SERENDIPITY
CHAPTER TWO
THE GREAT CITY OF CHEYDINHAL
Lucien Lachance had completed many contracts in his years at the Brotherhood, but never one quite as strange as the Lylieve job. He had been asked to give slow and painful deaths, and he had been asked kill noblemen and break apart families, but he had never been asked to drive someone mad.
It was a brilliant idea, of course; in fact, Lucien admired it. That poor woman was insane, but she was definitely a genius - a psychopathic one, but a genius nonetheless. There was but one loose end - Celeste. What was he to do with her? The contract never specified. He could kill her, but she was innocent, and Lucien did not kill those who did no wrong; he may inadvertently drive them mad, but he did not kill them.
In truth, Lucien was making up his plan as he went along. He doubted his abilities to keep up his guise for long. And yet, after spending but an hour in Celeste's company, he found that she had already grown on him. She was smart, and very, very pretty, even Lucien had to admit. She was naive, although she had spent most of her life in a quaint little town in eastern Cyrodiil as a baron's wife, so he forgave her for that.
Every now and then, during the lulls in their conversation, Lucien glanced over at Celeste. She was faintly illuminated by the dusky twilight, her hair blown back by the soft breeze. Her shawl fluttered around her knees, and it reminded him of a veil. It seemed to catch the moonlight and provide its own luminescence.
They reached a little roadside tavern a few hours later, where they took up for the night. Lucien leaned against the bar and slid a few septims across the counter. "Two beds," he said, holding up a hand. The publican looked between Lucien and Celeste, a smirking tugging at his lips. "Have a good night," he said, holding out a key to Lucien and winking. As they walked away, Lucien swore he saw Celeste throw a look in the bartender's direction out of the corner of his eye.
It was a cozy little room, with one single bed against either wall. There was a table in between them, and on it a pitcher of water and two cups. Celeste sank onto the edge of her bed, whereas Lucien collapsed onto his. She poured water for both of them and downed hers in a second.
"So," she said. "You said you're a traveler, but everyone has to come from somewhere. Where were you born?" she asked, leaning back against the wall. Lucien looked over at her, then pulled himself into a sitting position. "Bruma. I lived there for most of my childhood."
"Mm," Celeste hummed, a smile curving her lips, slowly, lazily. "Bruma. What's it like?" she asked. Lucien took a deep breath, thinking. "Cold, dark. The sun hardly ever shines, and even when it does, it's still cold." he said. "In the fields... the grass is white, stiff from the frost, and so is the ground. Hard, packed soil. Violets grow in the countryside, and apple trees, too. The only colour." Lucien found a smile dancing across his face. Celeste was leaning forward, her chin propped up on her hands. She was watching him intently. "There was an orchard. An old barn up on a hill, bright red and white paint. The last time I saw it, it was faded. An old woman owns it now. She doesn't take care of it anymore. Can't get out in the fields to do the picking and farming. Her husband's dead, her children left her. She has a dog, but," Lucien paused for a somewhat dry laugh. "he's not going to be of any help, eh?"
"That's... terribly sad." Celeste said, looking at him with an expression that read either shock or pity. "That's the way the world works." replied Lucien. Celeste inhaled deeply, chewing on her lower lip. "I wouldn't know, I guess," she said with a hint of bitterness. "Summer's Garde was... it was boring. The same thing, every day. There was nothing to talk about besides the weather, or the old lady that died last week. Everything was dragged on. Something interesting would happen, and we would still be talking about a month later, a year later." Celeste stopped herself, a small sigh brushing over her lips. "I guess I... I envy you. I mean, the world is dull, it's depressing, but it's not like that." she said. "You see those little towns, quaint and full of sunshine, not a care in the world, but it's a living hell."
Celeste fell silent. She dragged a hand through her hair, sighing again. She sighed often, Lucien had noticed, while she was thinking. Lucien studied her for a moment, her eyes fixed on the half-empty water pitcher. He leaned forward, blowing out the candle on the nightstand. "I'm retiring." he said. Celeste didn't respond, just extinguished the flame on her own candle and settled down on the bed.
