Chapter thirteen, and we're back to Uvani's POV.
Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter thirteen
And so, the deed is done.
The Listener is doubly pleased at the next Black Hand meeting, declaring Alor as the newest Silencer as he eagerly pens his personal letter to Adamus Phillida. Speaker Marcia, the one charged with secretly observing Banus' task, relays the events with entirely too much detail, unable to keep the glee from her voice. Arquen nods thoughtfully in approval, and even Ja'Ghasta admits he was wrong to doubt Alor's abilities. Everyone is satisfied, except Uvani.
He does not regret suggesting the trial. There is no place in his life for remorse, and besides which, he has achieved his goal – Banus is no longer a pawn of the Black Hand, now more valuable and less expendable. But unlike the other celebrating Speakers, he knows the boy personally. And he knows that, in the aftermath of Fanacasecul, Banus is probably as scarred as Sergius' corpse.
He departs Bravil, and returns to Leyawiin as swiftly as his feet will carry him. When he reaches his sanctuary, however, Alor is absent.
An hour is wasted tearing the sanctuary apart to find him, demanding his whereabouts from every assassin, but none know where he might be. He then looks around Leyawiin, the swirling mists of mid-spring not helping matters at all, and even debates asking Leyawiin's residents if they have spotted him, despite the dangers of drawing attention to himself or Banus.
It is well past midday when he finally realises where Alor will be. Of course he sets off at once, in a brisk stride that is closer to a run than a walk. The mist thickens into fog as he leaves the city, venturing into the dense wetlands of Blackwood. It envelops him like a blanket, and he avoids running into trees or waist-deep water only because he has the terrain memorised.
He finds Banus hiding in the haze, stood in a puddle-turned-pond that reaches his knees as he scrubs every inch of bare skin. And he is, Alval notices, completely nude.
He approaches cautiously. There's a good chance the younger assassin isn't altogether there at the moment; "Banus?"
Banus looks up. There's no word that can quite describe the expression in those scarlet eyes – hollow? Haunted? Lost? He doesn't respond, nor does he try to cover his nakedness, simply stares, unblinking, unsmiling, until Uvani truly starts to worry that the damage done isn't repairable. A quiet inner voice reminds him not to feel regret, but...
"Are you alright?" If he gets a mechanical I'm fine, he's going to hit the boy. Banus isn't stupid enough to lie, though; his gaze drops down to the floor – as seen through murky water – then to his right, then back to Uvani again. His lips move but no sound comes out. It's a few minutes before he can actually reply:
"No, I...I'm not sure. I don't think so."
Uvani encroaches another step. He has the strangest feeling that if he moves too quickly, he'll frighten Alor off like a startled deer. Ridiculous really, but the boy looks almost feral without his clothing, nor the shame to cover himself. His complexion blends in so well with the dark, cold environment of Blackwood that he could easily pass as one of the native wildlife. Alval speaks as reassuringly as his usually-harsh voice will allow: "Why are you stood in water like that?"
Banus shrugs, as though he himself is not entirely sure why, "Bathing."
"You couldn't do that at the sanctuary?" the pond must be freezing. Not to mention littered with leaves and insects.
The other Dunmer shakes his head, "That's not enough. I need-" almost self-consciously, he quietens his tone, "I need to be clean."
"This is about Sergius Phillida, isn't it?" the tension of Banus' every muscle is more than enough of an answer, "Does spilling blood really bother you so much?"
"I just...don't like hurting people. Killing is no problem, but I don't want to see them suffer," the boy explains, and adds in a mumble that Uvani probably wasn't meant to hear, "Haven't I seen enough...?"
He doesn't say anything more on the subject, and Alval doesn't ask; he has the gist of Banus' past if not the details. What with the Brotherhood recruiting remorseless murderers, almost all of its assassins have a similarly bleak history, himself included. But he has never divulged that information to anyone, so he will not pry.
Instead, he changes the subject: "So how long were you planning to spend out here?"
Pulled from whatever memories he was starting to sink in, Banus looks up, and again shrugs non-committally, "I'm not sure. I thought spending the day here would help, but...I still don't feel right."
"All day like that?" Alval clucks his tongue at Alor's nudity, "I'm surprised nothing's made off with your clothes – that hasn't happened, has it?" he asks, the thought only just occurring to him, as well as the daunting prospect of having to sneak a naked Banus back into Leyawiin.
But thankfully, these worries are unwarranted. "No, I put everything over there," he points to a clump of reeds by the water.
He checks just to make sure, but due the damp and misty air, "They're soaked through. Come back to Leyawiin with me before this weather gets any worse, or you'll wind up ill."
At first Alor looks reluctant, but Alval's glare soon provokes a meek, "Yes Uvani," and he begins his wade towards the land. The movement shifts and shapes the fog, drifting almost seamlessly over that blue-gray skin; it creates the illusion of Banus flickering from view, sections of him appearing and disappearing again – all except the constant red of his eyes.
