Author's Note: *insert disclaimer about me not being Bethesda Softworks here* Gleeing over the amount of reviews here. Hmm, lot of reviews means a long note, so I'll try to keep it short. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to review. :)

Lady Reva – If you have the pc version, do ' a0dd'. Their pants don't actually catch fire, but it is funny. As for the next meeting, I look forward to it as well :D

Arty – I am honored. :O I hope I live up to that. And Ray's appearance was loosely based on Jace Wayland, from the Mortal Instruments series, although Jace is much wittier and far more intelligent than Ray. :D Very good books, those.

NoSoundComes – Ah, I see. Well, that's sort of how I talk. I tend to let thoughts and sentences trail off – the people who know me eventually get really well at guessing what I would have finished with, because I guess I process things so quickly that I don't have the... patience? to stick on one train of thought for long. I'll try to be more mindful of it, but it's a hard habit to break. As for Avielle's backstory, I'm glad you liked it! I had a lot of fun planning that one out, which actually came after I started this story. (I began not knowing where the heck I'd go from the first chapter – it's sort of a fun challenge, really, to write something reasonably random, and then pick up on details and possibilities from the writing to draw backstories and plot twists from.)

DualKatanas – I see what you mean about the improbability of it all – I wondered how to do that as well, but I needed that to happen to progress the story the way I wanted it to, so sometimes you need to stretch logic a little. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that between suppressed hunger and frustration at his idiot protegee, Vicente was too stressed to have the usual range of perception or attention that he usually does. I hope I can keep writing long(ish) chapters like that one, because while it's not my style, it seems my standards have been a tad below par. As for his looks; it's a little bit of Avielle's embellishment, but yes, I am sticking to my non-canonic ancient vampire thing.

Carlotta – Yep, he is :D And I'm glad that you think I've managed to keep from Sueing so far – that tends to be a weakness of mine, and I really am trying to work on it.

Spyrogirl – Yay, another new reviewer! I'm glad you like it! And I had quite a bit of fun writing that block of dialogue. I almost started giggling in the middle of Precalc. Thankfully, though, I didn't :B

Dreamer – Even more reviewers, glee :D I tend to pick up Oblivion, beat the mage and main questlines with a few different characters, mess around with the console, and then set it back down for another year or so too. It's one of those games that's just great to keep playing over and over again. As for Avielle... if there's one thing I hate in a story, it's an OC Mary-Sue. Sues from characters already established are semitolerable, imo, depending on their level of Sueness, but when somebody takes a story and plonks in a perfect sparkly sexy character that everyone immediately loves, I get very annoyed. I'm glad you like what I have so far, and I hope you enjoy what's to come!

...yeah, so much for short. So I guess I'll just write a lot to make this seem relatively short. Here goes.

It was at perhaps four in the morning when Avielle pushed her way through the Arcane University's gates.

The murder had not gone unnoticed, and the staffing at the entryway was much higher than usual, let alone the guild's interior; one of the Imperial Battlemages had almost pulled Avielle aside for questioning, but stopped when she turned to look at him, and wordlessly let her go through.

"It was sort of scary," he later remarked. "That girl – Franaud, I think? Dufraun? Doesn't matter. She usually comes back here looking majorly ticked off. Real firebrand, that one. Sometimes you can hear her yelling at Polus from all the way out here. Got a set of lungs on her, that's for sure. But this time... I dunno, she just seemed empty. Harsh and empty. Like a burned-out torch. Really, she looked like somebody had just died, so I thought maybe she knew something about the murder... but with her looking that beaten, I just let her go. It would have been wrong."

But Avielle's ashes had a tendency to flare up again; many embers were scattered in her mind, ready to ignite no matter how little energy she had left.

She cast a glance at the Mage Quarters; she knew there was no point in trying to get a moment's sleep now, not with the guards swarming the building, not with the memories of the girl's blood painting the walls... not with the confused and furious knowledge that buzzed in her mind like a hive of angry hornets.

He was Brotherhood. He'd saved her, twice, and he was Brotherhood. He was a vampire, too, much more so one than Hassildor. But his nature, attack included, paled in comparison to his alignment.

Brotherhood.

Thanks to that word, she'd never known a father.

Thanks to that word, she'd watched her mother's burned body pass away in her own arms.

Thanks to that word, she was alive.

