Author's Note: gfffgyg this one took far too long. I kept fussing over everything for some reason... o: Anyway, enjoy guys!
EDIT: added the dream scene!

Disclaimer: I don't own Oblivion. It belongs to the awesome Bethesda Softworks.


'Useless creature.'

Arquen scowled at the uncooperative horse, eyes mirroring Oblivion itself. She was quite punctual and took her duties very seriously, so she did not like others stalling her. This was the worst time to be delayed - after a couple hours of journeying, the horse had grown too tired to continue, and slumped down beside a tree, both unwilling and unable to move. After several attempts to restore its fatigue, Arquen gave up on the horse and abandoned it, leaving it to fend for itself.

As long as it isn't mine, I don't care what happens to the thing, she thought bitterly.

She wasn't very aware of her whereabouts, but imagined that she was somewhere Northwest of the Imperial City. At this rate, she thought, she would reach Bravil in around six hours – but when she came across an inn a few minutes later, the Altmer couldn't help but succumb to her tiredness. It would slow down her journey, but she needed some rest, especially after such a vigorous assassination...

A smiling male Dunmer greeted her when she entered the Aleswell Inn.

'Welcome to Aleswell, friend! What can I do for you?', he chimed.

'Greetings. I'd like to purchase a bed for the night.'

'Ah, certainly, certainly! That'd be fifteen gold, please. First door on the left.'

Arquen obliged and thanked him for the room. It wasn't the best-looking place, but it would definitely suffice.

Remaining in her robes, she slid underneath the covers, sighing happily, appreciating the warmth the fabric provided. In moments she'd fallen asleep, but a strange dream tinged her subconscious. She saw some sort of portal in the center of a large plain, very menacing and seemingly never-ending... a young Elf, it seemed, was caught in it. One half of his body was consumed by the horrid blackness, and the other half, his torso, flailed about. There were people who gathered 'round the portal, staring at him, and he was clearly begging them for help. Help, he said, I am divided. But none of them moved a muscle. Their emotions didn't even show. They all seemed... blank, somehow. The whole vision was extremely lucid, but the people didn't even seem like people, and she could not put names to any of the faces, either. Like they were barely even there...

...But then she realized it was because nobody had any faces.

Everyone - man, woman and child - had blank, marble-textured faces. There was no eyes, no nose, and no mouth on any of them. Just voids within a void... empty entities, mocking the humanity that the Elf displayed, pitying his ability to feel, when the Void was so much better, they thought. Of course, they could not voice these ideas. The Void would prevent them. The Void is all and all is the Void...they chanted this, but they did not chant it verbally. They could not. The resonating echo of their doctrine were as vibrations, coursing through every fiber of being...of non-being... weaving through everything and nothing.

Then they were laughing. All of them. They appeared to be laughing at the Elf... but they were really laughing at her. They faced her then, letting their emptiness pierce her soul.

She tried to ignore the horrible things, turning her back on the whole scene, but behind her was something worse. In a mirror that lay propped on a tree, she saw that she, too, had her features erased. She tried to scream, but the sound was shrill, almost whistle-like, and unbearably loud in her own head. Thousands of other voices made their way into her mind, all repeating that dreadful chant: The Void is all and all is the Void. The Void is all and all is the Void. The Void is all and all is the Void. The Void is all and all is the Void. She spun back around again, the sight of her face sickening to her, only to find that the Elf, too, had succumbed to the Void. His non-eyes stared at her with such an intensity she could not handle. The Void is all and all is the Void. The Void is all and all is the Void. The Void is all and all is the Void.

The Void is all and all is the Void.

Her ears bled, then, and the voices became so abundant that she could hear no more. The non-faces of the non-people consumed her, and left her in the Void. The non-being. The non-sentience.

The non-existence... nothing. And so nothing it was...

She woke up.

Arquen felt at her face with a frantic hand, and indeed, her features remained. The Altmer relaxed a little, although very shaken from this vision, wondering...

...What does it mean?...What could Sithis be telling me?...

It was very interesting, she thought. But...the Void...laughing...nothingness...I don't understand...

She yawned, and then decided to go back to sleep, but a strange ghoulish sound haunted her still. She rolled on her side, and she nearly jumped with a shriek.

