A/N: Thanks again for the reviews and alerts everyone. There's nothing nicer than opening your inbox to find them waiting. ^_^

Disclaimer: Oblivion still isn't mine. Isn't likely to become mine anytime soon either. *sigh*

Steel Over Shadow

Chapter Three: Unwelcome Visitor

It was shortly before dawn when the quiet was disturbed. In the dark, silent hallway, there was a tiny click!

The front door swung open a little and then closed again silently. There was a faint ripple in the air, barely perceptible. It moved along the hallway, making no noise whatsoever, and passed through the sitting room. The strange wavering patch of air climbed the stairs to the second floor and halted, instantly becoming indistinguishable from the background.

Then suddenly, silently, a black-robed figure appeared from thin air. A slight smile curled Lucien Lachance's lips as he let the chameleon enchantment drop.

It really is no challenge at all to break into a house these days.

He cast a detect life spell and three purple shapes shimmered into view; all three horizontal, asleep, but one was in a separate room. Footsteps muffled by a Silence spell, he crossed the landing and opened the first bedroom door a crack.

There was an elf girl sleeping in the bed but Lucien could see instantly that she was too young to be the one he was looking for. She was sleeping sprawled out, the covers tangled around her legs and dark, coppery red hair fanned out across the sheets.

The assassin's gloved hand caressed his dagger out of habit, as he assessed the scene with a professional eye. So utterly vulnerable. What an easy kill she would make.

Not what I'm here for, he reminded himself. With an inaudible sigh of regret, Lucien dropped his hand.

As he made to close the door, there was a quiet growl. Looking down, the assassin saw a dog stretched out on the rug beside the bed, black and tan fur changed to silver in the moonlight. It growled again softly; a low rumble in its throat that threatened to become a loud bark.

The Imperial sent a pulse of green magicka towards it. As the Calm spell washed over it, the dog's head dropped back on the rug and it sighed heavily, eyes closing.

Lucien closed the door and moved down the corridor. The last life signature shimmered behind another door. He halted at it and carefully opened it a little.

The room was dim and shadowy, cluttered with all manner of fighting paraphernalia; different weapons and armour, some mismatched and some in need of repair; all spilling out of chests or strewn across the floor. A solitary ray of moonlight streamed through a chink in the heavy curtains and lit upon a cluster of Welkynd Stones, glowing with an eerie green light on the wooden floorboards.

Piled on the chair beside the bed was a full set of Dwarven armour, the gold metal gleaming in the dim light. An Elven longsword in its scabbard was propped against the wall. The bed itself was on the far side of the room and there was a lump under the dark blue covers that rose and fell as the occupant breathed.

Lucien carefully picked his way across the bedroom, through the pile of objects and trip hazards, to stand at the foot of the double bed. There was no else in the house, so it was definitely her. She was almost completely hidden from view; only a mass of bright red hair was visible, glinting in the moonlight, and the pointed tips of very pale golden ears poked out. She barely moved, apart from the gentle rise and fall of her breath. It was the deep sleep of the truly exhausted.

The assassin leant gingerly against the wall, trying to avoid touching anything that might unexpectedly clatter to the floor. He studied the shape under the blankets intently. This young elf woman was the one who had killed Blanchard. That unaccustomed anger rose in his throat again, cold and murderous. Lucien forced it back down, with effort.

It did not matter that he personally wished to kill this half-breed in the most painful way that his considerably creative imagination could dream up; the Night Mother had spoken and she was not to be denied.

Still. His hand brushed his dagger again, so sharp he could feel the keenness even through his glove. Perhaps, after she has accomplished whatever destiny the Night Mother has foreseen for her, I will be allowed to kill her then.

The thought appeased his anger slightly and Lucien spent the next few minutes or so thinking over how best to torture her, when he finally received permission.

Perhaps the elf sensed his murderous thoughts, sensed the danger near her; she began to stir, restlessly rolling over underneath the blankets.

Lucien straightened up in preparation, in case she woke, and as he did, the very hem of his robe brushed a pair of Mithril boots. A silver shortsword, which had been propped against them, was knocked ever-so-slightly by the tremor and slid to the floor with a loud clatter.

