Spottedfyre: Thank you so much! It means a lot to know that I got Lucien's character right, or at least somewhat so. He's a hard character to write for me, but I hope it doesn't show too badly. It was fun writing his and Akatosh's interactions, though, I'll admit. And honestly, a big part of that decision, too, was just that I thought it would be cute having a tiny little Breton amble around with his oversized robe. I feel like he's a puppy Lucien just picked out in the rain at this point. Either way, thank you for the review, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

"Well I be a spotted snow bear, a customer!"

The inn was two stories tall with a main room packed with empty tables, rugs thrown on the ground in an attempt to make it look more cozy and a single large fireplace casting light over the space. It was thick with the scent of dust and ale, but both sensations were overwhelmed by the salty taste only his tongue could grasp lingering in the air, the smell of blood blocking all else out, both senses coming from the man who had shouted out at him gleefully the second he had stepped inside.

He had winced at the words before registering their friendliness, and yet he didn't look up, keeping his gaze down. Lucien's robe was a drenched weight on his form. The storm outside could be heard with its occasional claps of thunder ringing out against the sky, and the downpour of rain water had left him a freezing mess. He was colder than cold could be, but that wasn't the reason his hands were shaking.

His boots made squishing sounds as they stepped across the ground, his walking uneven and strange. Akatosh took a seat at the bar, hands grasping onto his damp sack cloth pants as if the fabric would offer him some sort of emotional support. "I'm looking for a man called Rufio."

There was silence, a brief pause. His voice was just as shaky as his hands, cracky and frail. Akatosh sounded like he hadn't had a drop of water in years. In truth, he had, but no matter how much he drank, it never got rid of the parched feeling of his throat. It was disgusting, knowing what would sate it.

He... He hated himself so much.

"Rufio?" The barkeeper's voice was a loud thing, breaking through the heavy fog of thoughts in his head. It sounded like it was bellowed right from his large gut. "What'dya need'im for?"

Akatosh didn't answer, clutching harder to his pant sleeves. He felt like he was going to throw up, but there wasn't anything in his stomach. The world was starting to spin, dots swimming in his vision, and he felt like he should be gasping for air with how tight his chest was becoming, pressing itself closer and closer to its center, his heart-

A slam. He jumped, flailed, nearly fell. Quickly grabbing onto the edge of the countertop, he steadied himself, head snapping up to finally meet the innkeeper's eyes. They were a startling blue, glimmering above a wide smile, and the thing that had been slammed down in front of him was a mug full of beer. The stench of alcohol was overwhelming right under his nose. "You look like ye can use this," the man chuckled, going back to cleaning some dishes with a rag dirtier than the plates and cups they scrubbed.

He looked down at the beer, but didn't touch it. "I have business with him." The words came at an awful delay, but at least he got them out.

The other man, who, by his giant muscle structure and dirty blond hair, Akatosh perceived to be a Nord, just chuckled heartily. "And I barely have any business. Ever! We got plenty o' rooms if ye want one. Ain't nobody here 'cept old Rufio, but I 'pose, if ye were trudging out on the roads in that bitch of'a storm, ye already knew that!"

Akatosh's hands encircled the mug he had been given. It wasn't chilled, but his hands were. "How's he been?" He croaked out the words, slowly raising the mug to his lips, taking a tentative sip. It didn't affect him at all, as if it were water but even more bland, and it felt almost painful crawling down his throat. Everything he ate was a chore, to the point where he hardly ate or drank anymore. He didn't even know if he needed to. He only knew one thing he needed, and it was something he wouldn't let himself have.

Here Akatosh was, pretending to have a good, clear conscience, right as he asked some man about the person he was sent to murder.

Pathetic.

"Rufio?" Akatosh hadn't set down the beer, it still held up in his hands, his eyes staring at the surface of the drink. "The old codger's been living here for a couple of weeks now. If you ask me, he's hiding something. But what do I care? He pays his tab."

If you ask me, he's hiding something.

There had to be a reason someone was paying for this man's life to end. Especially an old man, as he got the impression, who would be ending on his own soon enough. That was the only thing keeping Akatosh going. Maybe he could end up doing a good deed, maybe he's killing a bad man. And he does that, and then he- he has a family again.

Is that how it worked? Lucien made it sound so simple. How they would be waiting for him with open arms. And if he didn't like this, he could just back out, whenever he wanted. No one was forcing him to do anything. Akatosh could get out of this situation whenever he wanted to.

"I'd like to visit him."

A snort. "His room is downstairs, in what I like to call the Private Quarters. Use that hatch in the floor over there." Akatosh looked up as the man gestured, and he found the hatch, sure enough, in a secluded area surrounded but untouched by rugs. "Jus' don't expect a warm reception," he continued, and Akatosh said nothing at all, standing and setting the barely touched beer back on the counter.