A horrifying, red-cloaked wraith cowered over her, pure hatred in its eyes. What was a wraith doing here?... She had no more time to think – she grabbed her dagger on the bedside table and attacked, but the ghost was too powerful. He blocked her attack and aimed his weapon at her head, but missed when she rolled off the bedside and under the evil creature, making her way to the door. The innkeeper and two other Dunmer women ran out of their own rooms and stared in fear as she hurried out the front door, the wraith following her. It suddenly hit her; this could only be the Wrath of Sithis.

But why?, she asked. What have I done to anger our Father? She put aside any thoughts of why and how. She had to focus on survival.

Her petty dagger was not enough to destroy the spirit, but luckily, Arquen was well-versed in Destruction magic – she was an expert in the art. She stopped in her tracks and faced her enemy.

'Forgive me, my Lord,' she said as she hurled blasts of flame at the spirit, unrelenting. It shrieked with every hit, staggering. However, once it regained its stability, it lurched forward and cut Arquen on her forearm, leaving a deep wound. She cried out and stumbled, clutching her bleeding arm, but managed to muster the last ounce of her strength, summoning a doubly powerful flame. The wraith emitted a murky, green gas from its mouth, and in moments, only its chaff remained. The Altmer picked up the dagger the creature left behind, and it was unmistakably the Dagger of Discipline. She closed her eyes, grateful the terrible encounter was over, trying to will the searing pain away. The three Dunmer then emerged from the Inn, concerned.

'Oh, Gods!...Miss! Miss!', the male Dunmer yelled, running towards her. 'What has happened? Are you harmed?'

'I am,' Arquen replied, 'but it is nothing too serious. It will heal.'

'I'm so sorry, friend. Surely...surely the wraith did not come from these parts- I could not have- I don't even know how it got in! I mean...'

'No need to feel any remorse. This wasn't your fault,' Arquen said. 'It was something I did, I suppose...'

'Don't blame yourself, friend. Who knows why that foul thing attacked? I'm sure it was nothing personal! It could have been any ghost, maybe... but no matter, you need to be hospitalized right away.'

'Oh, no,' she said, 'I think I'll be fine on my own from here. Thank you.' She finally stood, removing her hand from her arm, but the wound was worse than she thought. The air itself seemed to cut into it – she hissed and clutched at it again.

'You must stay with us,' he urged. 'Please.' Arquen took a deep breath and agreed. Her trip would have to wait even longer now.

He and the other two women -his sisters, she had discovered- ushered her back into her room, binding her arm with a long bandage.

'You needn't worry about any creatures, miss. I will watch the door of your room tonight, to make sure none get in.'

'There is no need, my good man. I don't think any more of them will come, truly...'

'As you wish, then,' he replied. 'Sleep well, friend.' He closed the door to her room, and she was alone again.

The Wrath of Sithis...

What did this mean? Had she truly broken a Tenet? But how? Then she thought about what Ysuran said...

...'Lucien did nothing to betray us'...

...'after breaking three of the Tenets'...

...'feel Sithis' wrath for being so careless'...

Could he have been right? Was Lucien innocent? If he was...then Arquen had certainly broken the Tenets. She went over them in her head.

Tenet One: Never dishonor the Night Mother. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis...

Tenet Two...Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis...

Three...Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior...To do so is to...invoke the Wrath of Sithis...

Four...Tenet Four...Never steal the possessions of...a Dark Brother or Dark Sister...To do so is to invoke the Wrath of...Sithis...

Five...Never kill...a Dark Brother or...Dark Sister...To do so...is to...to...

Her drowsiness suddenly took over, and she fell into a deep, undisturbed sleep. By then, she had forgotten all about her dream...


A warm, quiet place awaited Ysuran when he woke from his slumber. Where in Tamriel was he? Upon looking about the room, it seemed like he was in a cabin of sorts. It was a single small, fire-lit room, with several crates filled with various trinkets lying about. He tiredly rose from the bed, eyes very groggy, and thought it best to search for any possessions of his. To his relief, he soon found a chest containing his inventory, but noticed that a few items were missing. He frowned, and cringed slightly when the cut on his lip throbbed violently, although the pain had died down considerably since the fall-

The fall. His circumstances suddenly dawned on him.

'Damn,' he muttered with some discomfort, 'I've got to get out of here.'

He hastily collected all the items in the chest and placed them in his rucksack, but kept his dagger ready in case the kidnapper returned.

There were two doors leading out of the house, he noticed. One facing west, and the other, being the main door, facing south. The Dunmer chose the former, deciding it was the least conspicuous of the two.