The covers on the bed were instantly thrown back and there was a blur of movement as the mer leapt out of bed. There was a pair of steely rasps and suddenly the half-breed elf was crouching in a defensive stance beside the bed, a sword in each hand.

Only his meticulous self-control prevented Lucien from gaping. Evidently without her armour she could produce quite a turn of speed.

The elf was still blinking sleep from her eyes but the hands that held her swords were completely steady, combat-ready. Her right hand held the longsword that had been propped beside her bed, Elven-made, a shining swathe of white steel that fit the curve of her arm perfectly. In her left hand was a shortsword with a silver hilt and a blue, glass-like blade that shimmered palely with frost magicka.

Lucien sighed internally and stepped forward, drawing the mer's attention instantly. She stared at him in shock for second, taking in his appearance and then spat, "One of you fetchers again! Why can't you lot just piss off and leave me be? Surely another member of the Mythic Dawn can't have hired you!"

The assassin stared at her for a second before he realised what she was referring to. "Ah, yes," Lucien said smoothly, used to this sort of behaviour. Anger was one of the most frequent reactions he was confronted with when someone woke to find him standing over them. "The Hero of Kvatch, isn't it? Or Elsynia, to a select few?"

He had been quite surprised by what the contents of Ungolim's envelope had revealed; though he supposed it was rather a good motivation for murder. The half-breed was lucky that only one member of the Mythic Dawn knew her as someone other than the Hero of Kvatch, knew her actual identity; either that or simply had the brains to hire the Dark Brotherhood to eliminate the problem for them.

Lucien was privately rather disgusted by the way the Emperor had been murdered. The Mythic Dawn's 'assassins' were completely unprofessional in the eyes of the Brotherhood; there had been no finesse, no skill to their kill at all. It was a disgrace that the Emperor of all people had been murdered by such rank amateurs.

Elsynia bristled and her green eyes flashed angrily, as though his words had been an insult.

A smirk tugged at Lucien's mouth, hidden in the shadows of his hood. "You needn't worry. I am not here to kill you."

Her eyebrows rose and she gave him a look of complete disbelief. Behind it, he thought he could detect mingled anger and fear.

"I speak the truth. The contract that Else God-Hater had with us for your murder was annulled upon her own death. No client, no contract, you see."

Though, if you hadn't killed her, I would be here to carry out the contract in Blanchard's stead. The thought sent a shiver of pleasure, of longing, through him.

The look that the mer gave him now was wary. "Then why are you here – and who are you?"

The assassin smirked. "I am Lucien Lachance and I am a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood. Your deathcraft has pleased the Night Mother and as a result, she has sent me to extend an invitation to you; an offer to join us."

The elf's mouth fell open in shock. "What? Why?"

Lucien raised an eyebrow in question – not that she could see it under his hood. "I was under the impression that you were reasonably intelligent; though perhaps I was mistaken? I am here, offering you a place in the Brotherhood, because you have committed a murder. That is how we recruit new members."

Elsynia growled angrily at the insult, gripping her swords more tightly. "That wasn't what I meant. I meant, why on Nirn would you invite me? I haven't murdered anyone and don't intend to do so in the near future."

Lucien stared at her. Perhaps the trips to Oblivion had given her brain trauma. Affected her memory in some way. "You murdered Else God-Hater," the assassin said slowly. "That is why you are being invited."

An incredulous laugh left the elf. "No, I didn't. Else attacked me. She sent an assassin after me and then, when I survived and confronted her about it, she drew her sword to finish the job herself. That's self-defence, not murder."

Thoughts churned in Lucien's mind. Had the Night Mother been possibly been mistaken? Or was this mer just in denial? Either way, the Mother had sent him and she demanded an answer.

"Be that as it may, the offer is open. Do you accept?"

"No." The elf's tone was cold. "Now, if that's all, get out of my house."

Lucien remained unmoving, disbelief swirling through him. Ungolim had been so certain… confident in the Night Mother's confidence that her destiny involved the Brotherhood. And she had just turned the offer of membership down.

