Author's Notes: In response to one reviewer in particular: Aedra and Daedra are two totally different things. Even so, Abby questions everything.
NOW A TANGENT! The Aedra have little 'tangible' influence on Nirn, while Daedra...they are as real as you and me. Abigale and many other peoples of Tamriel are flippant on the subject of the Divines. They doubt the power of the Nine - just look at the civil war in Skyrim as a prime example, some doubt Talos, so they try to remove him from Divinity altogether. Abigale Lynn is full of imperfections and questions faith as most do when in the face of adversity. I try to covey her uncertainty. It's common to question religion, Abigale is no different with that. In the world of TES, some Gods are actual beings, others are simply concepts, and some are mirror images of a particular Divine under a different name. That being said, coupled with the background I've given her, I wanted her confusion...just not your's XD.
AND! I had to back up my entire story. IT TOOK FOREVER. I procrastinate a bit...*cough, cough*. I have a fear of it being pulled one day for adult content. I mean, I've seen stories on here that are graphic AF...like, make me close the laptop and back away graphic...but I want to play it safe here with LoB. After all, I've been writing this story for, like, a decade? XD
AND! AND! OMG, I'm such a dip! Ehem, in response to another lovely reviewer - the Count's connection to Abigale IS severed. So sorry to not have clarified that bit too. I saw the reviews and got so excited in updating that I didn't address the question XD Oh, and a lot of Lucien's behavior here is heavily based off of what we see of him in Bravil. He's so very controlled until DOOM. My interpretation of him is everything he feels gets bottled until the pressure blows off his top XD
This one also took a bit more effort as it's a darker chapter, and they take some time to write. They're difficult for me but crucial for development. Not to mention the Holidays threw a wrench in the works. Phew!
AS A WARNING...DARK CHAPTER.
WARNING: This chapter is rated M. for Sexual Situations, Dubious Consent, Violence, and Gore. You have been warned.
Love or Blood
Chapter Seventy-two: Conflicts
xxxx
The rain continued to pour, pounding on my body and soaking me to the bone as I sprinted about Bravil in the dead of night. The air was damp and cold, causing my teeth to chatter and lungs to sear in protest as I searched the darkness. No streetlamps were lit, no promising warm light to guide me to safety. Instead, I was made to maneuver my way around buildings and trenches in utter darkness, nearly slipping into a blood channel that ran gore from the butcher's shop. I fumbled away from it, gripping a rotted post and digging my heels into the mud to keep from sliding further towards the liquid slaughter and grime. I loathed Bravil and it had been years since I was made to wander its streets at night. My panic ensued and my mind raced. I could not think straight, I had no grasp of where I was going. I only knew that I needed to find the gate and leave the city.
Gathering myself, still holding Lucien's dagger in a clenched fist, I debated tossing the weapon into the drain. I did not want the odious thing and simply holding it ailed me. However, I knew it was foolish to rid myself of my only source of defense, and so I tucked it away in my dress once more before heading off in another direction that I hoped would lead me to the city exit.
Many things flashed through my mind as I ran. I thought of my parents, I thought of the Dark Brotherhood, I thought of Castle Skingrad. My life felt confusing, cruel and bleak and now I had nothing. My options were little, survival was slim. I was not a beggar-child one could take pity on and toss a crust of bread. Nor was I so small and easily overlooked any longer. My body was not little enough to wedge between buildings and crates for shelter, and it seemed I never went unnoticed. Eyes were always on me, and this was a deeply troublesome thing. The attention I garnered was unwanted and lecherous. The possibility of another offering wholesome work was unlikely. And sadly, my training and education were little, which only further proved my inability to self-sustain.
A thought came to me as I stopped for a breath by Bravil's famed Lucky Old Lady statue. It was a pressing idea of taking Brother Martin of Kvatch up on his offer for aid. The thought pleaded with my rationale. It was, by all accounts, the wisest thing I could endeavor to do. I knew not what help I could offer to a priest. My Restorative magics were strong but dreadfully undeveloped. The magic inside of me was also wild and eager, and - unfortunately - drawn and created from the wiles of a Divine. Dibellan nature was widely frowned upon outside of Her temples. I wondered if Brother Martin would cast me out should he discover such a thing dwelled within me. I doubted it, he did not seem the type to do so. However, I was dreadful with reading people and men proved nothing but troubling. Lucien's threats of Martin did not taint the priest's image to me, but all who shared his gender proved troublesome to myself.
And in truth, I did not want to sully another's life. I was a burden.
Brother Martin had been kind and I wanted the memory of him to stay that way. Should I desperately require his aid, I would seek it, for a time. As it proved, my irrational heart did not want me to go to Kvatch. No, my foolish self wanted something familiar, even if dangerous and terribly deadly.
There was only one I could truly turn to, only one who I could throw myself at and hope to find mercy...for him and myself.
The Count. Hot tears mingled with the cold rain. I had only two options now. One was to die on the streets as I nearly done months before - an inevitable, surely, should I try my luck on my own. Or, I did as my heart desired and I return to the Count of Skingrad and hope he would pity me as he once had. It was quite foolish and selfish of me to long for him now after all I had done. Still, I had never truly stopped longing for him and he would hear the truth from my own lips. Whether he sought to toss me out or have me hauled to a cell, it was owed for all the strife I caused him and I felt I was ready for his judgment. Mostly, I was simply ready for him. My heart was greedy for the man. I needed to be with him. I wanted him. He was my choice.
And yet a great part of me, however, near overpowering in its intensity, beckoned me to the mud. I fought dropping into it, existing in it until my heart stilled in my chest. I wondered, deeply wondered, if I wanted to bother trying to fight anymore at all. My body was tired, my heart shattered, soul twisted and thoughts nonsensical and yet deafening. I longed to hide, to end all pain and misery. I did not want to know that my parents were dead. I did not want to know Lucien Lachance, a madman, had taken their lives. I did not want to feel so alone. I had intentionally distanced myself from my family and it ended with their demise. I was held accountable, I knew it with every fiber of my being. It was my fault that they were dead. Did I truly deserve each breath I took?
I was a coward. I had always been. I was tired of my cowardice but too frightened by the prospect of change.
I did not earn the Count's mercy when we had first met, nor did I think I was deserving of him now. But I chose him, I knew I had, as he had chosen me. No longer would I deny my heart, no matter the outcome. I wanted the Count to rule me kindly as he once had and help me to decide my fate...but I had not earned his swiftness of action. I did not deserve having another make such a judgment for me. I loved him... but I did not want to burden him any longer. But I missed him so. I wanted him. I needed him to save me, whether it be draining me of life and tossing me into the sewer or taking me home to the Castle. Either way, I would be saved by him.
