Sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, this thing just refused to be written.

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter fourteen

In the following weeks after the confrontation, Banus remains in the sanctuary. He is given no new contracts – nobody is, in fact. Speaker Uvani is absent, in Kvatch on urgent business, according to the Mistress. A part of him is glad, because it means avoiding the inevitable awkwardness between them. But it is only a temporary reprieve; eventually Uvani must return, bringing with him the bitter aftermath of their friendship's end. He can do no more than wait, self-confined to his room, and emerging only very occasionally. The other assassins would probe and pry, but rumours of his last contract have already leaked into the sanctuary's walls. His so-called Brothers were apprehensive of him from the start, fearful of him after Uvani's violent outburst on his behalf, and now with whispers of brutal torture, they're downright terrified of him.

This sudden cold front of his only fuels the hearsay, but he doesn't care enough to try and amend it. He wishes, not for the first time in his life, that he could truly feel anger, or despair, or something, anything besides this...emptiness. Assassins are supposed to be devoid of emotion, and yet all the other sanctuary members feel as normal people do. Even Uvani feels as normal people do, though he keeps a tight lid on all but his rage. And yet Banus, even before he unintentionally initiated himself into the Dark Brotherhood, was different. The emotion was there, but always seemed severely diluted. But at least he could experience very slight happiness, or sadness, or – not quite anger, because there's no such thing as a mild fury, but at least annoyance. Now, though, there is nothing. It's as though he used everything up in his last words with Uvani, that his emotion is somehow a finite resource – silly and illogical reasoning, but does that make it impossible?

When underground, there is no telling when it is night or day, and time loses all meaning. So he spends his days alternating between sitting and lying on his bed, sleeping in irregular snatches, indulging in food only when he absolutely must. He speaks to no-one, no-one speaks to him, and so he remains unaware of Uvani's return from Kvatch until the man himself comes into his room. So deadened to the world are his senses, in fact, that he does not feel the presence of a second person, the intense stare laid upon him, or the thick, heavy silence that hangs in the air for several minutes. He only lifts his head when Uvani says, in a voice more harsh and strained than usual:

"Banus."

His first thought upon seeing the elder is of tiredness. It isn't just in the shadows beneath his eyes, but in every crease in his skin, the disarray of his clothing with its belts clumsily fastened and and half the buttons outright ignored. For as long as he has known Alval, the Dunmer has always looked pristine and symmetrical, without so much as a wrinkle in his garments or a hair out of place; a fondness for absolute order, at odds with his snappy and short-tempered personality. That Uvani has let his standards slip speaks volumes about his stress levels, and a pat of Banus wishes he were vicious enough to derive some satisfaction from it.

He's obviously no picture of perfection himself, though, since Uvani continues: "You look gaunt. Like you've not eaten for a few days."

"I haven't," Banus answers bluntly, against the other mer's expectation, since his mouth immediately snaps shut. The statement is true enough – he vaguely he recalls his last meal, a piece of bread given up on half way through, but the ache of his stomach tells him that was a while ago. He's aware that his clothes hang off him in a way they didn't used to.

Alval shifts a touch uneasily, and tries again, "Come with me to Blackwood. We'll pick mushrooms and make a soup for you."

"I don't want mushrooms."

"We'll pick them for your Alchemy, then."

"I have plenty of samples."

Uvani's frown tightens; "Then we'll just talk."

Banus shakes his head, and says with quiet but unmistakable coldness, "Whatever you have to say, you can say here."

For a second, he's certain the elder will shout at him. But then Alval forces his tense shoulders to slump, his fingers to uncurl. He exhales slowly; his lips never move, but Banus gets the distinct impression that he's silently counting to ten.

"Banus," he tries again, "That contract wasn't – it wasn't my intention to hurt you," when Alor gives a faint noise of disdain, he insists, "Why would I want that? I was trying to protect you!"

The younger Elf turns his head away, "You have a strange way of looking out for me..."

"You don't understand what the Black Hand is like. They would treat you as a pawn, insignificant and expendable."

"As I'm aware," Banus says in a voice that sounds by all accounts just like Uvani, brisk and razor-sharp, "Congratulations on joining their ranks, Speaker."

The mer seems to snatch back his anger, "Stop that," he snaps, "My actions may have been harsh, but they were completely necessary, and with your best interests in mind."

"How? How could making me do – do that benefit me in any way?"

"Because you're not expendable anymore," Uvani hisses, "You're now part of the Black Hand."

And suddenly, everything is silent.

"...What?"

Uvani moves closer, a precaution against whoever may be listening in, and murmurs lowly, "Unknown to most of the Brotherhood, every Speaker has a Silencer – a personal assassin, and a successor. It's the first step into the Black Hand. But before you can be admitted, they have to test your loyalty," he holds Banus' stare for a few seconds more before his sight lowers to the floor, "I had to tell the other Speakers your weakness, and trying to lie would just have gotten us both killed. The Listener devised your task, not me."

"But you didn't object," Alor whispers, a note of accusation still tingeing his voice.

"How could I? Just sending you to cut someone's throat wouldn't have convinced anyone. This way, all doubts as to your loyalty have been put to rest," Uvani tells him, tone softening now their arguments have dissolved, "You're a Silencer now. You won't be tested or manipulated again."