Elsynia glared at him, shifting her body into a combat stance, clearly taking his failure to obey her command as a threatening gesture. Lucien noted absently her grip on the longsword and the way she shifted her left arm down slightly in preparation to slice with the enchanted shortsword. An experienced swordswoman. But he'd already known that.

"Was there something else?" she enquired, frost in her voice, as he had not made any move, either to attack or leave. The elf's green eyes were angry but he could see the fear behind it, the innate fear that the Brotherhood inspired. He could almost reluctantly admire her courage.

Lucien's mind shifted abruptly to thoughtful calculation, wondering if he'd get away with killing her now; now that she had declined the invitation. But, no. He would have to report back. Maybe then, if the Night Mother gave up on the swordswoman and her supposed destiny; but somehow, the assassin sensed that that would not easily happen. Especially if she would somehow be vital to the survival of the Brotherhood.

With an inaudible sigh of annoyance, Lucien turned, walked out of the room and vanished.

xxx

Elsynia watched the assassin disappear, enveloped by the corridor's shadows. She remained with her swords poised, alert and wary of some trickery until, straining her sensitive ears to the utmost, she heard the distant sound of a door or window closing.

Her shoulders slumped and Elsynia blew out a sigh of relief, the tension draining out of her. Adrenaline still thrummed through her blood, making her hyper-aware of everything. She had been certain for a minute that he was about to attack her.

The mer sheathed her swords, reaching under her pillow for Chillrend's scabbard. This is the last time, she vowed to herself. The last time that someone sneaks up on me while I'm asleep.

She resolved to visit Tirion at the Arcane University at the nearest opportunity. Her friend specialised in experimental magic; perhaps he had something that could help her.

The swordswoman sat down heavily on the bed. She was no stranger to combat but there was something indefinably horrible about the threat of attack in her own home.

Out in the wilderness, it was easy to handle. She was prepared and ready. She was used to dealing with it there, and more recently, had come to expect it even inside the cities. But inside her house? Her safe haven, where she was supposed to be able to relax and let down her guard? Elsynia had an awful sinking feeling that it wasn't going to get better any time soon.

The elf shuddered as the cool air sent shivers creeping over her skin. The assassin had seemed to be surrounded by a cold aura that chilled the very air. He had been even more frightening than the last one. Maybe it was because he had invaded the sanctity of her home. Or maybe it was because she hadn't seen his face – the instinctive fear of the unknown. He had remained hidden by the room's shadows; just a black-garbed figure, the hood and robe rendering him anonymous. His voice, the one thing she'd really been able to determine about him, had been deep and coldly threatening.

And even more disturbing, was the fact the Dark Brotherhood had tried to recruit her in the first place. How they possibly think that she'd want to join them? Elsynia shook her head in disgust. Especially since they had very recently attempted to murder her themselves.

The swordswoman's eyes flew wide open as a sudden thought struck her and she leapt to her feet, grabbing Chillrend. She tore across her room – expertly leaping the piles of weaponry and armour that had been accumulating in her room for years – and out into the corridor.

Elsynia skidded to a halt outside Nerissa's bedroom door and fumbled for the handle, panic making her fingers clumsy.

Fear – the bone-deep sort of fear that had long ago stopped affecting her in regards to her own life, dulled by constant exposure to danger – leapt anew in her chest, cold and sharp-edged, but for Nerissa's safety, rather than her own.

Grabbing the handle, Elsynia threw open the door –

To see her sister, curled on her side in her bed and sleeping peacefully.

The elf nearly sank to the floor, legs weak with sheer relief. Tawny lifted his head from the rug, eyes sleepy, and thumped his tail gently against the carpet in welcome. Elsynia let out a quiet, breathless laugh. "Some guard dog you are," she whispered to him. Tawny merely yawned and dropped his head back to the floor.

Rising, the swordswoman shut Nerissa's door behind her. She wasn't leaving her sister to sleep unguarded when assassins were just wandering in and out of the house.

Mysticism magicka swirled around her right hand and a heavy dresser in the corner of the bedroom glowed purple briefly and lifted off the floor. She maintained the telekinesis spell, directing the dresser to float silently across the room and then lower carefully back to the ground. Elsynia released the magicka and the dresser settled on the floor with a quiet thump.

