Author's Note: Yay for chapter two. FFFF this one took a bit long. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Oblivion.
Banus remained sitting on the floor, lips pursed, not knowing at all what to do about Lucien's impostor. Questions coursed rapidly throughout his mind. Who would have taken Lucien's place like that? Why would he βor she, it was difficult to tell- have put himself in such danger? Moreover, who exactly had they really killed? Was Ysuran only acting earlier in order to save his master? But his rage seemed so real, so passionate... the details all eluded him.
Damn it all, he thought, nothing is going as planned! His face creased into a disapproving grimace.
He searched every crevice of his mind to find a solution to this strange turn of events. He could have gone chasing after his allies to tell them of this occurrence, that Lucien was still alive somewhere... but he didn't really want to. He was so tired of following Arquen's orders, so sick of furthering her own personal agendas. Always doing things her way!
And all this time, he'd been wanting to do things for himself. When he first joined the Brotherhood seven years ago, he truly felt at home - everyone was so kind to him. But overtime, of course, he got promoted to Slayer, Eliminator, Assassin... and finally, a Speaker. Then things changed. He lost touch with his other family members, since Arquen insisted that there was 'much work to be done, and no time for idle chatter'. That's when he began to hate being a part of the family - but no more. As of that moment, he would leave the Dark Brotherhood. Sithis preserve his soul, but he would not continue to be a member of an unstable organization. It was no longer what it once was.
Ysuran seemed to be the only respectable member left, and Banus had nobody else to turn to. Besides, he needed an ally he could truly depend on.
He rounded up all his belongings, save his copy of The Five Tenets, which he left atop the chest of drawers in the middle of the room. Wouldn't be needing that. He kept his hood and robe, though - they were the only items he possessed that preserved any trace of identity left of him. He made his way out of the farmhouse, and began to follow the horse tracks, hoping that whatever outcome awaited him was in his favour.
The speedy, rhythmic clip-clop-clip of Shadowmere's hooves were soothing to Ysuran - which was surprising, since not too long ago he wanted to tear apart everything in sight. He felt like every tree needed to be uprooted, every creature slain, every blade of grass torn into trillions upon trillions of shreds of confetti...never before had he felt this way.
Butchered like nothing, he mourned to himself. As if he could have been the least important person in the world...why didn't he defend himself? Why did he desert me?
Ysuran was an emotional person, and never let anyone know so. But in his loneliness, he let his cool tears run freely along his temples, blown backwards by the force of the wind. He used one hand to dab at his blurred eyes, but the salty droplets kept coming. He let them come. He needed to let himself cry this time.
Shadowmere seemed to know what Ysuran was thinking; she could feel his anger and grief. Very suddenly, she whinnied to a violent halt, and collapsed onto the dirt road, hind legs somewhat askew. The poor rider was thrust backwards a good few feet, and landed very roughly on his back.
'You ridiculous mare, what did you do that fo...' he trailed off, noticing the apparent severity of his horse's condition.
'Oh, by the grace of Dibella, please be all right,' he fretted, dreading the thought of Arquen getting to Bravil first. He carefully eased her right hind leg onto his lap, and firmly squeezed a few areas to determine which spot was hurt. Just his luck; she neighed when he reached the hock. It seemed to be damaged badly, so no way was Shadowmere going to be able to run anytime soon.
'Gods be damned!', he yelled. 'This is the bloody pinnacle of worst days! Emperor Septim had a better time during his assassination! What's next? Daedra running amok in the province?... Oh, wait, of course. That's already happening. Silly me!'
Hysterics were getting the better of him, and it didn't help when an annoying-looking page for the Black Horse Courier handed him the latest edition with a smile, and the obligatory 'Black Horse Courier's latest story β take a copy, read all about it!' Ysuran hastily took the page from the courier. It read: 'The End of the Dark Brotherhood?'
He clenched his teeth and felt his composure slipping again. He crumpled up the ivory page, and threw it at the messenger's head.
'Thanks, but no thanks,' he huffed. The man seemed indifferent towards this abuse.
'Whatever you say, then, sir.' The courier whipped the reins on his horse, prompting it to leave, and in a few seconds he disappeared from Ysuran's sight. Idiots came in all flavours.
He looked onto the darkened horizon dolefully, suddenly wishing he had never killed that very first Imperial Legion guard that ultimately got him into this mess. It was partly out of self defence, mind you, but what did he get for it? An offer to join one of the most notorious band of assassins in all of Tamriel. He had very mixed feelings concerning the matter, because truly, he could not imagine life without the Brotherhood. But he wondered sometimes. What if he'd killed Lucien out of fear when he visited that night? Maybe if he'd never met him, he'd be different... or maybe he'd be the same. It was far too late to find out.
At that point, however, he snapped back to the present, and focused on getting Shadowmere to a hospitality. He imagined the Roxey Inn would be the closest place; he would have to ride another horse for the time being.
