outside. Even now, Davela and Berel were finishing their work on the grounds and tucking the animals into their pens for the evening. Still, I was oddly nervous. The idea was dancing was discomforting, though I knew not why. Perhaps because I had never done such a thing. "...Here? Right here? In silence?" Again, the assassin nodded. I sighed, shaking my head dismissively, very much unamused. "You are joking."
"So much trepidation in one little person..." The assassin hummed mirthfully before pulling me from my seat. I bit back a small gasp at the sudden action and glared at the man, mentally cursing my blush that had already begun to rise to my cheeks. "Silence, my dear, is music all itself. Hush and listen now..." He instructed, placing one of my hands to his shoulders, the other remaining in his own. I stood, waiting for said instructions...only to realize that he was telling me to listen to the quiet surrounding us. I frowned but complied all the same, soon taking note of the cracking cookfire, the soft echo of insects chirping out in the wood, and something more.
Drowning out the noise at first seemed a foolish thing to try. However, once I succeeded, the silence hummed in my mind and ears. Nothing. Emptiness. A silent void, hidden in the world of so much clatter and sound.
"Is it not a symphony all its own?" The assassin suddenly inquired, frightening me as he did so. I opened my eyes, unsure of exactly when I closed them and stared.
"It is...and it is deafening," I mumbled, shifting my footing, unsure of why I felt so suddenly cold and on edge.
"It is deafeningly beautiful." He corrected, bringing himself closer as he did so, his voice taking on a deeper timbre. "It is an orchestration of my God himself. A melody I know all too well. Not many can handle its stunning implications. After all, silence awaits each and every mortal, in the end. It surrounds us, we live and breath by its side. We must find beauty in it, Abigale, for there is much hidden within the shadows."
"...You are speaking to me in riddles, Lucien."
"And you are not yet used to this? How very irresponsible...let us dance."
XXXX
One step and then another. Another. Step. Repeat.
Soon skepticism turned to laughter and fumbling footing into elegant twirls. His Abigale Lynn learned quickly, as though she was born to dance. Each nimble move accentuated her lovely body, her smile and self glowing. Lucien wondered if this was the 'glow' he heard spoken of by numerous women when in the company of a lady with child. He had always assumed such a thing was said from pity in the hopes of lifting a mother's spirits, but this...this was a true glow.
She was alive. So blessedly alive and full of life. And as they stepped around furniture, as the assassin dipped her low and pulled her back into his embrace, he noticed something else entirely new about her stare. Her eyes had an otherworldly shine within them. They sparkled brightly, like the green sea of Anvil, or the ice caps of Skyrim nestled beneath the stars and moons...blinding and brilliant.
Their movements continued, though their bodies did not separate so. No, their dance became heated, became passion. Moving and touching. Pretty fingers danced over his clothes as Abigale Lynn's mouth quickly found his own as she initiated a kiss that set the assassin's skin in prickles. Panting and touching, they worked their way up the stairs and to their room, stopping only to crush the other with their lips. It occurred to the assassin then, as the girl stripped herself in a flurry as they crossed the chamber's threshold and as she grabbed the assassin in her nakedness, did Lucien realize that the lovely Abigale Lynn was growing to love him. This was her way of expression.
Over the last few days, the assassin had taken her tenderly, not wanting to harm the child in her belly. However, it seemed Abigale Lynn was in no mood for such gentleness tonight as she wrenched Lucien toward their rickety bed, her cheeks pink and lips already bruised.
He let her push and pull him towards the bed, grinning inwardly as the back of his head met the pillows. Abigale Lynn, still entirely nude, straddled the assassin. Her thin, elegant fingers tugging nimbly at the buttons on Lucien's shirt as she hastened to undress him. He complied with her wish, aiding in the removal of his tunic and basking in the warm feel of her mouth once more as she dipped down to kiss him, her hair enveloping him in a veil of cool red.