Kneeling as he got to the hatch, he reached out with a shaky hand, his trembling fingers grabbing onto the handle and opening it up after a few missed attempts. It creaked out rather loudly, a wooden ladder falling and reaching the ground below. He turned away from the hatch and slid his legs down until they settled on a wooden rung, starting to descend the ladder until his feet hit the ground and he was able to steady himself.

The latch closed without any warning, and he jumped five feet into the air at the sudden sound, clutching at his chest where his dead heart lay. The basement was stretched out into a long hallway lit by torches, with two wooden doors that belonged to the same room. It must have been a sizable room, too, and it was so secluded that he couldn't even hear the storm outside. Completely soundproof. At least if there was screaming, it wouldn't able to be heard. Although, in truth, if anyone was going to be screaming, the chances were that it would be him.

He tried to take in a deep breath to steady himself, but he couldn't hold it in, couldn't breathe. After a few moments of staring at a closed door, his hand reached out to open it, and Akatosh stepped inside.

He had been expecting the man to be asleep or something of the like, seeing as it was rather late into the night. It might have even been dawn, but Akatosh couldn't tell with the storm. But no- instead, the old man was sitting in his bed, reading a dusty old tome, and at the sound of someone entering his room, he raised his head, giving Akatosh a quizzical look.

"Who are you?" He demanded the words, and Akatosh simply stared, too caught up in the moment to answer. There was a deep, empty look in his eyes, and it unnerved Rufio, his wrinkled fingers clutching at the book in his grasp. "What do you want? I ain't done nothin'!"

Akatosh stared for longer, before slowly, he reached into his robe, sliding his dagger out the folds. Rufio's eyes darted to the weapon for a split second, and as soon as he saw it, the book was dropped and he ran, ran with more dexterity and speed expected of a man his age, completely catching Akatosh off-guard.

The elderly Breton didn't even attempt to run out of the room, but instead cowered in a corner after dropping to his knees, holding his arms over his face. He was shaking, and Akatosh's heart cracked, just at the pure fear Rufio held, fear of him. "Oh, no, please! I can pay you! Name your price! Anything, anything! Please, just let me live!" He choked on a sob, crying out the words, and that crack grew until it shattered his heart and left a painful aching in his chest.

Akatosh stood there for the longest time, watching this old man cry, before he spoke, walking over. Each step made Rufio cower more and more, fidgeting and covering his face and crying even harder by the passing seconds, but Akatosh didn't stop. He got down in front of the man, kneeling before him and hiding his blade behind his back, more for him than for Rufio.

"Haven't you done something to deserve this?" He finally asked this of the man, his voice even, unlike his quivering hands holding onto the knife out of view. "Anything at all? Anything that would cause someone to want you dead?"

He yelled out in desperation, clutching at the few remaining strands of his greying hair. "No! Please! I didn't mean to do it, you understand me?"

Akatosh held on harder to the knife. When he spoke again, there was anxiousness in his tone, paired with anger, but it was anger at himself. Why was he still doing this? He should have walked away by now! He should have!

"What?" He stood up, over the man, casting him in his shadow, a shadow that flickered and wavered in the cackling lights of torches. "What did you do?"

When he spoke, his ears had to pry the words out in between all the sobbing. "She struggled! I told her to stay still, but she wouldn't listen! I had no choice!"

His eyes widened, his mouth gaped. It took him moments to process the words, and when he did, his mouth tightened, as did his chest. "She? Who is she? What did you do?" His voice felt numb, as if he wasn't the one speaking the words. Rufio was slowly trying to stand up, trying to stagger away, and he grabbed the man's shoulders to keep him still, dropping his knife in the process. "Answer me!" He shouted the words, and for the first time, Rufio's dim brown eyes fully met Akatosh's searing, angry red ones, and they both saw the emotions buried within each other, Akatosh seeing overworking fear and guilt, his crazed anger being shown in exchange.

Rufio cried out, starting sobbing the hardest he could, wailing and weakly trying to escape Akatosh's grasp. "Let go! Let go of me, let go! Wretched demon! Someone, help me!" He screamed the words, but they both knew it would do no good. They were too far from the hatch to be heard, and certainly not through stone walls such as this room bore.

Akatosh's fingers tightened. He knew it was painful, judging by the way the man grunted in pain and choked on his own tears because of it. He was about to question him more, was about to demand answers, but that anger he was feeling, boiling in his gut, finally spilled over the top. Warmth pooled up in his chest and turned into burning heat at the tips of his fingers, and then Rufio was engulfed in the flames of his hands, screaming as he was flayed alive, screaming until he couldn't, choking on the smoke his own burning flesh made and collapsing to the ground in a heap of melted skin and ashes.