But why? Why? She didn't want to be grateful to him! How was she supposed to claim revenge on something she owed her life to? It was incongruous – the whole notion of having been saved by the vilest of assassins made her feel almost nautious. The fact that she'd halted her attack just when he'd asked her to, looking so damnedly calm as she brought out her mother's only legacy to raze him with – why had she listened, why had she stopped? Why had he had to save her in the first place? Why couldn't this Vicente have let her die, just so things would have still made sense at the end?

There were too many whys, especially in a situation that had been clear to her ever since she'd delved into the comments she'd heard at her mother's funeral. "It's such a shame," they'd said. "So young... the poor girl only wanted to set things straight. She loved him that much." The Dark Brotherhood were evil, and she shouldn't have to rationalize it past it for it to make sense. Damn Vicente. Damn him!

She hadn't been strong enough to save herself, and if she had been, she wouldn't be in the paradox she faced now.

Avielle realized something then, a crystal-clear note ringing out from the cacophony of thoughts clashing in her mind.

Revenge was not something you sat down at a table and waited patiently for.

Revenge was something you struggled for, risked for, died for... a path you walked alone.

And so Avielle Fradaun turned to the Arch-Mage's lobby.

Raminus Polus was by the table, looking somewhat more fatigued than his usual cocky self; his glossy black hair was mussed up, his brows were pulled down, and a shiny streak of sweat gleamed at one temple. Upon hearing her approach, he looked up from the report he was poring over. "Oh... it's you. Good. I have another task for you."

The girl shot him a dull glance. "Not interested."

"You must see Irlav Jarrol about his latest... what?" Raminus had been Traven's secretary for over ten years, and never once had anyone refused an order. Avielle Fradaun was a real piece of work. "What did you say?"

"I said, I'm not interested. Maybe you should get your ears cleaned. Irlav can handle his latest what by himself."

"I have a task for you," the Master-Wizard repeated, his face beginning to redden with anger. "This is insubordination, Fradaun."

Avielle threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "This had better not be about the necrophiliacs again!"

"Necromancers, Avielle. Necromancers. There's a difference."

The Breton treated him to one of her most pathetic stares. "Raising corpses, screwing corpses, it doesn't change the fact that I don't give a damn."

"You should!" the Imperial exploded, finally giving in to the overpowering urge to scream at the thick-headed Journeyman. "This is your Guild we're talking about, on the verge of destruction! If we sit around and do nothing, Tamriel's network of mages could be toppled from the center out! It's a collective effort, and I'm pulling teeth just to get you to contribute a modicum!"

Avielle met this with equal fury. "I don't see you contributing worth a damn, unless strutting around the lobby all day is part of some complex incantation to fix everything."

"Help your Guild and your Guild will help you!" By now, a pair of Scholars up late had gathered nervously at the doors to see what the commotion was, but both combatants were immune to this.

"Yeah, fat load of help you are," the Breton seethed. "I have yet to see any kind of reward from you, besides a mandatory stick, a free trip to spy on a vampire and his necromancer steward, and a guarantee that assassins can come in here and pick us all off like sheep!"

Raminus froze.

"You heard about that?"

"Sort of hard not to, with all the guards walking around. They're a dead giveaway, if nobody ever mentioned it to you. Withholding information does not work that way. But it gets better. I saw it," she snarled. "The Dark Brotherhood bastard killed that girl in front of my own eyes, but you wouldn't care about that, would you, what with your damned necro-problem taking up all of your precious time?"

She leaned in closer, eyes smoldering. "I've got news for you, Polus. I didn't fight my way up to the Arcane University to help. I couldn't give less of a damn about your infighting. Does the name Casselia Fradaun sound familiar to you? I came to learn, so I could finish my mother's experiments. Finish her revenge. I am going to create magic hitherto unseen, hone it, and use it to wipe the Dark Brotherhood off the face of Tamriel. And if those fetchers can get in here without a key, I'm sure I can too, if I ever need to come back to this damn place."

With that, Avielle took the silver key to the University's gates – the symbol of mastery and entitlement she'd worked so hard and long to attain – and tossed it carelessly at the Master-Wizard's feet. She spun around, ungraciously shoving a gawking Altmer scholar out of her way as she crossed the wooden floor.

The door slammed behind her, and she was gone.

0o0o0

Time carries us forth like a symphony; the pressing forward of a multitude of different instruments. Some are independent and some are intertwined, some fade away while others spring anew. Two strains of music can begin as one and split apart into their own solo roles – some remain that way, and some are fated to coalesce back into a splendid crescendo.

Two instruments can relax into a steady, subdued rhythm, no less beautiful than when they held the spotlight. They fall back into their typical, predictable routines, serving as the backdrop for the other chords that take point and carry forth the piece.