I wanted him to comfort me...or end me. I chose him. I loved him. I was ready to accept him.
Gazing up at him would free me. I would be complete and wholly ready to meet my end at his hands, should he so wish it. I loved him madly and denied it. Now he could deny me, should he desire to...Poetic justice.
I decided then that I would try with all that I was to get back to Skingrad. I would walk without stopping. I would break into the Castle once more. Then I would throw myself at his feet and accept my punishment for trespassing. It would be worth it to see him. It would be worth it. If I could complete and accomplish one thing in my life, I wanted it to be looking at my Count one more time. To behold him once more, for he was all I had now, perhaps all I ever truly had.
My heart continued to beat loudly in my chest, reminding me of its presence, and I thought the organ foolish - while I knew mine to be stupid. Yet I would follow it this time. I would follow it, knowing it could lead me to my doom or paradise. I was ready for either but hoped dearly for the latter.
Steadying my steps and breathing, I eventually found Bravil's gate. I stood rigidly and stared up at the walls. I had not been alone for so long. All was intimidating. The very air was ominous...
"Ma'am?" I startled, jumping to my right and wildly brandished Lucien's dagger into the darkness. Soon a figure came into view, the gleaming armor of a city guard reflecting what little light Masser and Secunda offered when they peeked through the shower clouds. "Whoa, put that thing down, citizen. I'm here to help." I blinked, shaken, rain pelting my cheeks and causing my lashes to flutter, my focus warped. Carefully, I lowered the blade and held it in both hands, much like an offering. The guard came closer and carefully removed the dagger from me, watching me with great confusion as he did so. "Ma'am, are you alright? Has something happened?"
I swallowed hard and hugged myself as I tried to stifle the cold trembling of my limbs, thankful that Lucien's dagger was gone from me. "I...I'm lost."
The guard nodded and inched closer, his eyes quickly assessing my state. His gaze narrowed and settled on my throat. The skin there was tender and I knew it to be discolored and peppered with bruises. Surely enough, the Imperial noticed this and beckoned me closer, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. "You are hurt. Who has done this to you?"
"...No." I shook my head, although unsure why I bothered to lie in such a way. With some work, I could have persuaded the guard that I had sustained the marks in some odd manner. "Please, I-I need to leave the city. I need help I... I'm not injured, but I -"
"Yes, you are injured, don't lie to an officer. Now, who did this to you?" The Imperial interrupted, his voice turning stern. I recoiled some. I did not like his tone, though I understood his frustration. After all, there was a murderer on the loose in his hometown. "Ma'am, I need you to calm down. Tell me exactly what happened so that I may find your assailant." He tried to clarify. He tried to reassure. I only stood quietly, eyes on the mud between my feet and his boots. Eventually, he sighed and shrugged off a soaked cloak. "Come then with me to the Castle. Think over telling me what happened. You're free to go when the rain -"
The Imperial's voice hitched. I looked up, regretting doing so as I instantly identified a gauntleted hand that had clamped over the guard's mouth. Another limb quickly emerged from shadow to grip the guard oddly, extracting a grunt from the struggling man.
The officer's eyes narrowed, he brought the dagger he held to the hooded man behind him, preparing to strike but it never made contact; he was in too confining of a hold. Then, with a horrible jerk, the guard's arm tore from its socket with a sickening pop, the blade falling to the mud. A muffled cry broke out between gauntletted fingertips. With another effortless display, a new blade was brought to my attention. The shrouded assassin's other hand became present as it released the guard's useless arm and slipped up to his helm, tilting his head back, exposing his neck to the rain. The new blade touched him, then my eyes closed on instinct as the hot spray of blood struck me.
Stumbling back, I hastily wiped my eyes, legs unsteady. I heard a terrible thud which caused my stomach to turn. Several times I instinctively blinked, a scream catching in my throat once my vision was fully restored. The man who wished to aid me a moment ago jerked about in the mud, none other than Lucien Lachance hovering over the corpse with a bloodied dagger.
My heart thundered, my vision tunneled. I brought my attention to my hands, sticky with blood that the rain delicately displaced with each drop. They shook, I shook. Lucien bent and removed his other blade from the mud, wiping it on the cloak the guard had attempted to give me. He stepped over his body, now unmoving, and made his way purposely for me.
The shout I longed to stifle formed in my throat, held back only by trembling lips and pure shock. I tried to move away but the assassin was all too quick to grab my arm and bring me to him. He stared me down, the look demanding obedience. "If you scream someone will come and more will die." He warned, eliciting a strangled whine to escape me. Eventually, I forced a tentative nod, my body wracked with fearful vibrations that seemed endless. "Good," Lucien grunted before pulling me back down twisting paths and unfamiliar routes. Rain washed me, but I was still stained with blood in various areas.
Soon we were nearing the inner city and a few vagrants littered the streets. At one point, feeling reckless, I tried to silently pull away from the assassin, which only served me to fall upon my knees in the mud.
"Make haste!" Lucien hissed as he wrenched me from the ground. No one made a move to aid me. No one wished to acknowledge the abuse as I was pulled from the mud and dragged down the road. This was Bravil and such acts were routine. But truthfully, I wanted all to be ignorant. I did not want any to catch the attention of Lucien Lachance. I only met the eyes of one mer who cared enough to watch our exchange and meet my gaze. He was a small blonde Bosmer, cloaked and caught in the rain who looked affronted by the assassin's behavior, but still, even he did nothing. He only scowled, remaining hidden from Lucien and the masses before turning away.
Eventually, we arrived at the inn but the assassin did not lead me to the front door. Instead, Lucien pulled me towards the back and 'helped' me up and into the broken window. I was once again in the dreaded little room, and with not a moment spared Lucien was making his way by my side. My mind fogged and body twitched. I was in pure shock. I knew not what to do. I tried to run and Lucien caught me. I tried to flee and he killed an innocent man. He did this often, now I witnessed it...
The wood of the floor creaked behind me as he approached. I turned and watched him, all jitters and fumbling limbs as he reached out to brush my wet hair from my brow. His touch was soft. Disconcertingly gentle. I shook and stared. Lucien's expression was knowing, irritated and reproachful. Yet I watched the anger steadily melt from the assassin's features, though his eyes held an unmistakable sharpness now, more deadly than any blade on his person.
"My beloved...did you truly believe I would let you leave me so easily?" He eventually purred, but not in a mocking manner, as he sounded both genuinely intrigued and irked. Still, I could only quiver and stare in response, unsure of...everything. Anything. Having a kind man murdered before my eyes - his killer gently touching my cheek - had zapped me of my bravery. The assassin inhaled deeply, his expression odd and unreadable, eyes closing for a moment. "I cannot have that. No. I have told you that I will not and I meant my words. There is too much here, far too much to lose..." The assassin's eyes reopened and roamed me, the look peculiar. "I have forgiven you for your transgressions against me, my beliefs and my Family. Such mercy is normally beyond me... but it is owed; this forgiveness for my crimes upon your conscience. Now, I think its time that you pardon me for mine."