'Up you get, you cumbersome burden,' he chided with a light humour. Her red eyes seemed to flash for a moment, but she obliged willingly when he motioned for her to keep pace with him. How he adored that animal.
And so horse and man dragged along side by side, one pained physically and the other mentally, both tainted by dark pasts and darker futures.
Meanwhile, two men on horseback galloped along winding paths, caught up in a game of cat and mouse.
'Stop right there, criminal scum!', raged the one behind.
'Hah!', the one in front yelled to the other, 'A laughable notion. I stop for no one. You Legion soldiers are all the same!' He laughed softly, yet menacingly.
The guard sneered and readied his bow, simultaneously pulling a silver arrow from his quiver. He aimed for his target's horse, so as to slow him down, but missed by an embarrassingly wide margin. Lucien laughed at his petty attempt.
'If you're going to capture me, do it right,' he taunted.
'You dare speak to your better in such a manner? I should strike you where you stand, you insolent filth!'
Lucien scowled; he did not like that tone. Not at all.
He quickly scanned his surroundings, looking for any passers by. There was no one around other than him and his pursuer. A malevolent smirk played upon his lips. He pulled out two very small but powerful throwing daggers, placed in a hidden pocket stitched into the insides of his robe.
'I'd like to see you better this,' he half-muttered. With incredible vigour, he whipped the two daggers behind him, aiming directly for the open spot between the guard's chin and the top of his cuirass. He did not miss. The guard gradually lost all control over his muscles, and he fell off the startled horse, rolling miserably into a nearby lake. Lucien's smile broadened at this fantastic kill.
He slowed down his bay horse and came to a halt, dismounting and abandoning the animal. The Bruma Guard's horse, he noticed, was in better condition. He cast a simple paralysis spell on the creature, so it wouldn't gallop away, and mounted his new horse. He removed the spell, and continued to race towards Bravil.
He hadn't had this much fun in a long time.
'Recruiting members,' Belisarius complained, 'is annoying work.' He and Mathieu were making their way to the Imperial City. 'How in Oblivion does Arquen expect us to find so many in so little time?'
Mathieu sighed; Belisarius truly did not understand the gravity of the situation.
'The Brotherhood has never experienced such a downfall in its entire existence,' he explained, 'and without new Murderers, no contracts would be fulfilled. Without any contracts fulfilled, people would stop praying to the Night Mother, and the Brotherhood would be no more. Our end is already a rumour across Cyrodiil-' he held up the latest edition of the Black Horse Courier for Belisarius to see- 'and this does not bode well for us. On top of it all, we have no Listener... so that complicates things further.' His voice was filled with malice, but when Belisarius looked at him he could have sworn he saw an excited glint in his eyes.
'I see...' he said quietly. 'How will we go about finding them, then?'
'Normally, we'd visit the Night Mother, who would tell us who to find and where. She always keeps an eye out for any potential family members. But today, we will use a rather different method,' he replied. Belisarius urged him to go on.
'In the Imperial Legion Offices, within the Prison District, there is a desk containing a list of criminals with bounties. It lists their name, race, offence, and the gold they owe. We will scour this list and choose those we feel would benefit us, and then we approach them. It's quite simple.'
'Ah,' the other man interjected, 'so that's why you've been leading us to the Imperial City.' He chuckled. 'Well, then, let's go.'
Mathieu smiled to himself. Oh yes, he thought, let's.
Ysuran had finally reached the inn, where he met Malene, the innkeeper. Fortunately, he was on friendly terms with her, as he had stayed at her inn several times in the past.
'Ah, Ysuran!', she called. 'Haven't seen you around these parts in quite some time! How ya been?'
'Hi there, Malene. Actually, quite terrible as of late,' he replied with a sigh, 'but I didn't come here to talk about me. I wanted to ask a favour of you.' She raised an eyebrow, hoping his 'favour' wasn't too demanding.
'Oh? And what would that be?'
'I need you to take care of my horse for a while. She is injured, and I need to get somewhere. Fast.'
'Define 'a while', and I might consider it. Nursing a horse sounds like something way out of my field, my friend...'
'Oh, come on.' he whined, 'Believe me, Malene, I am in the blackest of moods today and I need to be humoured, so...' he cast a subtle charm spell on her, 'look after her, will you?'
After thinking it over for a moment, she sighed and finally said:
'I would never do this, I hope you know,' she remarked, 'but anything for you, Sir-Closing-Oblivion-Gates-Left-Right-and-Centre,' she joked. 'Very well, I'll help ya out. Now how 'bout some ale with your good friend Malene, eh?'
Ysuran chuckled. 'I appreciate your kindness, but I really can't stay any longer. Thanks for doing this for me, my friend.'
'Oh, it ain't a problem, Ysuran. But before you go...' He gave her an inquisitive look which turned to an annoyed glare when he noticed her right hand outstretched, signaling payment.