Sometimes, the entire symphony returns to that background state. The music's power is latent; one can close their eyes and passively enjoy the nonconfrontational repetition, but there is an omnipresent tension that gradually and surreptitiously reveals itself – a subconscious awareness that this quieter period carries an undercurrent that promises a flare back to grandeur that draws nearer with every note.

Two instruments can spring forth from their seperate, subdued paths like storm clouds breaking; they can join together in a blaze of sound that rocks the audience to its roots.

Picture, then, if you will, that time is a symphony. Months passed, summer gave way to snow and ice, and Vicente and Avielle's brief duette with fate faded back into two distinct lives – that of a conflicted, vengeful young girl, and a sophisticated vampire assassin. One wandered, and one stayed still; one seethed with rage, and one maintained an unshakable tranquility. But the melody only plays for so long, and the symphony is far from over.

The story is far from over.

0o0o0

Vicente had just about figured Ray out.

The kid was as strong as a bull troll, and almost as smart. He was the type of assassin you chose when you needed everyone in a certain area brutally mowed down. Not for anything else. This had been made painfully clear when he had given him the Motierre contract, simply because no one else had been available at the time, and it had been an unorthodox job with a very specific time limit.

"You know," he'd said, reaching for a glass of the vampire's finest vintage wines and downing it in one gulp, "you probably didn't need to send me over to Chorrol at all. There was this other guy trying to kill him, can you believe it?"

A sinking feeling manifested itself in Vicente's stomach. "That was the point of the contract, yes...?"

"Oh, don't worry, I killed him too. It was hilarious." He poured more wine, drinking the century-and-a-half-old vintage like one would down cheap beer. "Motierre was like, 'no, stop, you're supposed to be saving me', and I was like 'yeah, right', because isn't that ridiculous? I mean, like, seriously. He was screaming like my sister. But anyways, that knife you gave me was a little pathetic, so I used my sword – I hope you don't mind – and offed him, and then this Argonian shows up. He's all like, 'this one has stolen my prey' because lizards always talk in third person, and I'm like, 'well, okay, you can still eat him if you want', although seriously, I think that's, like, cannibalism or something. He was all like, 'Imperial fool, this one was sent to hunt him', and while I was thinking, like, who in Oblivion uses the word fool, I was still being nice, and I'm like, 'well then, dude, I just made your job way easier, so you can go take a swim now or whatever', but he has an anger issue and just keeps getting mad, so I ask him if he wants to go get a beer with me at the Oak and Crosier, and he freaking pulls an axe on me. Seriously, who doesn't want a free beer? I'm like, 'woah, chill, dude', but he starts trying to cleave me, so I offed him too. Man, I love my job. Can I have my money now?"

Yes... to say Ravolian was an Orc in an Imperial's body would have been an insult to dear Gogron. At least he actually listened to a contract's instructions. Vicente had passed the newest member off to Ocheeva after that fiasco, for the sake of his nerves. How was he supposed to keep his work running smoothly if his newest lackey wasn't even listening to his instructions?

Still, it was hard to doubt that Ray was fiercely loyal to the Brotherhood, if for nothing other than the fact that he was getting paid to go out and have his idea of a good time. He liked everyone in the Sanctuary, no matter how little the sentiment was reciprocated. M'raaj-Dar unconditionally hated him, Vicente thought he had the intellectual capacity of a mudcrab, and the Shadowscale twins found him far too loud, but for the most part, the others were unable to resist his perpetual and dementedly happy demeanor. Gogron and him would often spend their free nights seeing who could drink more before passing out and laughing about their more gory contracts. Ray could definitely be a charmer, but his casual enjoyment of indiscriminating slaughter made him destined to be at home only among killers, no matter how much of an oaf he was.

Any attempts to teach him stealth or tactics had gotten nowhere. Whenever the Imperial did manage to creep up on a target unawares, he always gave himself away by caving in to the desire to pull off a self-gratifying one-liner before dealing his madly powerful blows.

"You risk your target managing to retaliate or alert the authorities if you pause to tell them you're the Angel of Death," Vicente had once tersely explained to a rather drunk Ravolian. "And Sithis is your god, not your 'bro'."

Completely oblivious to the insinuations that Vicente had been watching him on his contracts, Ray had held his thumb and index finger an inch apart. "Sithis and I are this close, man. This close."

Something Vicente found very difficult to believe.