I could only stand and watch him as he moved in closer, his hands falling to my shoulders, his gauntlets washed from the rain. I said nothing and only chewed my lower lip as I did all that I could to keep from attempting to flee or shout. I was afraid. I was always afraid. I felt as though Lucien would devour me should I move in a way he deemed wrong.
The Speaker's chest touched mine, and I swallowed down another involuntary sound of terror as he continued to lecture me. "Forgive me. Forgive me for mine - all my committed wrongs - and heal. Find comfort in me once more." Lucien insisted with fervor. The assassin's fingers then crept up to my throat and to the bruises he left there. I flinched but only watched with a widened gaze as he examined the marks. His touch was a whisper against my skin but he groaned as he eyed his handiwork, the sound a mix of regret that managed to somehow mingle with arousal. "Let me tend to you. Let me aid you in your healing. Let us work forgiveness and find solace in flesh."
My skin paled yet felt blistering from the depravity of his implication. I tore my gaze from the assassin but offered no immediate refusal, gulping down my opposition. I closed my eyes and tried to break free from Nirn, but feeling Lucien's roaming fingers work down the collar of my blouse kept me firmly rooted in the present awfulness. He nimbly unbuttoned the soaked cloth of my tunic before slipping it down my shoulders and arms, which he was quick to caress, running his gloved fingers up and down my prickled skin. I was cold, frightened, being bared and violated. Yet still, I said nothing, I did nothing. I only hiccuped slightly as my breasts were soon revealed as the assassin eventually unfastened little ties and delicate buttons before removing the last bit of protective cloth from my chest.
The Speaker gripped me, seizing and weighing my breast with a gloved hand while his other worked his robe's belt. I stood unmovingly, head turned to stare at the broken window behind him. Why? I vaguely thought, as most of my consciousness busied itself by whimpering cowardly in protest. I could not comprehend Lucien's sudden desire. Still, I remained utterly pliable. I would not fight him, even as he pressed his nose to the crown of my head, inhaling my hair while tweaking my breast's peak. The gauntlet was coarse and tough on my skin. The boiled leather was jarring to my senses as he ran his clad palm over the sensitive skin of my chest. I allowed it, I allowed him. I stood unmoving, offering no resistance or objection in my actions or words. I was afraid to react and afraid to stop. I felt traumatized by all that had occurred in just the last hour alone. This, though unwanted and horrible, was normal.
This realization broke me anew. Earlier I had turned a blade against Lucien Lachance to be away from him. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to return to Skingrad...But Lucien Lachance would not let me go, and I found him far too familiar and frightening to leave once more no matter how badly I wanted to. An image of the guard plagued me. I was far too afraid to try and leave Lucien. I did not want more to fall from my unsteady scramble for personal freedom. I again wept silently, no sniffles or sobs, my eyes burning from the sheer amount of water that had spilled from them this evening, knowing that they would not be the last to fall. Lucien's belt met the floor. The one hand that had been roaming my chest went to my throat before trailing upwards. Lucien carefully caressed my jawline as he wiped away the fresh tears that slipped along it, while his other hand, now free from working his belt, fell to my hip with pressure, backing me to the bed.
"You have taught me how my touch heals you, my beloved. Let me heal you..." The assassin whispered into my ear with confidence and determination, both his hands dropping to my hips and drawing me into him. I could feel his arousal through his clothing, again so familiar. Being so broken and disgustingly helpless, I bent my head and laid it on his chest. I closed my eyes. I was confused and knew not what to do. Though mainly unmarred, I felt I had just suffered a damning wound, something that should have me bedridden in a chapel...or face down on the muddy streets of Bravil. I again wondered what about this situation Lucien Lachance found stimulating, then I thought better of lingering upon any of the Speaker's views. I was not meant to understand, and that was the only true blessing I was gifted.
The assassin kissed the top of my head, his hands slipping to my skirt and smalls. With the lightest of tugs, they too fell to the floor, pooling around my muddied feet. On instinct, I stepped out of the cloth and my shoes for him, my limbs moving on memory. I did not think I had it in me to deny the assassin any longer. It was safer for Nirn if I simply did as he wished. "We can forget this night and start anew." Lucien insisted, manipulating my body, lying me on the bed. I watched him remove his robes, gloves, and tunic before he joined me on the mattress. His fingers ran through my damp hair as he hovered over my body. The assassin watched me, drank me in as he so often did. He touched my cheek, wiped the rain from my skin, and caressed my body while his lips left trails of feather-light kisses over my collarbones and shoulders. One of the assassin's hands cupped my face and turned my head, allowing him to suckle the skin below my ear. Then the coarse, warm fingers of his freed hand trailed over my belly, breasts, ribs, and thighs before settling between my parted legs. Heat rose to my face and burned. I was embarrassed, I was disgusted, not only because of the assassin but my body's terrible response to his ministrations. I tried to be unresponsive. I tried not to feel. I wanted to escape inside my mind but could not.
Soon, I wanted to flee and...stay. I was afraid and wanting and disgusted with myself. I hated my body more than I could ever hope to hate Lucien Lachance.
The assassin pressed his thumb against my lips until he met my teeth. I bit him, without anger or conviction, the action numb - a wounded animal's last show of defiance. This caused a rumbled sound of pleasure in the Speaker's throat. I eyed the healed skin beneath his jaw where I had held him at bay with the tip of a blade. Blood still coated his flesh but the skin had knitted by his Restorative magic. I wetted my lips, heart thundering with strange temptation as I fought off the urge to sink my teeth into his throat and tear him newly. I wanted to bleed him and the thought was frightening. I tried to push it away. I tried to think of other things that made me happy...
Then the memory of the assassin teaching me to dance at the Imperial Bridge Inn flickered into my mind, I heard my own laughter and cursed my own foolish self.
Indeed, I fought the urge, I truly did, but when the assassin brought his face to my own, kissing my mouth so slow and sensual, my resolve soon failed. My anger and shame bubbled. I bit down hard into the tongue that slipped past my lips, tasting the hot copper that bloomed from its tip before Lucien withdrew in a mix of pain and surprise. He brought the back of his hand to the corner of his mouth and eyed the red smear curiously. I glared up at him. I hated him. I did not want this to continue. I wanted him to pay for his sins. I wanted to run away from him...but I wanted him. And I wanted him to hurt me. And I wanted to hurt him back. I wanted him to leave me alone. I was afraid and mournful and hungry and confused.
I no longer knew what I wanted in any regard.