He threw on his hood and crouched down, stealthy as ever. The many months he'd spent in the Thieves Guild had honed his sneak skills by a million. Without Detect Life, nobody could have guessed he was even there.

But just when he reached for the knob, he realized something; why let this man live after so horribly interfering with his plans? Why escape without exacting vengeance? He revelled in the idea of another kill. So he decided to stay there in the shadows, waiting for his victim to enter the place. He picked a convenient spot, so that either door was at an equal distance. And he waited.

Time seemed to go by incredibly slow after that. It made him fear the worst... had the captor just left him there? Or was he waiting for him to emerge? His question was answered, however, when a hooded figure entered the side door of the house. Ysuran sat still as a statue, alert, making sure he had remained hidden. He confirmed that he was not noticed when the other man sat calmly at a wooden desk, writing something out on parchment.

His back was completely open.

It was the perfect opportunity.

He carefully eased out of his spot, moving so that his robes would not rustle and give him away. A soft Dunmeri hand lay lightly on the hilt of his dagger, ready to attack. With each step his anticipation grew, and when he finally came close enough – close enough to smell his very blood - he unsheathed his weapon and began to strike.

But little did he know that his presence was not unknown. With extreme precision and agility, the stranger turned in his seat and deflected the blow with his own weapon, wrenched the other's out of his hand, then held the two blades at either of the Elf's temples. But the stranger could only laugh when he saw the expression on the poor sod's face.

What in the...

'You...'

...What?...

Ysuran gaped at the sight he beheld. How was this possible? He didn't know whether to feel delighted, angst-ridden, or simply infuriated. He was even more confused when the Speaker continued laughing.

'Lucien...how in...you...how are you even...' he was at a loss for words. A deep sadness – or was it happiness? - overcame his heart, and slowly, his eyes brimmed with tears. In a matter of seconds, he flung his arms around his master's neck, buried his head into the recess of his shoulder and wept. Lucien jerked and abruptly stopped laughing. He did not expect this kind of behaviour.

'What in Sithis' name are you doing? Get off of me!'

Ysuran ignored him and went on to a tearful, muffled rant.

'Lu...Lucien, I was so bloody terrified, all right? I swear, I...I was damned mortified! If only you – if only you knew-' he sniffed, 'how I felt, you insensitive bastard! Was this a...a joke? Because if it was, it's not funny! It's not, f...funny!... Gods, I should damn well just quit the Brotherhood if I'm to go through this nonsense all the time! I-'

He felt his shoulders being pushed away, and then a sudden sharp slap met his cheek.

'Are you even listening to yourself?' he raged. 'Gods? Have you not pledged loyalty to Sithis, or am I somehow mistaken? I can't believe how soft you've gone. What feeble mindset has claimed you? How does one go from being an unrelenting assassin to a... a pathetic wreck?'

'Don't be stupid,' Ysuran sniffled, 'I'm not just some heartless killing machine. I've got plenty of feelings. If you knew me at all, you would know that, but nooo, you need to be some antisocial hermit, always wrapped up in the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood. And look where that's gotten us!'

Lucien scowled. What had become of his Silencer?, he thought.

'Better an antisocial hermit than a demented, forever premenstrual woman. And never, ever speak to me in such a way again, if you value your tongue.'

Ysuran gave him a cold look, but said nothing else. The Imperial clenched his teeth, clearly bothered.

'Damn...' he said, letting go of his Silencer's shoulders. 'If I'd known you were going to be like this I would have just left you on the road to rot.' Still, the Elf said nothing – Lucien sighed.

'Fine, then. Just nevermind. I apologize, I- You must be terribly confused. I will explain everything to you.'

Ysuran nodded quietly, and took a seat on the bed he'd woken up in, trying to make sense of this ridiculous mess. Then he remembered something.

'Lucien, where is this place? Surely it isn't your home...'

A scoff came from the other.

'Of course it isn't. Sithis knows I have better taste than this,' he exclaimed, using his hand to signal the obvious shoddiness of the place. Ysuran smirked. 'But even so, this could prove to be a useful hideaway. I'm not about to tell you where we are.'

'Oh, why in Oblivion not? I'm your Silencer!'

'Because,' Lucien snapped, 'it's a secret. Secrets apply to everyone, even Silencers. So I'll have none of your complaining.'

'A thousand gold,' the Elf offered. A malevolent chuckle came from his superior.

'I might have accepted, had I not taken all of it already,' he jeered with a grin.