His muscles were definitely not for show. Ray had split some of the dummies cleanly in half during practicing routines, and those wooden bodies had endured over a century of rigorous slashing from Brothers and Sisters honing their skills. He was very strong, enough so that Vicente was able spar with him without completely restraining himself, but he reminded the vampire of a hyperactive pet dog. Always wagging its tail no matter how much you scolded it, always following his master's commands without really understanding them, and of course, smitten with the uncontrollable desire to destroy things.

What had Lucien been thinking...?

Which brought the vampire's attention to the present; a letter lying atop his pile of paperwork, signed with the seal of the Black Hand. It was most likely from Lucien Lachance; Speakers tended to keep to their respective Sanctuaries, and contact from Ungolim was exceedingly rare. Even so, Lucien had been quiet for the last few months; they hadn't even seen him stop by the Sanctuary since before Ravolian had been recruited.

He read it, taking in Lucien's slanted script – yes, it was definitely the Speaker – and frowned.

It was unlike Lucien to specifically request that a contract go to a certain member, much less himself. No matter what authority he had, Vicente was still his senior, and his place in the Brotherhood was primarily to keep things running smoothly rather than to do the fieldwork. Poring over the contract, he noted that there was nothing about it that even designated it to his talents. Yes, it was not necessarily an easy contract, and he was a master of stealth, but Telaendril or Ocheeva would have been just as suitable for the matter at hand. There was a nobleman in Anvil who had to die in a particular fashion. Some heir to his wealth likely wanted the whole thing to look like an accident; he had to break into a manor and poison the man's dinner. He did have just the thing for the case, a specially brewed poison he'd made by mixing some ingredients native to Morrowind with nightshade and harrada. One of the main ingredients was Sweetpulp, the orange gel secreted from a decorative Mournhold cactus. Its addition to the mix activated paralyzing neurotoxins in the harrada, but more importantly gave it a pleasant and unassuming taste that was easy to hide in glazes and desserts. The resulting death was very hard to distinguish from a bad onset of Chanthrax Blight. But still, it didn't change the fact that this contract was, if anything, beneath him. It was neither particularly difficult nor required his unique skills as a vampire.

Either Lucien wanted him out of the Sanctuary for something, or it was a trap.

Suspiscions rose in the back of his mind like striking serpents. A less cautious man might have called him paranoid for it, but the whole command didn't make sense. It was redundant, abnormal, and Lucien had been silent for a great deal of time. Lucien only ceased dipping into the affairs of the Sanctuary when he had his own schemes to concoct.

But in the end, even he was not above the highest rule of the Brotherhood, something he knew far too well... something that even a hundred and twenty five years could not take away.

The silent scream of rage and self-hatred that had burned in his throat, the tears he couldn't shed... The knowledge that those who had come to trust him and see him as family were dead by his hand, their only crime having been to fall under a generalized suspiscion... The faces that would flare up in his recurring nightmares, their empty eyes somehow accusing, fixed in one last stare of incredulity and betrayal... Pleading before the Black Hand on his knees, begging them to never employ such means again... The futile nights he'd spent flexing his fingers, imagining the crimson blood that stained his slender hands, trying emptily to console himself that Sithis would welcome them with the highest honor... that he hadn't had a choice. He could have refused, and died, but for what? It wouldn't have saved them, and he was a fool to second-guess such an impossibility. And they would have died anyway, as time was not so kind to mortals as it was to himself. He could carry that confusion and misery with him for eternity, and it wouldn't change the facts. It was impossible to feel like he hadn't had a choice, but that was the truth. There never was a choice.

Yes, there was one thing that towered above all others in the Dark Brotherhood, one sacred command that was to be heeded above all else.

Always follow your orders.

0o0o0

Footnote;

Not as long as I hoped, because I was going to write an Avielle part, but I'm not exactly sure where I want her to be. Some stuff has to happen to her before the pair meet up again, as I don't want to write the next stretch from purely Vicente's viewpoint. I was thinking that I'd have her do a side quest or two, because while she's still affiliated with the mages guild, at this point, she wants nothing to do with the University. I was thinking of having her do Through a Nightmare, Darkly, but I can't imagine her putting up with Henantier, even if her reaction to the dreamworld would be cool and allow for some self-improvement. So I decided, why not leave it up to you? Should I go ahead with that idea, or do you have any other quests you think she should do? I'd like to steer clear of any official quest lines, and Avielle is not keen on killing sentient creatures, but other than that, it's pretty open-ended. If you have any ideas, mention them in your reviews!