Lucien lie down on his side on the scratchy sheets. He fell asleep like that, watching Celeste lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. He occupied himself watching the steady rise and fall of her chest.
There were no windows in the inn room, so Celeste had no idea what time it was when she awoke. Lucien was still asleep, flat on his back, head turned to the side. Celeste draped her shawl over her shoulders and unlatched the door. There was no noise from the bar. She stepped into the corridor, barefoot, and peered around the corner.
The main room was empty. Even the publican had retired. Through the windows, Celeste saw it was early morning. She took a seat on one of the benches and watched the sunrise. A few minutes later, her reverie was broken by footsteps drawing near. She turned and saw Lucien standing in the doorway, blinking sleep from his eyes. "Morning," she said, smiling slightly. He grunted and went behind the bar, pulling out two amber-tinted bottles.
Celeste followed Lucien back to their room, where he sank back onto his bed and tossed one bottle to her. He uncorked his own and took a hearty swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm not awake until I've had at least one bottle of ale."
Celeste chuckled. She held out hers to him, saying, "I don't drink." Lucien just looked at her. "You... don't drink?" he repeated. Celeste shook her head. "I'm a 'lady', remember?"
Lucien actually smiled at that, though it was more of a smirk than an actual smile. "Ladies don't leave their husbands to travel the world with strange men they've just met." Celeste rolled her eyes. "Just take it."
Lucien took the bottle, uncorked it, and handed it back to Celeste. "Drink." he commanded. "You have to try ale at least once." Celeste stared at him for a moment, then sighed and took the bottle. She drank from it.
"Well?" Lucien prompted when she said nothing. "I'm not going to satisy you," Celeste replied, looking away and crossing her arms over her chest. "That means you liked it," Lucien said, smirking again. "You definitely liked it."
They left before anyone else had awoken and took a few more bottles of ale, leaving the proper payment on the counter. They walked along the road for an hour or so before Lucien stopped and turned to Celeste. "I promised I would show you the world, and there's more to Cyrodiil than just cities and mountains."
Before Celeste could ask what he meant, Lucien took her hand and began to cut a path through the field, toward the treeline. They reached it a few minutes later, and set off into the wood. They walked for some time before Lucien stopped abruptly and Celeste nearly tripped over her own feet.
They stood atop a cliff of sorts, where the earth sloped downward and then kept on going. Way beneath them, Celeste could just barely see a pond. She looked over at Lucien. "Is this what you were so excited about?" she asked, raising a brow.
"Come with me,"
They descended from the bluff, stumbling over roots and rocks. When they finally reached the pond, Celeste saw what was so enchanting about it.
A mist hovered over the water, which was cold and still. Flowers grew at the edge, beautiful, vibrantly-coloured flowers. They gave off a lovely scent that filled the air. The ground was all soft, dark soil and green leaves. A tall oak tree stood nearby, its large roots almost like benches.
"The travelers that have seen it think that it's enchanted, a place of refuge when you're lost. I stumbled upon it once when I was on a - on a trip, late at night." Lucien stuttered, though Celeste paid his hesitation no mind. She was too fascinated by a butterfly that had landed on her finger. "If you find it once, you'll always be able to find it again."
"This is beautiful." Celeste said, spinning around to face him. The flowers at her feet rustled and a cloud of butterflies erupted from them, fluttering in the air above her head then returning to their stalks. They were the flowers.
Lucien leaned against the old oak, watching Celeste as she knelt at the waters edge. She was wide-eyed with excitement like a child. Lucien was smiling. "We need to keep going if we mean to reach Cheydinhal before nightfall."
Celeste looked up, still beaming. "Yes, of course," she said, climbing to her feet. The butterfly flowers once more exploded into the air with a burst of colour as she stepped over them.