His eyes darkened, heated and lustful, the black fire in him kindled. "My sweet little love." The assassin growled before embedding a fist into my hair, jerking my head back. He lined himself with my sex, settling burning thighs between my own. His mouth hovered over my throat, his breath hot and running over my damp skin as he delicately kissed the bruises he had made. I stared at the headboard with a narrowed gaze and awaited him. I steadily spread my legs wider for the assassin, the murderer, already shamefully slick by the prospect of our union, even as my cheeks were wet with vengeful tears. My body and mind were two entirely separate entities. They were strangers to another. They always had been. "My Abigale."
Lucien forced himself into me, simultaneously clamping his teeth into the skin of my neck, his hips slamming into my own. I gritted my teeth, lashes fluttering as bruises gave way to his ruthlessness, much like my sex. A ragged breath escaped me as I felt the heat of my own blood run down over my throat. That, coupled with the sudden fullness of my womanhood, turned my breath into a whine. I did not want Lucien Lachance, so when I closed my eyes, neck pained, sex sore and blood running, I forced myself into the arms of another in my mind. It was a reprieve easily accomplished. I pictured another I truly wanted. I moaned, hips moving in little circles while my fingers wove into the inky black locks of my fantasy.
The assassin pulled back and shattered the escape, licking his lips, hand running up to clamp around my now bloodied throat before thrusting back into me with a painful snap of his hips, the action repeating until he found a rhythm. Small shouts tore from me. I held onto his biceps, wanting to close my eyes but not wanting the dreaded feeling of reality once my fantasy dissolved. I briefly thought of how morally wrong it was for me to seek any pleasure from my violator. However, my mind was in no position to analyze such things. The mental turmoil made me break into a cold sweat, our bodies soon glistening in the light of the lone candle. Rain continued to pour into the room, the sound coupled with the echo of flesh striking flesh as the assassin continued to brutalize my body.
Through the haze of pain and pleasurable confusion, I contemplated how depraved and foul my present actions were. I shared a bed with the man who killed my family. I was responsible for their deaths. I could not atone. I could not hope to right my wrongs. I should not have given into the assassin. I should have fought to my death. With my cowardice, I did not deserve anything but Lucien Lachance. But nor did I want this savagery to be my existence. I did not want to go on the way I was. And as my climax approached, I felt so rotten that I had to swallow back bile. Fighting him would mean my death. Escape would mean the death of others. Again, I was too weak to face the Dark Brotherhood Speaker. I was repugnant, as was Lucien. And so, a thought so fogged in heat and self-loathing tumbled from my lips to the trained killer, a plea both wanton, desperate, and pathetic. "Let me go. Or kill me." I begged, meeting the assassin's gaze as I tried to appeal to his darkness. Lucien hushed me, silencing me swiftly as he bent and placed his mouth over my own. I turned my head and implored him once more between my breathless panting and his seemingly endless thrusts. "Let me go... Please...do it."
"Stop speaking." The assassin halted his onslaught, his member twitching with anticipation within me, betraying his true feelings towards my plea. His hand slipped from my throat to cover my mouth, blood smearing along my lips, cheeks, and jaw. Only then, tasting and feeling my own sticky mortality did I truly struggle, becoming near frantic as I tore his fingers from my lips, my mind finally beginning to work.
"I can't anymore, Lucien...I-I won't...don't make me be this." My eyes burned but tears would not fall. The Dark Brotherhood Speaker stilled once more, looking livid and torn before pulling himself from me with such swiftness that I cried out. He rested then, taking his weight on his knees. Lucien's chest rose and fell rapidly as he brought a hand through his hair, his cheeks flushed from exertion and restraint. I looked at him pleadingly, trying to catch my own breath as I absorbed the man's features. I knew I could not run from him, I knew I could not hide. Lucien most assuredly would follow me as I ran to the end of Nirn, leaving a bloodied trail of hapless victims in his wake. I did not want that. I could not let that be.
No longer did I want to be so helpless and at another's mercy, but fate deemed it my state. I could try for years to free myself of Lucien, but his stretch was far and wide and I knew I could only stay hidden for so long - should I somehow manage to escape his clutches. He was a horrible man, and he would continue to do horrible things, and I would be made to watch. The only way I could leave was if Lucien, by some miracle, let me go freely.
Or, I could leave Nirn altogether trying...I did not want that but I was sad and desperate and had very little options left. I felt too heavy in my soul - as if I were drowning - and I hated it. I hated it all. I wanted freedom, even if that freedom was to be my end, the very thing I sold myself to the Count of Skingrad to protect. I would sacrifice myself to be away from the assassin, and perhaps I could gain peace in the process.
Still, I did not want that, but I was ready for anything now. I was willing to fight any way that I could. I could not allow whatever this was to continue.
My mind raced as I formulated a plan. A terrible gamble that could cost me my life. It was reckless and stupid, I knew this, but I had to try with all I could. I was eternally pathetic, weak and small...but I hoped to use this now to my advantage. If others could use their strength against me, I thought it possible to use my weakness similarly. Again, a gamble, but being free was worth the risk.
Carefully, I dared to rise, bringing myself onto my own unsteady knees. Tentative, trembling, and confused yet determined, I laid my hand on the assassin's chest. I felt his heart hammering beneath his damp skin, my fingers fanning over the warm flesh.
I sniffled, and my sorrow was not an act. I was still so scared and conflicted as he brought the back of his knuckles to my cheek while bowing down to kiss me, but I pulled away, stammering. "I do not want you...I want your skill...I-if you will not let me go then I-I want you to hurt me...end me." Lucien blinked, taken aback by my actions and startled by my words, his face twisting into a scowl.
For a long moment, he only stared, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took. Controlled and dangerous, he eventually moved in closer to loom over my frame. "...End you?" He finally drawled, and I felt so very small as I knelt with the assassin on the covers, naked and alone. The game had begun and I was highly aware of all the weaponry in the room, and the killer, to whom I spoke to - my mind still having his most recent victim, a lifeless guard, jerking in the mud endlessly repeating when I closed my eyes. "Do not ask me something when you know not the severity of your cry."
"I know the severity of it." I countered fast, trying to find a semblance of resolve under the cold weight of Lucien's stare. "I-if you will not let me go then I...I do not want this. I cannot be this. Please...? Y-you, do not..." I shook my head, trying to ignore the assassin's darkening expression as I stumbled over my own words. I worried over my plan, but I worried further over the life Lucien would force me to lead. I did not want death - I did not - but I could not handle the blood of others and my own complacency any longer. "You do not love me, Lucien! You would not do this if you did. Please, release me or kill me. End this torment. End this purgatory."