'Hey, the horse won't get better all by itself, you know!', she remarked, noticing the look he gave her. 'If I'll be ordering extra food and medicine, it's coming out of your damn pocket.'
He gave her a sharp tsk and placed a weighty bag in her palm.
'There. Two hundred Septims should cover it,' he said tiredly. 'Now I never expect you to ask me for money ever again. Greedy wench.' He smirked.
Malene looked at him in surprise for a moment, then burst into laughter.
'Well, rip my tongue out and call me Mara!', she joked, 'You must be richer than Tiber Septim himself, throwing around bags of gold like that!'
'Not at all. I just spend my time and money wisely.'
'Heh. Alrighty, whatever that means,' she replied, still laughing. 'But I sure hope you ain't getting yourself into any trouble.'
'Me? No,' he lied.
Ysuran thought Malene had an unusually pleasant manner about her, being a female Nord and all. He enjoyed her company very much; she was one of the few people left alive who could still make him smile...
'Well, now I really have to get going. Damned to Oblivion if I'm not there on time,' he muttered.
'Going on a date or somethin'?', she inquired.
'Hmph. I only wish.' He said his final goodbyes and left.
He noticed it had gotten very late, perhaps one o'clock in the morning. Before setting foot on the road again, he approached his beautiful black mare and stroked the back of her neck.
'Don't worry, girl,' he whispered, 'I'll come back for you soon enough.' She shook her head about and neighed in reply.
He couldn't spot any other horses nearby, and cursed; he didn't want to stall any longer. He ran east, the direction that he'd originally been traveling, but he felt drained now that he was alone with nothing but his own haunting thoughts. Images of Lucien's horridly beaten corpse filled his mind again, slowing him down and making him feel uneasy. The memory burned into his mind as if it had been carved there β jaw torn from his skull, creating a monstrous hole where his constantly smirking lips once were. Every strand of ebony hair burned away, leaving the cadaver even more undignified than before. Skin pasty and rotting...eyeballs violently bruised and bloodshot...private area severed...
Ysuran could take no more. He knelt over a nearby bush and vomited right into it, his left hand grabbing onto a thick tree branch.
'Urg...!'
After a good minute or two, he could feel no more of the dreadful bile in his throat. He regained his wits and dragged himself back on the road, where he in turn felt vulnerable and lost.
O cruel and unjust world, what else do you have in store for me? He lamented.
The poor Elf could scarcely pick up his feet at this point; so he stayed there, right in the middle of the road, bitter thoughts crossing his mind once again. He didn't know how much more of this grief he could handle. Never before had he known such distress. Warm tears began to make their way along his cheeks, but before Ysuran had a chance to cry, he was knocked forward by an unseen force, causing his delicate lips to collide violently with a jagged stone. He howled in pain, but was forced to stop when a velvety fabric cut into the sides of his mouth.
Oh, this is damned lovely. Top off my day with a nice kidnapping. And a busted lip. Fucking fantastic.
He nearly expected a gravelly voice to whisper "100 gold or your life" in his ear, but his violator said absolutely nothing. He soon felt another band cover his eyes, then his ears. The result was a single ski-slope nose protruding from a mass of dark fabric, which, to the kidnapper, looked hilarious. But Ysuran couldn't care less about how he looked; he only felt fear.
Is this it? Am I going to die?, he wondered as he felt himself being mounted on a horse.
No, you're not, said another man's voice. Ysuran was suddenly very alert β who was that? His ears were covered, so it couldn't be anyone from the outside... was it in his head? Was he going mad?
'Do not fret,' it said, 'I am merely using telepathy. You're not going mad.' Ysuran settled down a little, but remained cautious. So it was the kidnapper, then.
'Who are you?', he asked, 'and what business do you have taking me like this?'
'More than you would know,' came the reply, 'and who I am is of no importance to you. Now do not interrogate me further, churl.' A sour grimace formed on Ysuran's face.
'I would think I am in my right to know! Kidnapping is a criminal offence!...' The other scoffed.
'Don't talk to me about crime,' the man spat. 'Because from what I understand you have done things ten times worse than a mere 'kidnapping',' he taunted, 'a hundredfold.'
The Dunmer's breath faltered. Who could this be?
'Oh, by Kynareth,' he whispered, 'are you a Legion Soldier? You want to imprison me?'
'Kynareth, eh?...No, I am not. Now shut up or I just might throw you off by accident,' threatened the voice.
Ysuran wondered for a moment; what was so strange about Kynareth? The thought only lasted for a second, though, and both Ysuran's thoughts and his voice remained dormant thereon. But overtime, he felt much better than he had earlier. Yes, Lucien was still gone, but at least now there was someone with him. And truly, he didn't think he wished him any harm, despite his bitter disposition towards him...and his incessant rudeness...
A slight drowsiness overcame the Dunmer, and in moments, fell asleep, resting his head on the mysterious man's back as they began riding south.
