Author's Note: I actually planned to break the Florence Record of Fastest Update Ever and post this chapter just a day after the previous one, but alas, that's where writer's block helps. And then when I was ready to update, the internet decided it's time to stop working. Oh, woe is me, woe is me.
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Chapter 8: On Oblivion
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"Are we there yet?" Linne asked for the thousandth time.
"No," Niera answered for the hundredth time.
There was a silence that was broken only by the neighs of the horses before Linne mustered up enough courage to ask, "Are we there yet?"
"No!" her sister snapped, finally turning to face Linne who was beside her, "Damn it Linne, a thousandth time no! How many times must I possibly repeat: no! Not now, and certainly not for days!" Her sister let out an exasperated breath and turned her attention towards the road again.
Another silence, broken only by the neighs of the horses.
Linne allowed her sister to cool down from her outburst before finally saying, "I was only trying to ask if we're going through the Heartlands. That's where most Milk Thistles grow. Their flower is light purple on the top. I'm guessing that we could try to locate them."
Niera abruptly turned to Linne and showed a face of complete disbelief that Linne had to hold her laughter, "How did you now that? You sound as if you've read the whole Elder Library."
"Well, believe it or not, I don't make trouble for a living. There were a few alchemists who dropped by the inn. Because of my charming personality," Linne grinned, "they told me about some ingredients that grow nearby in case I needed to poison someone's ale with love potion."
"Love potions don't exist," Niera concluded, pulling her horse to a stop, "And those alchemists could have been tricking you. What were they like, even?" She went down from her horse and squinted to look at the distance. Linne followed suit, choosing not to answer her sister's question just in case she would get ridiculed even further.
She could only see a bit of it, but there was thunder and lightning on the skies far away. And the clouds surrounding it were more appropriate for, say, a sunset. It contrasted so much with the light blue sky. "I think that's an Oblivion gate over there."
"How could you be so sure?" Niera asked slowly, though Linne knew she must be considering the possibility. She walked towards its direction to get a better view, and Linne was too late to grip Niera's hand to stop her. Her sister knew next to nothing about these gates. Not that Linne could boast she knew everything about it. Just more than her sister did.
Which, if this was any other circumstance, she would greatly feel accomplished.
"What do you know about Oblivion gates, Linne?" Niera asked, not turning around from the gate. It was still far away, but Linne could feel the threat it posed even from this distance. So much that she nearly didn't answer.
It was probably a week ago or so in Mondas where she heard someone talking about a so-called 'Mehrunes Dagon', a Daedric god, and a few words flew by that he was the one responsible for this Oblivion crisis. It was a long time since Linne busied herself by venturing around town and visit the bookstore, so she was quite unsure if the talk she heard was true.
"I know that this gate was what destroyed Kvatch," she started slowly, waiting for her sister to turn around and point out it was obvious, but it seemed that this was news for her, "And that it could be closed, by taking some sort of stone—"
Niera turned to Linne and shook her head, "Oh, no, I'm not going to close it. I'm only going to take what I need and leave; run." Without waiting for Linne's approval, Niera went on her horse and led the mare to a gallop towards the gate leading to hell.
The sky was a shade away from blood red, lightning sparking every few seconds followed by the sound of the thunder. But that was not what made Niera's blood tingling, her Breton blood recognizing a form of magic from the Oblivion gate.
This magic, however, was dark. Even Niera, who knew nothing about another school of magic than illusion and its branching skills, could feel the power from inside the gate, from the planes of Oblivion that resided behind it. It took only a glance at Linne's face that she clearly disapproved of what Niera was about to do.
To be honest, Niera herself did not think it would come to this, that she would enter an outlandish land to get an ingredient for such a potent poison. A consideration to buy one from a 'supplier' quickly passed her mind once, but how could she acquire a payment for something so expensive? No, Lachance trusted you and yourself to carry this through, and you must not disappoint. You must show your loyalty if you are to be raised to a higher level of respect in the Brotherhood... perhaps even the Black Hand.
The thought of such a thing was what made her heart beat faster and she turned to Linne completely. "Tie the horses' reins to those trees. I'm going in."
Her sister's eyes widened, "But... Niera, you don't know what to expect from whatever is through that gate—it even looks dangerous. You can't possibly—"
"Linne," Niera cut her sister firmly, putting both her hands on Linne's shoulders, "Is your faith in my ability so little? I will be back. I'll return. And everything will be alright." That lie was what broke her heart the greatest as she watched her sister's face smiling, and for the first time in years, Niera embraced her sister. "We will return to Cheydinhal, and before you know it, everything will return back to the way it was."
