Aw, c'mon. It wasn't that much of a cliffhanger.

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter four

Banus doesn't remember much from the last time he was conscious, but he's fairly certain he didn't fall asleep in someone else's bed.

Especially if that someone is the red-haired Dunmer he knows so well, scowling down at him even moreso than usual, though if he is not mistaken there is also a hint of worry in the narrowed crimson eyes. Uvani's frown tightens when he sees the other awake, and he says but one short, sharp word:

"Idiot."

Ah. He remembers now.

"You were there the whole time, Uvani?" he murmurs softly.

"You're damned lucky I was," he barks in reply, so stern and aggressive, so utterly the opposite of Banus, "If I hadn't stepped in, you would be dead by now. Why do you have to be so – so – stupid?"

He tilts his head, puzzled. He isn't sure what he's done wrong, precisely, because he was just following the same method he always uses; he didn't do anything in particular to attract the intervener's attention, it was just a case of poor luck. But Uvani apparently feels the need to explain:

"If you hadn't stuck around – if you had just left instead of dithering about – this could all have been avoided, you understand?" He's seen Uvani angry before, but this is different, born not of hatred but frustration and irritation and a concern he knows the older would never admit to. "Why can't you just kill them and go like a normal assassin?"

"There's no such thing as a normal assassin-"

"Shut up," Uvani snaps, evidently not at all happy that Banus is suppressing a grin instead of taking this seriously, "Why are you smiling? You could have been killed. You would have been killed if I hadn't intervened."

"But you did," Banus points out, "So...thank you. That's what you want to hear, isn't it?"

"I don't want a thank you!" the mer almost shouts, fuming, "I want you to be more careful in future! Why are you so casual? He was going to kill you for Oblivion's sake! One second later and you would have died-"

"So?"

Uvani pauses in his tirade, and just stares at him, as though he can't believe what he has just heard: "What did you just say?" he asks slowly.

"So what if I had died?" the other shrugs, though through the nonchalance he's watching Uvani's reaction very, very carefully, "Would it have mattered?"

Alval says nothing at first. Just looks at him with a tensed jaw and eyes dark with anger; his hands, Banus notices from the corner of his eye, have curled into fists.

"Do you," he says at last, in a low, gravelly voice that is somehow more frightening than his earlier yell, "Have a death wish, Alor?"

He's certain the words would have most people cowering. He can appreciate how intimidating the Executioner looks now, one step away from setting Banus on fire – but he's never really been scared of anything in his life, and he can't say he's scared of Uvani either. So he looks the other Dark Elf straight in the eye and says in an unwavering, unflinching tone: "Not particularly no."

"Then why would you say such a thing?" Alval demands, ferocity barely restrained, "Disregarding your own life...do you actually want to die? Are you suicidal, is that it?"

"Of course not," Banus says, pulling himself upright on the bed. And he speaks the truth, because he's never felt any burning desire to take his own life. Certainly, he's contemplated the thought, but not considered it – merely viewing it philosophically, as he is doing now. "I never said I wanted to die. I just asked if it would matter."

Uvani gives him a look that quite clearly says I don't understand, so he elaborates as best as he can: "Well, if I had died, what difference would it have made? The Brotherhood would barely notice my absence; and since I had already killed the target, they wouldn't have even needed to send out another assassin. It wouldn't have mattered," he twiddles his thumbs, tone so casual he could be discussing the weather, completely at odds with the grim subject matter, "Nor to the rest of the world. I have no family or other ties – I don't get close to people, so they don't get close to me. Even if someone I had known years back somehow heard of my death, they would barely blink, let alone mourn. They probably wouldn't even remember my name," he shrugs again, not steeped in self-pity but merely stating the facts: "No-one would miss me."

There's a glimmer of something in Uvani's eyes – there and gone like a passing shadow, just a spilt-second – but he sees it, and he knows what it means.

I'd miss you.

But Uvani doesn't say it. Oh, he wants to, that much is obvious. But pride and a reluctance to express any form of compassion hold him back. Banus watches neutrally; he wants to hear it, but doesn't expect anything, not this early into their friendship. Of course, most people wouldn't class three months in as 'early', but this is Alval Uvani. Going by what he has seen and heard from the other sanctuary members, he is exceptionally privileged to be as close to the Dark Elf as he already is.

"I-" Alval starts, then stops hesitantly, "I'd-"

"Yes?" he murmurs softly, coaxingly.

"I would-" stops again. Starts again. "I would..."

It looks almost painful for him to say, such an intense reaction for a few trivial words. It might even be funny if the sentiment wasn't so tender, and he eventually decides to make it easier on him: "Would you miss me, Uvani?"

The mer swallows, looks away, then gives a single stoic nod.

Banus smiles. That will do.

"Thank you," he says, adding almost shyly, "For saving me. For taking care of me too. I've never really had anyone to look out for me before."

Uvani mutters something in reply, so quiet that, had Alor been anything but an Elf, he would not have heard it: "I don't want a thank you. I want-"

"-Me to be careful?" Banus guesses with a smile; it sounds much sweeter when it isn't being shouted, "I'll try. But you know I can't just kill and leave. I'm not like the other assassins."

"No," Uvani agrees, and they both know he isn't just talking about his killing style, "You're not."

A silence falls between them, Alval still looking away while Alor tentatively examines his bandaged torso. It's not the tidiest patch-up, but at least very thorough, and he can smell the liberal application of healing potion beneath the dressing. It makes him happy, knowing the elder went to all that trouble for him; it almost makes the lingering pain of the wound worth it.