Akatosh stared. His hands, now cooled, pressed against his own chest. His legs trembled, knees wobbling, mouth gaping open and closing like a fish. He hadn't meant for it to get out of control like that, he hadn't- he hadn't, he hadn't-

But... wasn't he supposed to feel more remorse than this?

The world was starting to spin, as if he was a fixed point on the ground while everything else rotated and shook and wobbled. Akatosh was falling back, crying out, and when his knees finally gave away and his head hit the ground hard, his vision flickered out of his eyes and turned his sight dark.

Rain.

He felt it, he felt the little raindrops, falling on his skin. It wasn't the harshness of the storm before, but the gentleness of a sprinkling cloud or two. The air smelled earthy from a recent heavy shower, and the ground he was laid on, with dewed bladed grass, felt damp and made his skin all the more colder.

That was, until, he was lifted up, someone picking him up in his arms. Akatosh was in too much of a daze to properly react, not even opening his eyes to see who was doing this all, to see where fate was taking him. And then, he was laid onto a pile of blankets, and the rain stopped, the air suddenly feeling much warmer.

His eyes opened dimly, and were met by a pair of cooler, calmer, darker ones. "You're awake."

Akatosh could only stare in a heavy daze and blink a few times, trying to clear his fuzzy vision. He felt drained of energy, as if he would pass out if he were to close his eyes for the smallest moment, as if all the sleep in the world wouldn't restore his strength. He couldn't bring himself to move, and he simply closed his eyes again, letting himself fade out once more.

The next time he awoke, he still felt the same sensations, but the pittering-pattering sound of rain outside had stopped. Akatosh turned into the blankets, seeking their warmth, staring out ahead as he hid from the cold.

He had been laid down in a tent, and on top of that, a sleeping bag, with a nest full of heated blankets- most likely from a spell- cocooning him. It was late in the evening now, and it looked beautiful outside, where he had been moved to, the sky smeared in pink and orange hues. He could tell it was somewhere in central Cyrodiil, judging by the thick grouping of trees and the trickling of a river nearby, and just the overall area Akatosh was used to. He would guess he was somewhere near Cheydinhal, but he hoped that was wrong. It was quite a distance from that inn to this area, and whoever had carried him would have dealt with several days of an unconscious travel companion.

Akatosh was still in some sort of daze, and because of that, it took him a few moments to notice the dagger sitting by his side. And, along that dagger, his bag, his bag that had been stolen from him for quite some time. He reached out shakily with a single hand, going for the bag first, his other hand pushing him up into a sitting position. Akatosh opened the bag up and reached inside, and sure enough, he could tell that every single one of his possessions were in there. He set it in his lap, before slowly, his attention turned to the weapon that had been sat next to it.

It wasn't the same knife he had been wielding before. Instead, it was a gorgeous, glimmering ebony dagger, shimmering with its dark metal. Akatosh grasped it in his hand, looking at it closely, and finally, a someone spoke.

"Do you like it?"

He cried out in surprise, dropping the knife and nearly jumping to his feet, but he found he was too weak to do even that, and he shakily stayed sitting. The Breton looked behind himself slowly, only to be greeted with that familiar pair of dark eyes, with that same sly smile, Lucien Lachance leaned down next to him, having been watching this all without Akatosh noticing in the slightest. He didn't know how to feel about that, but seeing Lucien's face finally brought him to reality, and a wave of emotions came crashing into him, causing his eyes to fill to the brim with tears.

Lucien's smile faltered for a moment as he noticed the watery look he was receiving, before a delicate, gloved hand reached out, skimming its thumb under Akatosh's eyes and wiping away the gathering tears. "It's for you," he said, gently, his smile less sly, more faint. "The Blade of Woe. Think of it as another gift for the deed you have done, for you are now part of the family."

He choked a little on his words when he tried to say them all before his brain could catch up. Lucien didn't rush him, patiently waiting for him to catch up, and he picked the knife back from the ground and settled it back into Akatosh's hands. Because of this pause, Akatosh was better able to see Lucien. He was wearing a dark robe again, and looked better fitting in it than that strange armor he was wearing underneath, in Akatosh's opinion. The old robe that he had given Akatosh was lying amongst the blankets he was piled under, and it seemed like Lucien didn't have the intention of taking it back. "I... I am?"

A more genuine smile, and a nod of his head. "The slaying of Rufio was the signing of a covenant. The manner of execution, your signature. You have done your part, and now we welcome you to us." A considering pause, and then, a bigger smile. "You don't have to be alone anymore."

He felt the tears start to gather again, and his bottom lip trembled. Akatosh felt like a child, and maybe he was one, unable to keep back a silent sob. He didn't know whether he was crying out of happiness, or out of relief, or out of misery, of pain- but whatever it was, he was crying, and it stopped as another gloved hand cupped his cheek. Caressing his skin gently, he calmed Akatosh down, Lucien's touches gentle, his eyes even moreso. Was this what it felt like? To be cared for again?