"That sounds nice," Linne pulled away, and Niera put her hands back to her sides, "Please, be safe. I don't know how to explain to the stable boy how I managed to steal two horses singlehandedly."
Niera let out a small smile and ruffled her sister's messy hair. "You could always find a stay bow and some arrows, and scare him with missed shots."
When Niera turned away from her sister, she was already dreading what she had to do. Thinking of never seeing the world she called home disturbed her, but she held on to the false promise she told Linne and ran inside the fiery arms of the Oblivion gate. As soon as she opened her eyes to the nightmare before her, she regretted everything she had done.
The dirt her feet were standing on—she nearly did not believe she was still alive—was a deep red that could only be darker than the skies above her, or the sea of magma that surrounded the island she was standing on. Island; because there was only a small bridge connecting to a mass of land that held a massive, proud tower made of the darkest ebony black stone Niera could ever land her eyes upon.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead, both from her own cowardice and the heat that enveloped the whole plane. When she put one foot in front of another, and found that nothing happened, Niera went on to search for this Harrada plant.
It was a few turns of the road when she finally spotted something that resembled red canes.
Niera stared at the plant before her. It was, like everything in this land, crimson, tall, but most importantly the tip of each branch was fashioned as a blade. She scanned around the area for any signs of anything dangerous, and decided that she was completely alone when she did not hear a cackling that belonged to a scamp.
She reached into her sword belt and grabbed the small dagger that Lachance had given her, its black surface reflecting her doubt. If there was anything that Niera learned when she was in Oblivion, it would be, Don't trust anything that moves.
Anything else that isn't moving shouldn't be trusted either. Niera shook her head as she focused back on the hard-looking branch of the plant. What part would be classified as the most potent source of paralysis? Underneath, on the solid ground, she did not find a sign that these plants had any roots, as if it was glued to its place.
When she braved enough to reach out to touch its tip, the plant lashed out at her, its blade scraping through Niera's gauntlets. Though it managed to cut a thin line on her skin, it stung greatly. Her other hand searched for a poultice inside her bag, when she suddenly heard a cackling that sounded too close to her for comfort.
Think. Think now, idiot! She looked around where she stood and found a huge boulder she could possibly hide behind. With only one step forward, however, something underneath her clicked and before Niera could realise what was happening, a bright explosion threw her back, and she landed unconscious.
When she came to, she felt small hands lifting her and suddenly she was supported by those hands. As the creatures under her walked, Niera blinked away the black spots from her sight before she opened her eyes completely and stared at where she was at, or more importantly, where she was being carried to.
Bewildered, Niera raised her head a few inches as she took in the hall. The walls were stone the same material as the gate she went through before, and the floor was a stone grey like a stormy, clouded sky. What frightened her the most, besides the fountain spurting out blood—or a red substance that was not blood if Niera could allow herself to be optimistic—was the creature that stood in the middle of the room.
The scamps that were carrying her threw her body down to the cool floor and she closed her eyes, pretending to be dead, in hopes that the dremora in front of her would not do her any harm.
Listener, he began the letter, but found that he could not seem to write the next words. Lucien dipped the pen into the inkwell, and already put the tip of the quill on the paper, yet he wrote nothing. After a few seconds, he started again, surprised that the ink was still wet, I have already raised a Silencer for myself and there was no trouble in trusting her. She will carry out the task of cleansing the Sanctuary with Sithis' will in mind.
He set the quill aside, and reread the small scrap of paper he wrote on. Then, he crumpled it and threw it away. There was no use of informing Ungolim of his Silencer's obedience. And there was no messenger he trusted enough to send this letter to him. Lucien stood up from his chair and paced around his fortress. There was nothing to do, and the continuing silence was gnawing on him. In other situations he would have welcomed the silence, but since this stillness was mocking him of his isolation from the world, for he could not risk any suspicion falling on him, and he detested it.
Only half an hour ago he thought about going to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, but what use would that make? The Sanctuary's members barely need any warning of this plan, and what if they disapprove of it? What if they refused to take part of this escapade? Let the plan go into motion first, Lucien thought, and let them decide if dying because they were falsely accused of being a traitor worth escaping to.
He passed through one of the drawers and searched for his map. In the middle of the province of Cyrodiil, where the Imperial City was, he already marked a submerged ruin underneath the islands. Lucien himself was surprised when his sources told him of this ruin, since it was well hidden. But his sources were, of course,
Getting sick of pacing, Lucien sat back on his bed, counting as the seconds tick by, and waiting for the Silencer to report to him that the deed was done. She could never do the preparations smoothly, he was sure. There would be others who would be suspicious of the goings-on, what with their fellow members falling into a deep sleep—
Or not everybody. He suddenly remembered Vicente, a vampire, immune to paralysis. He slapped his forehead and cursed at himself; how could he forget? It was a hole in the perfect fabric of his plan. How would he deal with him? Lucien considered if going to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary and confide with Vicente of his plans would even be wise, then wondered if Vicente was too much of a loyalist to go against the Listener's wish and then... then everything would be ruined.