Lucien sat up, clasping Abigale Lynn flush to his chest. He held the girl in his lap, his rough hands gliding over her warm, smooth back. He pressed his nose to the crook of her neck, taking in the familiar scent of her skin as she twisted her fingers to his trousers. She planted heated kisses along his chest, throat and jaw, unabashed as she ground and rolled her hips in the assassin's lap. The heat of her mouth and tongue caused a groan to slip from him, a sound barely audible above the girl's own labored breaths. Abigale Lynn soon succeeded in working the lacing of Lucien's pants and grasped his already throbbing arousal.
As Lucien sucked in a breath through his teeth at the warm digits wrapping snugly around his girth, he would freely admit that although very much inexperienced, Abigale Lynn proved to be the best of 'lovers' he had ever known... And the concept of an actual 'lover' and not a simple bedmate or companion was astounding. So much so that Lucien tentatively labeled the feeling in his own mind. Perhaps, in truth, she was the only lover he ever truly had. For Abigale Lynn, outside of their union, made him feel insurmountable pleasures that were both pure and poignant in their simplicity alone.
The pleasure became mutual as Lucien was quick to slip his hand under Abigale Lynn's body. His digits found her slick and he was eager to appease her wants. Light brushes of his hand soon turned into a pistoning of his fingers that left the girl mewling in his arms. It was a sight one could never tire of. Even as her hand fell from his erection so that she could lean away and bask in pleasure, her knuckles going white as she gripped the meat of his dense thighs, Lucien only found himself further enamored.
His touch was pitiless but soon his caress left her sex as he grasped his own. Abigale Lynn raised her hips invitingly and the assassin was all too keen to accept.
Her heat welcomed him, and with a tentative roll of her hips, it all began once more. Pleasure and closeness. Closeness and passion. Passion mingling with love. Love, with obsession.
XXXX
After some time, Lucien Lachance effectively wore Abigale Lynn's body down. She succumbed to exhaustion after their rather illustrious 'dance' and fell into a deep sleep. The assassin had originally only wanted to tire her by light physical activity - a literal dance. The woman had other plans. And in the end, he preferred Abigale Lynn's method.
The assassin was mindful to be silent as he rose from the bed, utilizing his trained body to lift himself without sturring his slumbering lover.
Yes, his lover. His Abigale Lynn. His Family - and all that happened to imply. For she housed his Family. She was Family. His Family...and Lucien would secure the safety of his own.
With careful movements, the Dark Brotherhood Speaker dressed and armed himself simply, but accordingly. Cloaked in his robes of the Black Hand, the assassin left the room silently, the slumbering maiden not once stirring. Lucien made his way down the inn steps and into the room he and Abigale Lynn supped in earlier. He took note of the bowls and cutlery that had been cleaned, stored, and the dowsed cookfire. The assassin walked past all, dully noting things that he deemed useful, should something go awry. He had no doubts in his own abilities, still, he needed to take the necessary precautions.
The Speaker carefully crept down into the room behind the inn's main counter, to where the proprietor Davela rested. He delicately knocked on the door, removing his hood as he did so. As suspected, the Dunmer woman was quick to greet him, clad in only a nightdress. She looked up confusedly, eyes tired and unfocused, her voice laden with sleep once she deemed herself ready to speak. "Mister Lachance? Is there something wrong?"
Lucien gave a grim nod, appearing thoughtful as he watched the Mer push her disheveled, black hair from her face. "I am afraid so. It seems a bear has gotten into your livestock. I believe you should come and assess the damages yourself. Though, I do warn you, it is gruesome...Much blood."
"A bear?" Davela repeated, waking some, her expression contorting to frustration as she retreated into her room to grab a tan robe. "When did this happen? How on Nirn did a bear get in? We've made so many repairs...I haven't heard a sound." She returned to the assassin's side as Lucien led the way to the inn's entrance, enjoying her blind following. Lucien regretted the impending death, even if slightly. What he devised was a kindness. The Dunmer would never know the pain of losing her child, for she would be gone before a blade was brought to her boy. They would rejoin in the Void...Lucien Lachance was considerately thoughtful in his own dilapidated way, he knew, but it would be done. Still, it was almost a shame how much she trusted him. He would miss this woman.