"I don't?"

Lucien shook his head. "As a Speaker of the Black Hand, I directly oversee a particular group of family members. You will join that group, and fulfill any contracts given. You must now go to the city of Cheydinhal, to the abandoned house near the eastern wall. Enter the basement, and attempt to open the black door. You will be asked a question. Answer thusly: 'Sanguine, my Brother.' You will gain entrance to the Sanctuary. Once inside, speak with Ocheeva. Do you understand this all?"

Everything was said without pause, and it left his head swimming. The hand moved away from his cheek, combing through his hair. For a murderer, Lucien seemed to recognize his trauma, and was handling it well, keeping Akatosh calm enough to speak back and forth like how they were. "I- I d-don't- I-"

"Would you like me to repeat it?" He gulped, but nodded, and Lucien did so without skipping a beat, speaking slower this time in that low, calm voice of his. The worst part was that Akatosh didn't even know if he meant this all, or if this was simply an act for Lucien, just to get Akatosh to cooperate a bit more. This man was someone who could convince a person the sky was green with that silver tongue of his, even if that conversation was held outside. And Akatosh... was simply gullible.

He finally understood, repeating what was said over and over again until it was seared in his head in a way he wouldn't forget. Maybe that was why they were so close to Cheydinhal, after all. "You came to me? After I fainted?"

Lucien nodded. "The Dark Brotherhood knows of a great many things, and for that, I knew when the contract had been completed. It was a surprising sight to see that you had fallen asleep so close to your target. Had I not arrived sooner, it would have been suspicious that you were down there so long, but even the innkeeper had returned to his quarters at that time, and getting you out was of no difficulty. You wouldn't wake up for these past few days, so I merely kept you along with me."

Akatosh was quiet as he listened to this all. Maybe this wasn't an act, if he had kept such close care of Akatosh all this time. They were family now, after all, weren't they? Maybe it was just hard for him to believe anyone could care for him again after he had murdered Tar-Meena.

He didn't know what to say, and Lucien seemed to understand. "We must now take our leave of each other-"

As he started to get up, Lucien's hand was grabbed by shaking, slender fingers, fingers that grasped onto his wrist, that refused to let go. This Breton was so weak, and could be easily pried off, but Lucien didn't even try to shake him away, whether it was because of his shock at the action or not.

Akatosh still couldn't find the words he wanted, still couldn't form the sentences to speak. All he knew was that he didn't want this man to leave.

"I'll come back." Lucien spoke softly, arousing him from his thoughts. A cold pair of lips was pressed against his fingers, and Akatosh drew them away out of shock, staring up at the man as he clutched at his hand. "I'll come back and see you again."

And with that promise, he finally stood, stepping out of the tent. When Akatosh looked, he only saw the forest, as the man that had been with him moments before had disappeared without a single trace.

He looked down at his gift. The Blade of Woe winked at him with a history of dark promises buried in the ebony metal of the blade. He found himself picking it up again from where he had dropped it once more before, found himself grasping onto the handle. Akatosh was sick at himself. Not because he had killed Tar-Meena. Not because he had killed Rufio.

But because he was starting to not care anymore.

He stared at the door, and the door stared back at him.

It was dark and clammy and horribly silent, which made each of his footsteps one his way here ring out like bells. Broken barrels and cobwebs had made up most of the interior design going down into the abandoned house, but he had found what he was looking for when he had reached the basement. A blood splatter- old, dried, he could tell- was at his feet, and at the base of the door, as well.

As for the door itself, it was an awful thing, with a large skull glinting at him bearing a wicked smile. All skulls looked so happy, as if they hadn't truly realized they were dead yet, or maybe they had realized, and were happy to not be alive anymore. Whatever the reason, it was unsettling, and it would have scared him, it should have, but he didn't feel that much in touch with his emotions as of late.

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder, the Blade of Woe strapped to his leg and Baurus's katana back on his belt. Lucien's cloak was open and tied around his neck, hood-up, and he looked darker than the shadows in it. A pale hand reached out towards the door. Below the skull was a depiction of a woman, bearing a knife and holding a child in her arms, with four other smaller people- who he could only assume were children, too- standing at the end of her knife. Above the skull was a hand. Akatosh didn't know if it mattered, but he pressed his hand against the imprinted larger hand, and on cue, a voice rumbled deep from within the door.

He was expecting it, but it still made him jump. "What... is the color... of night?"

To this, he knew the answer, remembered it just as Lucien had said. "Sanguine, my brother."

The door rumbled, clicking in and out of place, and slowly, it creaked open, revealing a dark chamber behind its body. As Akatosh stepped in, the voice came again, rumbling over his head as the door closed itself.

"Welcome home."