It was now blocking the door, preventing from it from being opened.

The elf looked at her hand, at the eddies of purple magicka dying away. Normally, she hoarded her magicka jealously, reluctant to use it in anything but the greatest need. This was different, however; her sister's safety was at stake.

A quirk of birth had left her with stunted magicka; her body completely unable to regenerate its reserves of magic by itself. This limitation was what had made Elsynia wary from a young age of relying on just magicka for protection. She had seen the fatal effect on mages unable to defend themselves when their magic reserves ran out – not to mention how easily they could be crippled by Silence spells.

As such, Elsynia had trained instead to handle blades and honed her body into a weapon. But, though unwilling to rely upon magicka, she had been instructed in its use. Mostly, her magical education had been in the school of Restoration, with a scattering of useful spells from the other disciplines; carefully balanced for effectiveness and strength against the drain on her reserves.

It was also the reason that the swordswoman so often went out of her way to visit Ayleid ruins, to collect the Welkynd Stones found within them. She regarded them as incredibly valuable. A single Stone would completely replenish her magicka stores.

Elsynia stepped back. Just in case someone else thought of a telekinesis spell, she hung one of Nerissa's delicate glass ornaments off the handle of one of the dresser's drawers. Now the slightest movement would cause the ornament to fall and smash.

The mer sighed with both relief and annoyance. It was galling beyond measure that she felt compelled to behave like this in her own house. Satisfied that they were as safe as they could be, Elsynia curled up in the armchair beside her sister's bed, prepared to watch over and protect her for the rest of the night.

Sleep was a long time coming.

xxx

"She said what?"

"No," Lucien said shortly. He had ridden hard cross-country to make it to Bravil just before midday and subsequently was not in the best of moods. "She said no."

Ungolim sank back into his chair, disbelief etched on his face. "Impossible," he breathed. "Utterly impossible…the Mother was so sure…"

Lucien remained silent and expressionless, despite the urge to respond with biting sarcasm.

Ungolim stared off into the middle distance. The Imperial could almost see the gears in his brain whirring furiously.

Eventually, he sighed, in what appeared to be defeat. "I will have to consult the Mother again." The Bosmer looked distinctly unhappy at the prospect.

"Do you wish me remain here?" Lucien was almost certain that this matter was not going to be resolved quickly, no matter the outcome.

"Yes." The Listener rose to his feet and crossed the room. The front door slammed shut behind him.

Lucien settled more comfortably into his seat and reached into his robes for a small bottle of Tamika Vintage 399 that he kept for emergencies. In the long run, the assassin was almost sure that this situation would warrant it.

xxx

Parwen stepped out of the Skingrad Fighters Guild Hall. She blinked blearily in the dazzling midday sunshine, trying to ignore the way the strong light was aggravating her hangover. A light breeze chased a few scraps of white cloud across the vast expanse of beautiful blue sky overhead. The streets gleamed silver with rainwater that had not yet evaporated but it appeared that the bad weather had cleared off for a while.

The door slammed behind her, and Ah-Malz moved forward to stand beside her. The Argonian was clad in his usual suit of steel armour, an enormous silver claymore strapped across his back.

Parwen grinned up at him. Ah-Malz was a whole head taller than her. "Ready to go?"

He just nodded.

Parwen generally found it difficult to judge Argonian and Khajiit facial expressions but she knew Ah-Malz well enough to detect the worry playing over his dark-red scaled face.

The Bosmer and the Argonian set off together, weaving through Skingrad's familiar network of streets, Parwen continuously glancing up at her taller companion. She could read the lines of tension in his muscular, scaled body and hoped for his sake that it turned out that Dar-Ma was safe.

They arrived at Elsynia's house. Parwen rapped on the front door, then opened it and hollered down the hallway. "Elsynia, Nerissa! We're here!"

An indistinct shout answered her.

Taking this as an invitation, Parwen sashayed into the hallway; followed by a silent Ah-Malz. She poked her head around the kitchen door. Nerissa was sitting at the big table, sleepy-eyed and dressed in a set of light blue linens. Her bare feet swung back and forward under the table and she was ploughing her way through a heaped plate of ham, cheese and bread.