About four hours later, Cheydinhal was within sight. It was a beautiful city, even from a distance, surrounded by flowery meadows whose scent carried along even the slightest breeze. The towering stone walls were climbed with moss and jasmine vines, and daylilies grew in their shade. The castle's spires rose into the sky, nearly piercing the clouds, and the church steeple stopped just a foot beneath them.
It was a busy city, thrumming with life. The marketplace was bustling, a cacophony of voices that drifted into the surrounding streets. The houses were beautiful, mostly red cherry wood and dark grey stone. The temple was something to see; its stonework was stunningly intricate, and the stained glass windows cast rainbows onto the streets.
After they had stocked up on supplies, Lucien led Celeste back toward the eastern gates, and along a little residental street. They stopped at house that looked as if it had long since been abandoned. The windows were boarded shut, and all sorts of plants adorned the stone-and-wood walls. Celeste looked over at Lucien, brows raised.
"Wait here," he said. "I have business inside." He put his hand on the knob, then turned and looked Celeste square in the eye. "Promise you won't follow me inside." he said. Celeste hesitated a moment. His gaze was intense. "I promise." she managed, sounding breathless.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Lucien made his way through the familiar house, breathing in the stale air and the cobwebs. He stepped carefully over smashed pottery and glass shards. By now, the floorboards had disintegrated, leaving dark earth beneath. Sunlight filtered in through the ceiling slats and the messily-boarded windows upstairs. Lucien passed straight by the staircase and descended into the basement.
The floor in the basement was still solid, though some of the stone tiles were cracked and missing in places. Lucien knew where the avoid them; he had gotten his boot toe stuck more than enough times to memorize the exact spots. He slipped through a fissure in the wall and began to walk forward in total darkness, one hand extended to guide him. His fingers grazed jagged, wet rock.
A faint red glow begin illuminate the narrow passageway. Lucien had reached the huge, curved doorway to the Sanctuary. He touched his hand to it and it swung forward to admit him. He was greeted loudly, with many claps on the back and handshakes. "Lucien!" Antoinetta exclaimed with a beatific smile. "I just made dinner, you really must stay!"
Already Lucien could smell the pungent garlic. "I'm afraid I can't tonight, Antoinetta." he said, exchanging a glance with Vicente over her shoulder. "Why not? Your contracts can wait." the Breton insisted. "Ah, yes, but..." at a loss for words, Lucien trailed off and simply walked past her, toward Vicente.
"How did your contract go?" he asked. "Succesfully, except..." Lucien looked around to make sure no one was listening in. "I don't know what to do with the wife. I don't want to kill her." Vicente frowned. "Where is she now?"
"Outside."
"Oh - my," Vicente took Lucien by the elbow and led him further back into the corridor. "So you can't kill her. You could just leave her here, in Cheydinhal." Lucien shook his head. "No, she's far too naive. Something bad will happen, I know it." Vicente sighed. "Well, what do you want to do, Lucien? Recruit her into the Brotherhood?"
"No, no - I - I don't know." Lucien said, growing frustrated. "You'll just have to keep her with you I suppose." Lucien closed his eyes and sighed softly, tilting his head back. "From what Gogron said, you seem quite smitten."
"What? Gogron? How - " Lucien began, but Vicente held up a hand to silence him. "He was out at the tavern, and when he came back he said he saw you with a woman that you seemed very taken with." Vicente smirked. "He said he saw you smile."
"I'm not taken with her. Don't look at me like that, Valtieri." Lucien said with a warning tone. "It's just business." Vicente's smirk widened. "Oh, my sweet summer child," he began in the airy tone that he used to mock Lucien. "Who said you cannot mix business and pleasure?"
"Give me my next contract." demanded Lucien, holding out a hand. Vicente withdrew a scroll tied with twine from his vest. Lucien snatched it from him. "Goodbye, Vicente." The Breton called after him,
"Tell your darling lover the Family says hello!"