"I believe the beast utilized the only weak spot remaining in your fence. I am sorry. I will happily assist in gathering any animals that managed to run off and make repairs, accordingly." Lucien kindly offered as he opened the door. Davela nodded, sighing with obvious agitation.
"I do appreciate your kindness." She mumbled as they walked out into the night air and rounded the corner to the stables. "But I cannot help but wonder if it was some of your and Berel's handiwork that allowed a bear to get in. We've never had so much as a fox sneak by..." Davela stopped, staring at the untouched pens with confusion. She searched the grounds with a perplexed glare that quickly shifted into a skeptical look, training her attention to Lucien Lachance, who only pulled his hood up mutely, effectively ignoring the stare. "...Is this some sort of joke, Mister Lachance? There is no bear. No damage. No blood...What -?"
"My most sincerest apologies. Allow me to explain. To rectify..." The assassin sighed, inching closer, planting the seeds of discomfort with their current proximity. Lucien watched as Davela's red eyes filled instantly with insurmountable question, a spark of fear blooming and fluttering within them. "There will be blood, Davela. There will be."
A scream high in pitch and shrill formed in the Dunmer's throat but was unable to properly escape. It became no more than a muffled cry as Lucien's hand firmly clasped over her lips. Her stifled shrieks and squeals followed them all the way to the pig pen and its watering trough. The swine stirred as Davela thrashed in Lucien's arms, some even snorted and puffed as the assassin pushed the struggling Mer forward, pitching her head to the slimy waters turned black by night. Davela's face broke the frothy surface with only the smallest of sounds before muted screams filled the air, roiling bubbles erupting and the occasional hog snort the only accompaniments to the sound.
She struggled against the Dark Brotherhood Speaker's hold, even while time slowly ticked by as she remained submerged. She had fight in her. Much to live for, she no doubt believed.
Lucien began to inwardly count, as there was a vastly limited about of time a mortal's body could go without air, and the Mer's vitals had already begun to weaken. Seconds dragged but time was something the assassin had in abundance, as the woman's struggling took little effort to subdue. Lucien tightly held her wrists behind her back in one firm hand, the other at the back of her head, rooted into her hair as he pushed her face flush to the basin's bottom. His count lightly formed on his breath, spilling from his lips in a mindless whisper. Davela tried to kick, tried to wriggle free, but soon her movements became sluggish, almost as though she was drunk, before going limp completely. The assassin's count ended. The bubbles thusly vanished. Yet the assassin kept the mother there for a moment more. He sighed, his thumb lightly caressing her gray, paling digits as he pondered the loss for a moment...before resigning himself to sample the thought another day. The assassin's business was not yet concluded and he had little room for distractions.
Soon, Lucien carefully removed his dripping hand from the cold Mer's lifeless body. Davela remained in the trough, herself contorted and crumbled into a wicked posture which somehow exacerbated the deed. The assassin's eyes scraped over her form before he lifted them to his audience of numerous swine. Unbeknownst to the now dead Inn owner and her child, Lucien Lachance had been depriving the hogs a hefty portion of their slop. He wanted their appetites to be wetted by the fruits of his work. It would gift the assassin little to clean and hide...
With a rough pull to a naked ankle, the Dunmer flopped unceremoniously from the trough and rolled sopping wet into the dirt. Procuring a dagger, Lucien carelessly went to work. He cut the cloth from Davela's cold body, leaving her nicked and naked. The clothing he pushed aside, the woman he gathered in his arms. He held her much like a man would a bride...should the bride's eyes be unstaring and vacant, before tossing her lifeless self into the pig pen. As expected, the hogs took interest with a swiftness that both startled and pleased the assassin.