"You know," Uvani speaks, to Banus' surprise, as he's not normally the one to initiate conversation, "There are other ways to kill someone that won't leave marks, not just smothering. Poisons and such."

"But making a poison that leaves no trace requires a good knowledge of Alchemy," he is reminded, "And I don't know anything about it. I could learn, but it would take time. I couldn't exactly buy my supply either." Finding a reliable and trustworthy source for strong poisons was not an easy task – and the few black-market merchants who did have such a supply wouldn't part with it for cheap. It was generally wiser to brew your own poisons anyway, since then you knew precisely what had gone into them and what effect they would have on the drinker.

"Well what if..." the Executioner is holding something back, but Banus suspects any intervention will result in a '...never mind', so he stays quiet. Instead he waits patiently for the few minutes it takes Uvani to stop hesitating and just say it: "What if I taught you some Destruction magic? A few basic spells, in case you end up in another fix."

Alor tilts his head to one side, "But doesn't Destruction magic leave burns?"

"Fire, frost and shock, yes. Drain doesn't, though," the other Elf tells him, "You can drain a person's health, energy, magicka, even their skill with a weapon. With enough practise you could render someone completely useless with a single spell. And it leaves no marks," he meets Banus' eyes at last, since he has until now been staring at the wall, the floor, his clenched hands, anything but his would-be-protégé. "Useful to know, at least until you become more proficient at Alchemy. So, do you want me to teach you or not?"

Alor smiles graciously, but it only betrays a fraction of how truly happy he is right now. Uvani does not speak his friendship but shows it – inviting him out to eat, shadowing him to make sure his contracts go smoothly and carrying him back to Leyawiin – on foot, he doesn't own a horse – when they don't. Dressing his wounds and keeping him in the luxurious privacy of his room, even though there's only one bed; he has to wonder where Alval has slept, beside him or on the floor, a small, giddy part of him hoping it's the former. And now he offers to teach the younger, which is far, far better than the 'I'd miss you' he couldn't say earlier, because Banus knows Uvani has never offered to mentor anyone before. He'll never get this opportunity again if he refuses, but of course he doesn't even consider refusing, not for a second.

"Of course," he says with all that joy somehow contained into a small smile, "I would love to."

"Stand up straighter."

He struggles to comply, but the three hours of practise is starting to wear on him. Uvani, he has discovered, doesn't do anything by halves, and that includes teaching – as with everything else he is blunt, impatient and very quick to point out when Banus is doing something wrong. It makes for a thorough but decidedly merciless tutor.

"Straighter, I said. Here-" a hand on his back forces his spine ruler-straight, to the protest of the still-healing wound at his side. He winces, Uvani notices, and he hopes the elder will sympathise and let him rest awhile. Unfortunately, Uvani doesn't do sympathy, so Alor finds his back made even more inflexibly vertical, his shoulder pushed back into the very picture of good posture. He probably looks good – he's standing like Uvani, he must look good – but a part of him wishes he'd saved the lessons until after his recovery.

"Uvani," he says, a hint of tiredness creeping into his voice after so long spent on his feet, "How will standing up straight help? I thought using magic was about the mind, not the body."

"One benefits from the other," he is told, "Adjusting your stance will get you into the mindset of spell-casting, and help you focus your will."

"But we've been trying for three hours and nothing has happened," he looks at the wooden training target in front of him, scorched and scratched from prior use, and really does try to cast a drain spell at it. There's not even a flicker of magic. "See? Nothing."

"That's because you slouched again. Also, squinting at the target will not help, you just look as though you have poor eyesight."

"I-" he pauses, then sighs. He is weary, his side hurts, and he isn't in the mood for another three hours of failure, "I don't think I'm cut out for Destruction magic. I just can't seem to get the hang of it."

Uvani frowns; "How do expect to achieve anything with that attitude? Of course you'll get the hang of it. You just need to focus."

"Will you two shut up?" another assassin interrupts from across the training room, he and his sparring partner glaring at them, "Some of us are trying to get some actual work done."

Banus glances away uncomfortably, but Uvani out-scowls them both and replies in his sharpest voice: "Much as you need the practise, this facility is for more than your pathetic attempt at training. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to teach the one person who isn't an utter waste of sanctuary resources," he smirks at their rather stunned expressions, "Aw, did I hurt your feelings? Say, why don't you go whinge to the sanctuary Master about it, let him fight your battles for you. I'm sure you used to doing that by now."

The bolder of the two assassins gives an ugly snarl, but he can't fight Uvani – even if it didn't invoke the Wrath of Sithis, he knows as well as the smug Executioner that he wouldn't stand a chance. Instead he storms towards the exit, and Banus quite clearly hears him mutter to his following partner: "Fetching bastard. Leave him and the other idiot, we'll come back later."

"Didn't Banus used to be on our side? Why is he his best friend all of a sudden?"

"Pfft, Uvani's probably fucking him or something."

"Hey," he hears murmured right into his ear, and realises Uvani is speaking to him, "Remember that drain fatigue spell I explained to you?"

He nods, knowing exactly what the Dunmer wants him to do. And somehow, it's easy – the target is there, right in front of him with retreating backs and vindictive laughter, not a painted circle on a lifeless wooden board. When he subconsciously straightens up, the Magicka comes so naturally it seems he's done it a thousand times before, whispering and weaving around him, warming his fingertips as he raises his hand. And the resulting visual display isn't big and bold like a fire spell, just a subdued glimmer of orange-red, but the two assassin barely manage a yelp before they immediately crumple to the floor.

"See," Uvani nods approvingly while Banus stares at his hand and marvels at what just happened, "I told you you could do it."