"I love you, Abigale, whether or not it is wanted or reciprocated." The Speaker glared, his head inclining, his tone so practical that it was jarring. "There is no alternative for this feeling. I have thought on it long now. You plague my thoughts, my very soul...I am attached to you in ways that are incomprehensible. Ways that I never thought true, but indeed, they are. You are mine now. We are bonded, you and I, and we will stay in our bloody harmony until you learn to love it. And there is nothing you can do or say or twist to dispute this and you know it."
"You lie so well you believe yourself. You counter the very principles you upheld so. You hate slavery, yet I belong to you? You cannot love me! You delude yourself. I do not want to live in another of your fantasies!" I cried, made to regret it as the assassin grabbed my arms, his movements near frantic and expression determined and a touch demented.
"Again you dare insult me. Oh, continue to tempt me Abigale and I shall do it, only not as you wish." Lucien seethed, pulling me flush to him. "I shall cleave into that pretty face so that only I may ever love you. Would that suffice to prove my affection? My love?! Would it?!" I flinched but managed to not turn away from Lucien, even as he punctuated each sentence with a shake.
Fearfully staring up at the assassin, while feeling the markings from his fingers form on my arms as he held me tight, caused my world to fumble. For a long moment, I was struck dumb, panic spiraling up into my belly like thorned vines, twisting and ensnaring me. I was in great danger, I knew this, and I was using my life as a bargain for freedom. All was a game of chance and uncertainty that I would likely not get out unscathed by. Again I felt ill. My plan was poor but it was all I could conjure, and the doubt of my success and the magnitude of failure made my resolve flicker. Still, I tried to be strong.
I looked up to the assassin, suppressing a tremor as I did so. Lucien was horrifying to face in the dark, he always had been. However, now that ghoulish look of his that I had feared since our first night was fully on his features now. Eyes black and endless, charming attributes contorted, honeyed voice turned thick, laced with a deadly venom...
Swallowing hard, I managed to speak, words small and cracked. "Y-you would n-not continue this if you did. You would let me go. Let me go."
The assassin's lips pressed, as though he made a conscious effort to hold back a thought. Then this look slipped, his composure gone as a scowl broke over Lucien's features, his lip curled and teeth bared. "No." In a flash of movement, the Speaker's hands dropped from my arms and fell to my waist. He grabbed my hips, fingers again digging painfully into my flesh as he forcefully turned me away from him. My body was made to comply as he seized and contorted me. The air left my lungs in a rush as he pressed me unto my stomach. I did not have time to recover my posture or breath as Lucien then took hold of my arms and bent them back painfully, almost as though I was to hold my hands in a reversed prayer. I yelped, twisting and confused, feeling my own muscles pull and strain in protest as I was left wondering if perhaps I was doomed after all.
The Speaker's grip kept me pinned down with one firm hand. His other hand wandered my flesh, digits creeping lightly over my skin before near embedding into my hip to the point where I feared he would break the skin of my haunch by pressure alone. His hold on my wrists pressed into my back, causing my fingers to go cold. Soon after, while still keeping me pinned, his arm looped beneath me, bringing my bottom to his groin. Again he spoke, his words husky and dark, made more frightening by the utter conviction he coupled with them. "I am done with you and your little games. You are mine. Embrace it." My eyes watered, I bit into my bottom lip as I tried to wriggle beneath him, the act entirely useless.
He held me there below him, compromised, humiliated and desperate. Anger and despair coiled in my gut, exacerbated by the wanting heat between my thighs. My heart cried, conflicted over the assassin's actions as my mind chided that all this was to be expected, and how foolish it was to not have considered this act a possibility. Lucien Lachance, after all, had threatened me on more than one occasion. Only one as simple as I would let such promises slip from my mind. Truly, I was aghast, but more so at my acceptance and greedy desire. Whether all was the grip of nihilism or my mind finally broken, I knew not.
Somewhere in the recesses of my conscious, I further debated struggle, but the thoughts were swiftly obliterated as the assassin's hot member again drove into me. I cried out, deliberation gone and eyes welling newly. I pressed my cheek into the coarse bedlinen to stifle my cries, lip soon pinched in my teeth as I was torn between weeping from relief, madness, and all the injustice. Lucien's pace and grip became unforgiving, squirming and writhing was no longer a conscious decision but an impulse to abate the sensations. My pathetic sounds increased in pitch as pain and pleasure continued to build. The room seemed to hum from my muffled, wanton cries, the sounds of violent wet sex, and Lucien's labored breath and occasional grunt - all paired with the relentless torrent outside.
I could feel the terrible impending release build within me. I screwed my eyes shut and whined - mentally anguished. I did not want pleasure. My soul felt crushed, I was awash in fear and loathing. I panted and tried to further stave off my climax, turning in attempts to glance at the looming, shadow in my peripheral that was Lucien Lachance. "Kill me." I pleaded, half hoping to ground myself and have harsh reality halt my release - the other half wanting the plea to end the assassin's desire. Unfortunately for me, Lucien continued, and I no longer could keep myself from tipping into bliss. The building, heat, and tightening reached fruition. The great flood of sensation swept me away in a violent pulse, followed by the bitter hold of pleasure as it radiated from my every pore. My body was all-consumed by the greedy sexual tension's release. I could only cry out hatefully as I accepted the throes as reality broke.
It passed, painfully slowly, lingering as the aftershocks of sensation continued to plague me. For a moment I could only squirm halfheartedly as I tried to loosen the overly tight muscles in my legs and shake away the pleasure and regain the control I had lost over my limbs and self. I was thankful and fearful when the assassin finally brought his pace to a gradual halt. Lucien released me from his grip. My arms ached and flopped to my sides, tingling and weak. I tucked my hands beneath my neck, fearing Lucien would recapture my limbs and attempt a new hold. Thankfully, that was not the case, but the assassin did not leave me. Instead, he laid me flat, remaining deeply within my contracting sex, before settling his weight atop my back. As he leaned down, Lucien hushed my small whines, soothing, warm breath crawling through my hair before he planted a kiss against my cheek, being utterly silent. He was allowing me to bask. I hated it. "K-kill me," I repeated in a broken sob, cursing every fiber of myself. "I don't want this. I hate this. Let me go."
Silence followed my plea. Lucien slowly pressed his mouth to my skin, the action meaningful and tender. "I love you, Abigale. I do...deeply." The assassin whispered, showering my neck and cheek with lingering kisses. "Do not hate me for what was done. People die, my dear, but this...this is eternal. No matter what becomes of you or I, this will last forever." His hand captured my face, turning it towards him so that he could plant a burning kiss upon my lips. Eventually, his body slowly began to move, his hips rolling deep. At a pace more meaningful and less violent, the assassin commenced in showing me his 'affection'. I could only lie beneath him, pinned under his heat and pleasure as the lazy fog of sexual splendor enveloped me in its haze once more. I closed my eyes, shutting them to the shame. It was all I could do to cope as Lucien worked his release, slick with sweat and breath harsh.