He gritted his teeth and picked up another piece of parchment and scribbled a quick note, never stopping to make sure his choice of words were secretive enough. Lucien rolled the parchment and tied it with a simple leather band and went outside to the bright noon. He didn't bother with Shadowmere and only cast a chameleon spell on himself, running towards the city.
She better be skilled enough for this.
"The Mighty Linne... no. That doesn't even sound sneaky," she talked to herself, watching the horses snort at her made-up title. Linne huffed, "I don't see you coming up with better." The horse whined. "You're just a horse. Why am I talking to you?"
Boredom, mostly. Or madness. Basically, the last hour had been filled with boredom, heat and trying to find a nickname suitable for Linne should a tale be sung about her not very heroic acts, making every boy and girl in Cyrodiil stand in awe of her if she passed them by the market... or wherever.
Linne looked around at the road. There was nobody else except her and the two horses that were tied unto the thin trunk of a dying tree. Truthfully, anything around the Oblivion gate looked dying, or dead. The grass she paced on felt dry and sharp on the soles of her feet. She took off her boots ages ago; the heat of just being yards away from the gate was getting to the point where shoes would burn your feet.
Linne sighed and plopped herself down on the small patch of grass that seemed healthy enough. It had been nearly three hours, perhaps more, since Niera had been inside that bloody gate, and there was no sign she was getting outside quicker than what was expected by Linne.
"Where is Niera?" she asked herself, looking at the direction of the ominous gate of Oblivion. Surely she couldn't have…
No. Niera faced much worse things than these and she will in the future… well, that's very comforting. Linne knew the merits of being an assassin, and the downside of it. At least, observing Niera's weekly rant about how guilty she felt at killing the designated target, explaining the nook and crannies of how the contract was fulfilled, there was a one out of three chance you could get caught. If you're not skilled enough.
Seeing that somehow after all these years Niera survived, Linne held on to the hope that the Oblivion gate was nothing different. Yet her mind reminded her that it, in fact, was very different than any ordinary contract. She shook her head in denial of the thought that Niera would not come out of the gate. Think... happy thoughts.
Linne pulled her knees to her chest as she neared a tree, resting her back on the base. She realised that the dirt would do little against her clothes, and seeing that her trousers were a dark shade of brown, anyway, she found no problem in the though of sleeping on the dirty ground. She closed her eyes and a memory, almost out of nowhere, played in her mind.
There was a boy, a few years older than her, with the messiest crop of brown hair that Linne had even seen in her entire life, staring at her in disbelief after a day spent with her father learning a few names of plants that grew outside of the city of Chorrol. The reason he was displaying that look was because Linne's clothing was looking worse for wear because of how dirty it was, with a few torn parts that her mother did not manage to patch up.
When he did not stop staring at her as if Linne had grown two heads, she walked up to him and pushed him to the ground. The boy looked more than just surprised—he was frightened even. Thinking of that only made her laugh and then smile when she imagined that boy's face smile, too. The words that stuck out, the ones father used to say, was that in the instant that Linne offered the boy her hand to help him up, they became inseparable friends.
Niera was almost forgotten as she continued to think about the many mischief she had caused with that boy; chasing chickens, taking a chunk out of some neighbour's pie, but there was more that Linne could only get the feel of, yet never remembered.
Disappearing like a fog on a clear day, the memories vanished as the heavy feeling of never being completely at home again, with her mother and father, and that boy that she forgot the name of. There was only Niera, Cheydinhal, and what was happening now. Chances are, you'll be completely alone if Niera never comes out of that gate. Her eyes opened, and she did not realise the tears streaking down her face before it noiselessly landed on the base of her neck.
The Might Linne does not cry, she thought to herself as she furiously wiped her face, embarrassed that a girl grown like her would cry. "Niera would be out in no time. And everything will be back to the way it was."
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Well, I clearly didn't expect the chapter to be this long. How miraculous.
Boys Do Like Girls: Thanks! Being told that I fleshed out characters so well was something I didn't get much, usually. I honestly do feel satisfied with the outcome of the last chapter (cue prideful, arrogant Florence).
UlfricLovesU: Thank you. Jessica, my sister, was Literally FRIST, while I borrowed her account to post a rough version of Blood of the Septim and another fanfiction I forgot the title of. Anywho, your review is much appreciated!