It was then and only then, did the Speaker feel a familiar gaze at his back. He did not need to turn to know who currently watched the proceedings in horror, as the small, ragged breaths and stifled sobs let him know the current specter.
"Snoop?" The assassin teased, fingering the hilt of his dagger as he lazily turned, his lips slanting into a smile that somehow managed to be both sympathetic and cruel in nature. "Oh, Berel. How much did you see, child?" The boy, a very pale and shuttering Berel, stared unbelievingly at the shrouded assassin. Being no more than a mere lad, the young Mer hadn't the foggiest of ideas how to handle, never mind process, the sight of his mother, bloodied and being consumed. He had been roused from slumber moments before and prayed to the Gods that he was tangled in a horrible nightmare...
Lucien watched the silent boy and cautiously made his advance, approaching him steadily, easily. "Breathe, my boy. Breathe. Do not worry, dear child. These overwhelming feelings that you are currently experiencing will not last. No, they too shall fade...this is no more than a dream. A frightening dream." The Dark Brotherhood Speaker offered, watching on as the boy backed away, his movements rigid. Berel's back touched the inn's wall, his hand finding a pitchfork, which he was quick to grasp and shakily brandish. It was an act the assassin had not expected but oddly appreciated. Still, the boy's eyes were widely set, his body on the verge of convulsion from his silent tremors.
Lucien Lachance regarded all cooly, listing the emotions he watched rise within the child. "Confusion. Fear. Loss. Panic...Hmm...Perhaps it is a cruel thing for me to identify such things. I hold the capacity to experience emotions that I simply do not possess. I can regard them all though, Berel, and of all the things I lack, I am not so heartless...my motives tonight are infinite, but you lack the understanding of such complexities and I shan't bore you with the details..." Lucien glanced over his shoulder for the briefest moment, his smile returning and bittersweet. "No pun intended, mind you. But the loss here tonight is not without motive. Bear with me, Berel. It is time for you to take your place among the lost. Be strong, for what I say may come as a shock to you, and perhaps it is a touch contradictory, however..."
Lucien advanced then, moving with a silent swiftness that baffled the young boy. Berel was quickly disarmed but somehow managed to throw a weak punch that connected with the assassin's shoulder, doing no damage. The Speaker flung the child to the ground without anger or pride. No, he was grateful for this child's existence tonight.
The Speaker's hand easily fit over the boy's face, and so Lucien held him there like so. The boy clawed at the assassin's leather-clad arm. Tears soon began seeping through Lucien's splayed fingers, much like the madness seeping from the Imperial himself as he positioned the pommel of his dagger to Berel's breast. The boy's sputtered, incoherent cries became higher in pitch, conveying his youth. Lucien thought it a great shame, for he did enjoy the boy and his mother, but Sithis and his own came first. This was the seed of corruption conceived within his mind, however, and Lucien would see his own 'contract' through.
"I need your heart, Berel. I need your heart to secure all that I hold dear." It was unlikely that the boy heard him over his own muffled panic, but Lucien felt the explanation was due. Even if small and young, it mattered little, he deserved to be told. The assassin's eyes then fell to the boy's heavy chest. Frail, but still bones would need to be broken before he could initiate the carving. "This will not be painless but I am well practiced in extrication, my child. Embrace the void. Sithis be with you. May the Void take you with swiftness, for I will not. Good journey to you, my boy."
Author's Note: DARK AF. I felt this was needed. We need a reminder as to WHO Lucien Lachance is... which is something our Abigale Lynn is doing her best to forget. I would greatly appreciate any and all thoughts on this chapter, good and bad, as I did debate the entire ordeal. After discussing it with some company, it became vital to the story's plot. We can't forget our characters. Abigale Lynn is the focus, yes, but the world of Nirn goes on outside of her point of view...
On another note, I have an editing app! Lemme' know if it did any good! XD