He tried to make more out of the situation; make something sweet out of all the violence and blood. Again, I could only remain, wetting my lips as I winced at the overstimulation, both bodily and not. Lucien Lachance was dark and demented. All his thinking, his rationalization, was wrong. He acted on it all, as he was now, thrusting and kissing and petting after I begged him to end my life. After I ran away from him. After he confessed to killing my family. After he killed another innocent...
His movements became more sporadic and desperate as he sought completion. My fingers twisted into linen as his seemingly endless assault reached its plateau. Lucien finished with my name in the form of a moan on his lips. Heat rushed within me as the assassin gave a few more violent strokes, filling me with his seed, before resting his full weight upon me. Warmth whispered from his mouth as he panted, it stroked and wove itself into my hair and soul, the fevered breath and touch of his body was all a romantic invitation of familiarity and warmth. It was sickening. I could not shut my eyes to it. It was all so wrong, but to him, it was normal...even innocent.
Our bodies remained joined for some time. His fingers lazily found my own and he intertwined our digits on the mattress by our heads. I could feel his heart against my back as it continued to race. I listened to him swallow hard as he fought to regain his breath. All this was so very surreal. This had become something I craved. No longer, I realized, staring off at the broken shutters and soaking floor. Everything was a mess.
Eventually, the assassin withdrew and took me into his arms, pulling me over his chest much like a blanket. He stroked my hair mutely. I contemplated all that we had done. Every terrible thing that transpired. I was at a loss over all that had happened, and - as per my norm - knew not what to do. However, for once, it seemed as though I had run out of tears to spare over my own self-loathing. Regardless of all, I fell asleep on Lucien's chest, the steady rising and falling lulling me into a confused, broken slumber. It was only then, while I was half-conscious, did the assassin speak again, his voice a low rumble against my cheek. "You are gift to me, my dear. My Rose of Sithis. My love. My companion...my friend. We will prevail. We will work past this."
I did not wish to hear him but said nothing in response. I was far too close and sleep was closing in, spreading all around me. I succumbed to it.
XXXX
Their sleep was broken. Abigale Lynn's eyes would occasionally flutter open. Her stare would gradually settle on the Dark Brotherhood Speaker before her attention flitted away, her throat dipping as she swallowed. She tried to move from him, even slightly, but the assassin followed her body and enveloped her, his mass like a shroud. Seldomly the silence between them was punctuated by the girl. She made the smallest of whimpers or gave a whined protest, both muffled from exhaustion and defeat.
Lucien kissed her skin when he roused from their fitful slumber. Although sloppy, it was a meaningful action, and he worked his lips over her exposed flesh until they went slack and sleep captured him once more. It was symbolic. A little, wet mark. A mark of deliciously bitter victory. Because again, he had won. Abigale Lynn was his.
Yet, strangely, the assassin felt conflicted. His accomplishments left him uncertain. All that transpired left him uncertain...
When morning came, the girl feigned sleep as Lucien Lachance propped himself on his elbows. The storm outside had broken sometime in the dead of night, and now sunshine filled the room, the scent of Bravil's rot drifting in on the breeze. Lucien watched Abigale Lynn for some time. He let his fingers run over her skin. He eyed the light filth. Blood had crusted and dried on her white flesh, creating a smattering of rust over her skin. Some of the blood was hers, some of it was his, and some belonged to a stranger. She was bruised, a ring around her neck of purple and green where his thumbs had pressed. Other markings of teeth and welts, speckled magenta and angry. The assassin turned away from all and stood from the bed. He dressed mutely, the rustling fabric of his clothing almost deafening within their tense quiet.
Sighing to himself, Lucien turned, tucking his tunic into his trousers as he attempted conversation. His mouth was oddly dry as he looked down on his battered Abigale. A strange jolt ran through his spine as he gazed upon her. A heady guilt formed once he knew he could not stifle his current thoughts. Mangled as she was, he found her to be so beautiful...all milky skin and fiery hair. Limbs sprawled, her flesh telling a story of violence, passion, and death. He knew she did not share his sentiments, and so he felt depraved for savoring them as strongly as he did.
Clearing his throat, the assassin spoke gently, attempting to push his wickedness and guilty heart away. "I'll be going downstairs and demanding us baths and free meals. Any special requests, my dear?" The girl's facade of sleep ended as her eyes snapped open, her stare icy as she fixed her gaze on him. She was baffled by the normalcy he exuded, of course. He expected this. The assassin sat himself at the foot of the bed and smoothed the linen over Abigale Lynn's legs. She did not recoil, she did not move. She only stared. "I... Hmm, last night - I deeply apologize for all. It was not my intention to upset you so. We handled our emotions poorly. It shall not happen again, we will take measures to ensure this."
Her eyes remained on him as he tried to give her thigh a soothing pat. There was no expressiveness to her features and this left Lucien rather unsure. Abigale Lynn's facial expressions were a unique form of communication for him to decipher. They were gone now, and it made him feel as though one of his senses had gone awry. With a shake of his head, the assassin stood, muttering quietly, but not enough so that his words could not be heard. "Fine. Ignore me if you so wish it. But we needn't be so tragic. People die and couples quarrel. It is the way of the world. I apologized." This, however, finally prompted speech from the girl.
Abigale Lynn sat up ever so slightly, her ongoing expressionless self still greatly irking the assassin. Her stare remained firm, her voice even. "You are positively insane, Lucien. You are so twisted and sick that it hurts to look upon you."
Lucien frowned. Strangely, her words stung the assassin. They dug deeply into his being and made it difficult to remain calm. However, Lucien took care not to show this, the only indication of his displeasure was the slight narrowing of his eyes and sharpened rebuttal. "Says the woman who begged me to end her life only hours ago. But let us not live in the past. It is unhealthy. We can pretend your sheer desperation never occurred. Let us move on...but I suppose that decision is up to you, however. So, shall we?"
The Dark Brotherhood Speaker waited a moment for Abigale Lynn to respond. Their eyes locked, black met green, but Lucien made an effort to keep his stare from being a challenge. Eventually, the girl straightened some and her gaze gradually softened. Lucien grew tired of waiting and turned from Abigale Lynn with a shake of his head. She watched the assassin as he made his way towards the door, and only when it was open did she deem herself ready to speak again. "I will never stop running, Lucien. I will do whatever it takes. I will never stop trying to be rid of you."