'You did what? Give it back, you arse!', he yelled, giggling slightly. Lucien chuckled along.

'That can be dealt with later, my dear brother,' he said calmly, now that he had regained his usual composure. 'We will get this matter settled first.'

Ysuran huffed, but obeyed his Speaker. He felt that an explanation, however, was the least he deserved.

'When I met up with you after you killed Ungolim in Bravil, and discovered that you were indeed not the traitor, my suspicions immediately turned to Mathieu Bellamont, a Breton of the Black Hand. You probably saw the slimy rat in Applewatch.

'I confirmed these suspicions...' he grabbed a thin notebook from inside a nearby chest, 'by reading this.'

The Dunmer, upon further inspection of the book, realized that it was the traitor's diary. That's what had been missing from his inventory, he noticed. While being relieved that Lucien got the chance to learn of his findings, he didn't much like people rummaging through his things. Or stealing his gold, for that matter. He dismissed the thought and carried on.

'How are you certain it's Bellamont's, though?' he inquired.

'Because the tale the diary contains is...frighteningly similar to that of my very first contract,' the Imperial explained. 'I will tell you the tale.'

'Many years ago, Bellamont's father asked our Unholy Matron to have his wife, Leresa, murdered. He discovered that she had been unfaithful or some such and wanted her dead. So I was called in to do the deed. Mathieu had to have been...oh, seven or eight years old, I imagine, but he was aware of what was happening. I saw him hiding under the bed, unable to watch his mother perish in such a way; but I knew he saw my face as I decapitated the poor wench. I remember I felt...thrilled. And I'm sure he hasn't forgotten that...' he trailed off.

'But...didn't you know that Mathieu was her son this entire time? Same last name and all?'

'No, actually. He must have changed it when he began his initiation into the Brotherhood. The name 'Bellamont' was never mentioned in the contract.

'Anyway, the lines in the journal speak for themselves: 'Father prayed and guess who came-' '

'The hooded man in Sithis' name,' Ysuran finished, finally piecing together the puzzle.

'Right. And then it goes on to: 'But there's someplace I need to start, and that's with father's beating heart'.' He chuckled. 'He certainly lived up to that - the father was found dead later that night, I heard, with his heart torn out of his chest. Cut very accurately, apparently, with nothing more than a scalpel. Not to mention the mother's head was nowhere to be found...'

'Oh,' Ysuran interjected, 'about that, actually...'

'I am aware, Silencer. I found it in your rucksack already. No idea what possessed you to take that, but no matter,' he said casually. 'Anyway, it is clear that Mathieu's ill will is completely directed towards me. Hmph. And just because I was doing my job.'

'In all fairness, Lucien,' Ysuran remarked, 'I would want to kill you, too, if you murdered my mother in front of me, regardless of whether or not it was your 'job'.' He smirked. This earned a tsk from Lucien.

'You certainly aren't one to talk. You killed an entire family only a week ago. So shut up,' he snapped. 'Either way, he is the source of all this madness. I am sure of it. If we kill him, this will all be over.'

The Elf exhaled, lips slightly parted in annoyance.

'Fantastic. Now please explain how in Oblivion you're even alive.' The other chuckled.

'Now that,' he said, 'is a longer story.' He propped his elbows on either of his knees and clasped his hands together, a faint grimness on his face.

'Again, the tale begins with my discovering your innocence. Since your dead drops could have only been switched by someone within the Black Hand – ergo, the real traitor, who had undoubtedly been following my every move – I thought that they could very well still be tailing me. But I, guessing the perpetrator's intentions, devised a trap to have them...'kill me'.'

'Alright, give me the abridged version of whatever you're about to tell me,' Ysuran interrupted, 'because it seems like it's going to be complicated.'

'Complicated, no...but drastic, yes,' came the reply.

A momentary silence fell upon the room, but Lucien continued.

'I lied to you when I said I would meet you at Applewatch, knowing that someone – Mathieu, as it were – was eavesdropping on us. As I predicted, after I told you of my plans, he ran off to the main gates, supposedly going to tell the others to wait for me in the farmhouse and kill me there. But I was far ahead of those fools; this is where it gets a bit...questionable.'

'One moment, if you may, but how could you determine the eavesdropper's actions? You were with me the whole time. And how did you plan your strategy so quickly?', Ysuran inquired.