Uvani offers him a hand to help the last step from the water. Banus looks at it with a peculiar, unreadable expression.
And then his arms are filled with a second body – a second naked body, and his first instinct is to recoil and shove that body away, because the years of self-imposed abstinence have made him prudish. No sooner has he braced his arms against Banus' shoulders, however, when the younger Elf's grip tightens around his waist, enough to give him pause.
Almost involuntarily, his hands slip around the shoulders instead of against them, returning the embrace. Alor's skin is damp enough to be just slightly slippery, beads of water adorning him like pearls. And his form feels so fragile, so vulnerable without any clothing or leathers, that Alval half-fears to clutch him too tightly, in case he breaks there and then.
"...You don't think I'm pathetic, do you?" Banus speaks into the crook of Uvani's neck, "For not wanting to hurt people."
He could and probably should give a gentle reply. Unfortunately, he's never been very good at sensitivity; "I think you're too self-conscious, if you have to ask me such inane questions," and by way of making up for the lack of reassurance, he adds, "I'll see to it that you don't get any more contracts like that."
There's a relieved sigh; "Why would the Listener give me such a task in the first place?"
Uvani pauses. The whole purpose of trekking out here was to find Banus and tell him of his ascension to Silencer. That also entails telling him that Sergius was a mere trial, and in all honesty, he has no idea how Banus will react. He can't fathom any reaction other than anger, and yet he's never seen Alor irritated, never mind furious.
Alternatively, he could lie, deny any knowledge of the Listener's plans, and spare himself the responsibility. But he's always preferred brutal honesty, and lies come even more reluctantly around this child of a Dunmer, barely past adolescence, who has somehow wormed his way into Uvani's conscience.
"Banus," he starts slowly, "That contract...it was a test. The Listener gave you orders you wouldn't like deliberately, to test your loyalty."
"I figured that was the case. But how did he know I hated blood so much...?"
The question is innocent, not steeped in suspicion, and in many ways that makes it worse – because Banus will not anticipate what happens next. Alval steels himself, and reveals: "Because I told him."
The reaction is instant. Banus all but petrifies in his arms, his every muscle painfully rigid. Unmoving, there is a long, heavy silence before he speaks, and his voice is just as tense, "...What?"
"I'm the one who suggested giving you a violent contract," Uvani tells him, his tone betraying no emotion, befitting an assassin. He'd like to let go of Banus and step back, but the other mer's arms are still around his waist – not embracing him, but locking him in place.
"You...you made me do this?" Banus' voice isn't loud, but there's no denying the anger, the shock and the sheer hurt in his words, even more alien by the fact that Uvani has never heard it before, "Torturing Sergius, the suffering, the blood...because of you? It was your idea?"
"It was a test, Banus. To prove your versatility, to overcome your weaknesses-"
"But why that?You could have chosen something else, anything else-"
"Then it wouldn't be a test, would it?"
"But why?" At last Banus lets go, stepping back as though he has been scorched. He is whispering, not shouting, and his posture is wounded, not defiant, but still he demands: "Haven't I been tested enough? Fighting that mage, almost getting killed – haven't I shown enough loyalty?"
"Look, everyone has to undertake a trial-"
"But why did you pick that? It could have just been a contract to cut someone's throat, not to – to torture them while they screamed for mercy. I had to..." he chokes on his own words, but forces himself to continue: "I had to paint the walls red with my own hands. I couldn't kill him until the entire room was covered. Why? Why did it have to go that far?"
"And you think the old Speaker made my trial easy, do you?" Uvani snaps back at last, fed up of being interrupted. He doesn't do sympathy or sensitivity. He's already reached the end of his famously short fuse, because Banus isn't listening, isn't understanding that this was all for his own good. He ought to be thanked, not blamed, "Everyone has to go through this, Alor. Just because of your relationship with me, doesn't mean you get an easier time than anyone else. My Speaker duties come first."
Banus stops. His shoulders slump, his hands drop by his sides and his fists uncurl not out of relaxation but weariness. His voice is hoarse, tired; "I knew it."
Alval frowns, "Knew what?"
"You've left me behind," those words are so quiet, but it sends a shock straight through Uvani, as though he's been stabbed. "I knew you would. As soon as you became Speaker, I knew you'd forget about me. Us."
For a minute, Uvani can't think, can't act, can't speak. Banus walks over to his pile of clothes and begins to re-dress; he's almost done before Alval can start shaking his head in protest, "No, that isn't true at all-"
"Stop. Just...don't say anything," the boy silences him at once, "You're in the Black Hand now. I shouldn't have expected you to stay my equal."
The proverbial knife he was stabbed with earlier twists sharply in his gut. Banus finishes on the last buckle of his uniform. He bows forward with stiff formality, his voice just as mechanical:
"Walk always, Speaker."
By the time Uvani can bring himself to react, Alor is long gone.