"Ood orning!" she greeted enthusiastically through a full mouth.

"Good morning," returned Parwen cheerfully, flopping down in a chair opposite the girl, her chainmail rattling against the wood. Ah-Malz leaned against the wall. "I don't suppose you know where Elsynia is?"

Nerissa grinned. "Owt ack, actising wif er ords," she said helpfully.

Parwen cocked her head to one side. Her sharp ears caught the distant sound of steel striking wood. "She's outside? Practising with her swords?" guessed the Bosmer.

Nerissa nodded vigorously and finally managed to swallow her enormous mouthful of cheese. "Yes," she said. "She's been out there for about an hour. I think she's taking out her stress. She seems very tense." Her tone had lowered conspiratorially.

"Oh?" asked Parwen. "You even mean more than yesterday?" It hadn't escaped her notice that Elsynia had been very on edge last night. Some of the playfulness had faded from her demeanour and there was a new grimness in the elf's bearing, and in her eyes. Though after hearing what the swordswoman had endured in the past few weeks, hearing the descriptions of Oblivion, Parwen would have been amazed if her friend had survived those experiences completely unchanged.

The Bosmer had tried her best yesterday to lighten Elsynia's mood with their usual teasing and banter; it had worked, to a certain extent. Humour had brightened her face momentarily and when she had laughed, it erased the worry from her expression. But whenever they had fallen silent, that grim new tension had crept back into her again.

"Yeah." Nerissa toyed with another chunk of ham. "I think that assassination attempt has made her paranoid too. I woke up this morning to find that she had barricaded my bedroom door shut and was sleeping in the chair next to my bed."

Parwen snorted, helping herself to a wedge of cheese that had escaped from Nerissa's plate. "I'm not surprised. Not many people meet a Dark Brotherhood assassin and live to tell the tale."

"I am still astonished that so much has happened to our friend in the space of a few weeks." Ah-Malz's rasping voice broke into the conversation for the first time. Parwen had brought him up to date on the recent events the previous night, during their marathon drinking session.

"I know; I almost feel behind the times," the archer responded, eyeing him cautiously. She could hear the underlying strain in his voice and suddenly remembered that this visit was supposed to be brief.

Parwen stuffed the cheese into her mouth and then jumped lightly to her feet again. She waltzed over to the back door of the kitchen and, opening it, she peeked outside.

Elsynia was in the small grassy space behind the house. She was pounding away at a wooden practise dummy as though it had done her a personal wrong. Chips of wood flew in all directions and sweat ran in streams off the swordswoman, soaking her shirt and gleaming on her bare, muscular arms. She wasn't wearing her armour and Parwen got the distinct feeling that this was more about stress relief than actual practise.

"Good morning!" the archer called out cheerfully, bouncing over but stopping abruptly at a safe distance.

Elsynia halted and turned around, then planted her longsword firmly on the ground and leaned on it. "Good morning," she responded, wiping the perspiration from her brow with back of her hand. "Did you have fun last night?"

Parwen's eyes widened and she affected a look of innocent outrage. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I most definitely did not flirt drunkenly with every attractive male in the Two Sisters Lodge and I mostly definitely did not inadvertently start a bar fight. Nope. Not at all. Anyone that says otherwise is lying."

A smile tugged up a corner of the swordswoman's mouth. "That's funny. I haven't actually talked to anyone else this morning. I was merely referring to the fact that you said were going out drinking with couple of members of the Chorrol branch of the Guild."

"Oh." The Bosmer blinked, and then rapidly shifted gear. "Okay, then. Good. And I'm still a little hungover actually." She heard Ah-Malz cough pointedly from the doorway behind her and realised she was getting off track again.

"On that subject… turns out that the Chorrol bunch stopped at Skingrad en-route to Anvil deliberately, just to talk to Ah-Malz."

"Oh?" said Elsynia, straightening up. "About what?"

Parwen sighed and shifted from one foot to the other. "You remember Dar-Ma?"

The other elf chuckled. "How could I forget?"