The assassin stopped in his tracks, a strange feeling forming in his belly; a cold fist gripping the very pit of his innards. She spoke with strong emotion, conviction, and finality. Naturally, this made the Dark Brotherhood Speaker feel quite ill. However, Lucien only outwardly bristled but again kept his demeanor and tone utterly calm and soothe, in spite of the prickles forming on his skin. He stared ahead and out the now open door, not daring to set his scowl upon the woman behind him - such an action would be counterproductive, after all. "There is no need for that, Abigale. You won't be going anywhere. Such a venture is fruitless. Was that not sufficiently proven last night?" He dared himself to cast a curious glance at the young woman on the bed. She held the covers in a small, pale hand, keeping herself modest as her glare remained determined.
"I will find a way. Even if...even if it means my end. I cannot do this anymore. I refuse."
"Your end?" The assassin echoed, a lopsided smile forming on his lips while an indignant heat bloomed on his cheeks and crept along the back of his neck. Again, he knew not why he was suddenly so bombarded with emotion. Moreover, he did not know why the emotion in question was dread, nor why it held him in its icy clutches with such intensity. "Where did this love affair with death stem from? Do you really think that death will rid you of me? Oh no, Little Countess. I will chase you through the very Void if I must." Lucien countered, hoping to quell his dread with logistics. No, she could not go anywhere.
The assassin closed the door and reapproached the bedside. Abigale Lynn did not flinch, nor did her demeanor seem confrontational at all. She still appeared indifferent, perhaps vacant, which countered the confidence with which she spoke. "I suppose my love affair with death began long ago if you truly are curious. I wish to end it now. I no longer want to be with you, Lucien. I do not love you. I never have."
The coldness in his stomach grew, a new, hollow feeling now paired with it. Lucien sucked at his teeth, feeling remarkably defensive. Almost violent. Inclining his head to the still damp window pane, Lucien scoffed. "Brave words in the light of day with the window open and the town awake. I'll have you beneath me eating those words by nightfall." Abigale Lynn visibly swallowed and paled, but she did not turn or change herself in any conscious way. Lucien, after realizing the cruelty of the comment, sighed deeply and mentally berated himself for lack of tact and control. The Dark Brotherhood Speaker then pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his words away, muttering a small apology as he did so. "Enough of this. Don't you see how weary this nonsense makes us? Stop fighting me, my dear. You know you care for me, as I care for you. I admit that recent developments have caused a strain on our relations, but I doubt they will truly pose a hindrance to our quality of living. Time is the greatest of medicines, as is a proper distraction. Once we leave and busy ourselves once more, all will fall into place."
"No, it won't, Lucien." Abigale Lynn said with a strange firmness in her voice. "You know this is done. You know I cannot love you now...You know I never did..." And with those few words, Nirn seemed to tilt.
Anger bloomed newly, but the existing cold of his soul kept him rooted and quiet. The silence that followed made him long for the tense stillness that came when he had first woke. The girl's eyes were cool and sad, a misty pale green, glazed with tears. Seeing this caused more terrible emotions. Shame - greatly foreign and cruel - penetrated his chest, seeding into his bone's marrow.
It was her tone and look, the sudden thickness in the room that made even the stink of Bravil disappear from reality, which all caused the assassin to need to steady himself on the mattress. Lucien sat down, his heart, which he always assumed was a dark, steely thing, ached. Confusion, despair, longing.
A great unease consumed him as he eyed the woman. She was sitting so close, yet he felt her fading, as though she were miles away. "...Did you truly ever give me a chance?"
More despair formed as silence lapsed. His blood pumped intensity that he did not know how to direct. The pause was an eternity of sensations. Pain, uncertainty, want, and anger. They all coursed through his being with enough vigor to cloud his mind. His thoughts whirred as a numbing realization formed. The epiphany of love, how strong and raw his love for Abigale Lynn was. And now, the cruel irony of singular feelings. A love unshared. Unreciprocated...
Eventually, a timid nod followed the question. The blanket rustled as Abigale Lynn held it tighter to her breast, her free hand plucking at the runs in the stitches. "I think I did." Lucien sighed again deeply, feeling physically ill and weak. He thought on her bluff last night and considered her words and all they had done. He had put his hands to her throat, she had pressed a dagger into his. They had both run off. He killed a man and dragged her back to their room where he attempted to solidify their bond once more. He had killed her parents, she had just found out, he murdered another before her...perhaps taking her carnally was wrong. Whether or not she wanted him physically, he should not have taken her after such violence. It tainted them, perhaps more so than her rotting parents could ever hope to.
She asked him to kill her...he did not believe she meant it...did she? Would she truly prefer the embrace of death to his?
Lucien dragged a hand down his face, unsure of how to continue. He was more than apprehensive but did not know how to express himself properly. Again he felt ill and his weakness angered him. He attempted to calm himself by taking a deep, steady breath, before letting both hands fall to his knees. He noted his own white knuckles and shifted his gaze. "No. No, I cannot accept that. I cannot accept this."
'I will never stop running, Lucien. I will never stop trying to be rid of you.'
'Even if...even if it means my end.'
Did she mean her words? Was she willing to kill herself to part? Lucien's palms began to grow slick. He loved Abigale Lynn...he loved her so much that he would do anything for her. Anything. If she wanted death, he could never leave her alone. He would forever fear a swinging noose and kicked out chair... The assassin shook the thought. Wiping the collected moisture from his hands upon his trousers as he attempted to puzzle a solution. Yet insecurity flourished within him. Had she truly wanted death? Did she wish to end her life rather than be with him? Suicide ran in her family...could such a thing be passed down?
Lucien turned, voice soft and sincere. "My beloved, how can I fix it? What needs to be done? Tell me, Abigale. I can make this right once more."
"I do not want to fix it. I-I want this to be over."
Her gaze finally left his, dropping to the blankets, still so seemingly cool. The conviction with which she spoke startled him. The assassin felt his mouth go dry. This was dismissal...true dismissal. Grasping at straws, the Dark Brotherhood Speaker moved closer. With steady hands and gentle movements, he captured Abigale Lynn's attention once more with a hand pressed to her cheek. He searched her and found nothing. Still, he sought salvation. "What I did last night was wrong. All of it, and I...I did not know they were your parents, Abigale." Lucien insisted, speaking with deliberate slowness, trying desperately to reach the woman he held in his hand. "I swear to you that I did not. I love you, Abigale, you know that is true. I will not lie, I swear to you I hadn't known. You and I had not yet met. You were a child...I did not think it would ever matter, even after we met. I never dreamt you and I would be as we are. You and I...you...and you..." Lucien paused. The level stare she kept on him chilled his blood. It confused him. It made him angry. Mostly, it made him uncertain. He knew not how to proceed, and so spoke clumsily, his voice turning to a whisper. Purely desperate. "You...you cannot do this."