Banus hesitates. Now that he knows the reasoning, Uvani does not seem like such a villain, and whatever moral high-ground he held slowly slips out from under his feet. He suddenly feels very foolish. "And...everyone is tested to that extreme? Even you?"

The other Elf nods, "Even me."

"What was your test?"

He sees Uvani freeze up. And since the elder is normally so controlled with his movements and gestures, Banus immediately knows something is wrong. He can almost visualise the clockwork of Uvani's thoughts clicking into place, weighing up whether to avoid the question or not. But Alval has always been completely honest with Banus even when lying would have been easier on them both. And so, he confesses the truth:

"...They gave me a contract," he states simply, "With you as the target."

Whatever sentimental shock he may have felt was overshadowed by baffled logic, "But I'm – you're in the Black Hand, so you can't have failed..."

"I didn't," Alval tells him quietly, "Speaker – the old Speaker – stopped me just in time. The intention to obey orders was sufficient enough, they didn't need to sacrifice a competent assassin."

"You were going to kill me," Banus echoes, his voice cold and flat. His moral high-ground abruptly stops crumbling away.

"I had no choice," Uvani points out, "If I had refused they would have questioned my loyalty, probably had me executed. They may well have done the same to you just so nobody would ask questions-"

"You were going to kill me," Alor repeats, his voice dropping to a sad little whisper, "I'd never hurt you. I wouldn't lay a finger on you no matter who was giving the order. I thought that – that you would be the same..."

"I didn't want to!" the other exclaims, exasperated and weary, "Banus, I don't want to argue anymore-"

"I can't just let this lie, Uvani! Just – just leave. I need to think about this. Alone."

"Banus-"

"Leave." It's enough to stop the argument dead in its tracks. With a Dunmeri curse-word from Uvani, the elder turns and storms from the room, almost tearing the door from its hinges as he does so. Banus wishes his reaction could be so dramatic, but he hasn't the capacity for it. Nothing happens, not even tears.

He thinks only of Uvani during his waking hours, and he dreams of him as he sleeps. Though he can no longer hold the Phillida contract against him, a new sin has taken its place – the man he once deemed a guardian angel had been fully prepared to end his life on the whimsy of the nameless, faceless Black Hand.

He wishes he could be angry, he really does. But instead his ever-logical and dispassionate mind attempts to reason that Uvani really had no choice in the matter, and that there's nothing heroic or romantic for being slaughtered for refusing to obey orders. He also realises, with a small pang of entirely inappropriate happiness, that it was a test, issued by the Black Hand because they were unsure if he would go through with it. He is Uvani's weakness.

He shouldn't be trying to justify his friend – more-than-friend – trying to kill him. But being a Brotherhood member, or the assassin of any organisation, limits his right to protest on the morality of things. He cannot murder for a living and then bemoan his own death warrant.

Uvani would. Though it would perhaps involve less bemoaning and more blowing things up – the contract with his name on it, the sanctuary, the Listener. The thought would make him smile, but he hasn't smiled for weeks, and his lips are so dry and cracked that the gesture is more painful than joyful.

It's a day or so later that Uvani enters his room again, with a bowl of steaming soup and a thick crust of bread balanced on a tray; Banus immediately recognises it as a peace offering. By way of accepting, he pulls the soup towards him as soon as the other mer has set it on the bedside table, suddenly hungrier than he's ever been. He figures Uvani meant to just leave the offering without further words, but the show of enthusiasm keeps him lingering tentatively, until he settles on the edge of the bed beside his Silencer.

He waits until Banus has finished the soup – having quickly ditched the spoon in favour of drinking straight from the bowl – to speak: "I didn't want to, you know."

Alor carefully places the bowl back on the bedside table. He doesn't answer.

And so Uvani continues, the truth tumbling out between them: about the old Speaker convincing the Black Hand on Uvani's behalf to spare Banus' life, hence the vastly-unfair contract against the mage. About how Banus had technically failed but been spared. "I think," the older mer muses, "Even if you had killed the mage without a scratch, the Black Hand would have had you knocked out, and told me you'd failed anyway."

He finishes with a retelling of how he'd sat there, mentally steeling himself to kill Banus, telling himself over and over that he could at least make it quick and clean and painless. And Banus sits and listens wordlessly, neutrally. He knows he should be horrified, hearing how he was very nearly murdered from the man who very nearly did it, but death has never fazed him, and that was before he dealt it out for payment.

I'm sorry. Uvani never says it. Banus knows he means it from the look in his eyes and the tell-tale dark circles around them – so his Speaker does have a conscience. But he never says it out loud, because Uvani never apologises to anyone, and the words would just sound unnatural and forced coming from his lips. He finishes with a reiteration: "I didn't want to kill you."

At last, Banus replies quietly, "You didn't. I'm still here, aren't I?"

Uvani's hands, which are tightly clenched, uncurl slightly, "You don't...hold it against me?"

"...No. Not anymore," he is told, "Past is past, right? What matters is that we're still here, intact," he carefully slides one hand over Alval's, still tensed in a half-formed fist. "Though...I'd prefer no more contracts that require blood, Speaker."

Uvani stares down at the hand ghosting over his own; "You don't have to call me that," he mutters, "And yes...no more blood."

"Thank you," he gives Uvani's hand a light squeeze. When the elder mimics the motion, his heartbeat picks up – and he realises his happiness is not a finite resource after all.