Ah-Malz had introduced both mer to the young Argonian woman not too long ago and it had been a thoroughly memorable occasion. Ah-Malz and Elsynia had briefly left the other two to call in at Fire and Steel; Parwen and Dar-Ma had stayed behind at the Grey Mare Inn, deep in conversation. They had returned to find that the Bosmer woman had been a thoroughly bad influence on the younger Argonian. In the space of an hour, the two had bypassed the point of being merely drunk and were rapidly heading to the stage where singing and dancing on the table-tops seemed like a fantastic idea. There had been much sobering up to be done before Dar-Ma could be returned home to her mother, Seed-Neeus. Parwen had complained volubly about the copious amounts of ice involved.

The archer grinned, clearly remembering too. "It was fun, wasn't it?" She sighed, the smile dropping from her face. "Anyway, the Chorrol fighters passed on a message from Seed-Neeus. Apparently, Dar-Ma has gone missing. Went to make a delivery to some little village way out in the forest and hasn't come back. Seed-Neeus is worried sick, of course. She knows Ah-Malz is Dar-Ma's friend, and decent with a blade if there happens to be trouble, so she contacted him in the hope that he would be able to find her daughter and bring her home safely."

Normally, Parwen would have included a lot of ribbing about the soft spot the Warder had for the younger Argonian, but prudently decided that this was perhaps not the time for teasing.

Elsynia frowned in concern. "I hope nothing's happened to her." She genuinely liked Dar-Ma; indeed it was very hard to dislike the friendly young woman.

"I know. But I can't help but feel she's run into trouble." The archer hefted her bow meaningfully. "The sooner Al-Malz and I get going, the better. So, if all goes well, we'll meet you in Chorrol in about a week's time, yes?"

Elsynia looked at her questioningly. "I am missing something? I don't remember making that arrangement."

Parwen grinned, the mischievous look coming back into her brown eyes. "You didn't. I worked it out just now. I'm guessing it should take you about a week to find this Daedric artifact and take it to Cloud Ruler Temple. It should take us less than a week – hopefully – to find Dar-Ma. Chorrol is a convenient meeting place because we need to take Dar-Ma back there and there's a road almost directly from the Temple to Chorrol. See?"

"Yes, I do. It's even more convenient when you include the fact I need to pick up my shield; Rasheda ought to have finished mending it by now. It was damaged almost beyond repair when I went through that Oblivion gate. I handed it in when Jauffre, Martin and I were travelling to Cloud Ruler Temple from Weynon Priory."

The Bosmer frowned. "You mean you haven't had a functional shield since the Battle of Kvatch?"

Elsynia shook her head. "No. Jauffre named me a sort of honorary Blade and gave me free run of their armoury, so I took a shield from there. It was a good one but I lost it in the fighting under the Lake Arrius Caverns. But –" The mer leant on the hilt of her Elven longsword again. The blade sank several inches into the grass. "What I don't see is why we're meeting in Chorrol."

Parwen blinked in what appeared to genuine astonishment. "Well, we're coming with you, of course." At Elsynia's blank look, she elaborated. "To help Martin find the rest of those items for that ritual thing? You didn't think we'd let you go alone, did you? We'd be coming with you right now, if it wasn't for this situation with Dar-Ma. Once that's cleared up, we're joining you."

The swordswoman felt an unexpected lump of emotion in her throat and forced it back down. "Thanks," she managed. "I appreciate it."

"Hey, what are friends for?" The Bosmer punched her lightly on the shoulder. "Besides, someone has to save your ass. On multiple occasions."

Elsynia looked at her in mock offense. "I think you'll find that I'm ahead in rescuing stakes, thank you very much."

Parwen waved a dismissive hand, face alight with mirth. "We'll see. Bye, Elsynia."

"Goodbye. And good luck, both of you." The swordswoman nodded to Al-Malz, still hovering impatiently in the doorway. He nodded back, with what looked like a pained smile.

The Bosmer and the Argonian vanished back into the kitchen and Elsynia heard Nerissa calling out her farewells. The echoing bang of the front door reached her and only then did the elf realise that she had completely forgotten to tell them of the second Dark Brotherhood assassin who had paid her a visit.

A/N: Review please. Even if you haven't done so before, feel free to drop a comment. ;)