Abigale Lynn placed her hand over his own before gently removing his touch. "A part of me is sorry. But this is done. My feelings for you are gone now and they won't be coming back. You can keep me forever but I will never care for you." She said quietly, after another lengthy bout of quiet. She ran her finger down his opened palm, tracing the lines in his hand like a map. "...Whatever was there - it's gone now. It was not love, but I did care, and I wanted...I wanted to love you. I really did. I tried so hard to."
She was devoid of anger but her words rang strongly. Powerful. She was separating herself from him. Whether or not they were near or far, touching or kissing, she was gone. He could not have that. Lucien's fingers closed over her own, capturing her hand in his. He pulled her close, eyes darting across her every feature, searching for something he could not name. "You will still love me. You do love me."
"But I don't." She insisted, her lovely face so terribly sincere. Feeling so oddly morose and despondent, the assassin only swallowed, rendered silent as she continued with measured softness. "And how can I love you after all you have done? After finally sampling who you are? I cannot remain ignorant now. What you do is awful. You are a monster. You know this, Lucien. You are everything I initially feared you to be...And I-I have come to realize that I deserve more than to allow my heart to suffer for the rest of my days. You may keep me, Lucien, but I won't be willing to you in any way. My heart, my body, my soul...they do not belong to you."
"I want you of your own free will, Abigale." The assassin countered, squeezing the little hand in his own. "Perhaps all stems from my upbringing. It made me cold to those who are more emotional than I. I have taken your kindness and courage and abused them; twisted all your unique qualities and bent them to my advantage...especially last night. I forgot myself. It felt to be the right thing to do at the time - the correct course of action towards solace and unity among us. I am sorry. Please, accept this apology. It is true."
"How are you able to speak with such ease? How can you say such things? Forget about w-what was done to me physically. You are a murderer. You killed my parents. You killed a man who wanted only to help me! These things cannot be glossed over! Y-you -" Abigale Lynn stopped suddenly, her breath hitching. She wrenched her hand free from Lucien's own and clutched her lower abdomen. The assassin watched the action mutely but felt himself go pale. The girl's face twisted in pain. It was then, as Lucien eyed the flesh of Abigale Lynn's belly, did he realize he had forgotten something much greater than his manners last night. His child inside of her...how could he have overlooked its existence, even for a moment? All he did last night now was vastly worsened. He could have ended his child. The slightest thing could have terminated something so small, fragile and precious.
Unsure of himself, Lucien somehow managed to remain stern and composed as he forced Abigale Lynn back down on the mattress. She squeezed her eyes shut, causing tears to stream down her cheeks, continuing her reasons through pain and gritted teeth. "I-I can forgive all bodily damage done to me, b-but my family..." The assassin hushed her, his heart in his throat, its beat echoing in his ears. No longer did he want to talk. He was in utter shock towards his violence. He could have killed them both. They were in pain now... "All you do is kill. I was so rotten to turn from it. I cannot forgive myself. I was foolish for thinking we could somehow move past it. But last night...That man...How many have died by your hand since traveling with me?"
"We will not be discussing that. Now, calm yourself. You are overwrought. We will...find a solution." He again tried to comfort, thankful that Abigale did not fight him as he smoothed a hand over her brow. Her sudden pain abated some as she fixed him with a curious look. The waver in his voice gave him away, even if a little. In truth, he was afraid. Genuinely afraid of himself and his abilities. Had he become so good at killing that he now did it subconsciously? What if he had hurt her to the point that is surpassed medical intervention? What if he had done so to his child?
"You know the solution." Abigale Lynn swallowed, her eyes fluttering closed as Lucien stroked her cheek tenderly, almost as though he feared she would crumble at the slightest brush. He was thankful that she permitted him to touch her in such a way, all the while knowing that it was only allowed due to her current disorientation. It was an awful thing. His chest ached in a way it that he hadn't felt since his boyhood. It was a powerful shock to his senses, both the dismissal and possible crime of killing his own. The assassin then thought bitterly of Berel, the Dunmer boy he had killed, and wondered if their pain was similar; the assassin felt as though his heart was being torn from his chest by his own hand. "Do you not see? This is why we cannot continue this. I can't be a part of all this blood and death. I cannot live like this anymore."
As the Dark Brotherhood Speaker stared down at Abigale Lynn, he internally noted her fragility. She was a tender creature, one that needed much care. He wanted to be the sole person to provide her with this, but she no longer wanted him. He and all he stood for repulsed her...to the point that it wrought a toll upon her little body. Lucien Lachance never knew such strong devotion to another living person as he had now with Abigale Lynn. It was strange to become so attached in only a matter of a few short weeks. They simply worked together, somehow. They were friends. They enjoyed the other's company. Only one thing stood in the way of their mutual happiness, and that was him - his murder - him.
Lucien was a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. He was an Unholy Brother. It was who he was and all he stood for. He murdered because he liked it. He was a child of the Night Mother. It was painfully ironic how suddenly a possibility of death made his stomach squirm. Discomfort to Abigale Lynn in any measure left an acrid taste lingering on his tongue. But grasping fully the depth of chance, knowing how he had been a breath away from killing his own child by accident...
His stomach felt as though it was rotting inside him.
The finality was traitorous and left him tired. The possibility of unspoken vowes broken left him pining. No longer was he a worthy protector. He could not trust himself. It left him empty.
Forcing a semblance of normalcy to his tone and self, the assassin moved to lie beside the girl on the bed, thankful that she did not object. Thankful that he still had some time left to savor. "Just where will you go, Abigale? You cannot live on the streets." Lucien remarked softly. He harbored no anger in his voice any longer. There was no more fight left in him. Only longing and shame. "If...if this is to be, stay in my Sanctuary. We will take care of you. When my home is built, you may live there. I will protect and tend to you. If you do not desire me directly, I can send others as an extension of my reach to aid you in any form."
"But then you will have access to me always," Abigale noted, overlooking the protective hand that slipped tentatively over her belly. Lucien buried his nose in her hair and allowed his eyes to close. He drank in her scent and nodded, not daring to open his eyes or mouth. He did not want to lose the moment, one of the very limited ones that now remained. "I do not want that. I am sorry. The temptation is too great." The girl admitted, her hand soon falling over his own. This made the assassin feel...something. It was not particularly good, yet it aided him. He felt alone, but such a small touch and confession made him feel more human...less monstrous.
He had never realized that he needed such a thing. Abigale Lynn made it so he could pretend to be normal...he would never have imagined finding enjoyment in such a thing. But he had, thanks to her. He had liked it very much.
The Speaker was rendered quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick. He did not want to speak but he had to. It was time. Pretend was over. "Tell me then what you want, Abigale."
"I want to go back to Skingrad."
Author's Notes: BOOOOOOOOOOOP. I can't even adequately describe how difficult this one was. But... Done! R&R?!