'Detect Life, you hopeless buffoon. How else do you think I sensed you earlier?' The Dunmer blushed at this. 'As for your other question, I'll only say that I have much experience in pressing matters such as this. I know how to think and what to do. Now stop with your interruptions,' he complained. Lucien pushed a stray hair out of his face and resumed.

'After giving you your tasks, I made my way to my younger brother's dwelling west of the Imperial City. I told him all about my predicament – the Black Hand was out to get me under false pretence, and I needed him to help me escape. He thought my plan was extravagant and ruthless, but he agreed anyway, Sithis bless his soul. With the help of Ayleidic Illusion magic, my brother and I were completely indistinguishable. Like carbon copies, we were. He made his way to the farmhouse in my place, while I waited hidden in a nearby ruin, so as to make sure you and the others entered. It went exactly as planned – they were all there, waiting for me, ready to end my life. But none of them even guessed it was my brother. Finally, when I saw you arrive, that was my cue to leave the place and be done with it all.'

Ysuran stared at his master with a slightly puzzled look on his face, not knowing if what he'd heard was correct. He pressed his hand over his mouth and pulled downward at his skin. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and finally spoke.

'Well...I'll be damned,' he said. 'You...you did that? To your own brother? I understand the direness of the situation, but, I mean, that's too evil even for my tastes,' he said disapprovingly.

'I couldn't think of a better way to fake my death. I wasn't happy to do it, either. Let's say he owed me the favour. Anyway, how I go about my affairs is none of your concern.' At this point, Lucien was absentmindedly inspecting his fingernails, growing weary of Ysuran's inquisitiveness.

'Of course it is!' the Elf protested. 'I am your Silencer; or rather, in your words, 'the nail on a finger of the Black Hand'. Doesn't everything you do affect me, and vice versa?', he coaxed.

'Oh, ease off. Don't even try to manipulate me.'

'Ah! Saw right through me...' he replied with a chuckle.

The Imperial frowned and sighed yet again.

'Nevermind. The story isn't over yet, so keep listening.' The Silencer nodded. 'I was about halfway along the road to Bruma, where I was planning on laying low for a while, when I remembered something; something very important, very crucial towards my success. I still can't believe my carelessness,' he said ruefully. 'After working out an ingenious plan, I had forgotten the simplest of things...'

'...Go on,' Ysuran urged, anticipating the development of the story.

'I had forgotten to refresh the Illusion magic before he entered,' he said gravely. 'Without the spell, my brother would have shifted back to his normal self, and he looks very different from me. So the Black Hand is...more than likely aware of my survival. Furthermore, if they do know about it, I appear even more suspect than before.'

'Oh, no,' Ysuran gasped, slightly thankful he had left the farm before witnessing such a thing. 'This is bad. Very bad.'

'You don't say.' A frown creased on either of the men's faces.

'Well, that being said, I believe we are safe from them for now,' said the Dunmer. 'Sithis will watch over us. However, none of your story explains why you felt the need to kidnap me. Or give me a busted lip, for that matter.'

'The lip was unintentional,' he admitted, 'but I told you, I didn't kidnap you! If anything, I saved your life. You're lucky I even found you when I did, because otherwise you would have ended up dead in a ditch somewhere, for all I know.

'I resent that,' Ysuran said with a bit of a laugh. 'But now that you bring it up, how did you find me?'

'Pure chance.', the Imperial replied. 'When I had realized my...error, I knew I couldn't stay in Bruma like I'd planned. Far too risky. I stole a horse from some guard standing outside the city walls, and rode along the Heartland roads. Then I saw Shadowmere cooped up beside the Roxey Inn, badly wounded, and there you were, not too far off in the distance. At least, I assumed it was you. Couldn't be sure, so I approached you in a...more unorthodox way, to avoid any altercations.'

'I suppose that's understandable, but why did you hide your identity? You even altered the sound of your voice when you used telepathy,' said Ysuran.

'Oh, well...I guess I just wanted to mess with you.' The Imperial smirked.

Ysuran smiled at him, once again feeling like his normal self. He was grateful his anguish was short-lived, but somehow felt that it wasn't over yet...

A sharp rapping at the door disturbed his thoughts.

Lucien seemed alert now. He glanced at Ysuran, giving him an 'I'll handle this' kind of look, and signaled for him to hide. He chose the same spot he'd hidden in before and watched as Lucien approached the door, dagger in hand. The knocks seemed to become more and more rapid.

Lucien flung the door open, prepared for an attack, but nothing came.

Instead, a cold, worried-looking Banus Alor met him at the threshold.