I'm sorry this update has been so slow...I've been stupid sick..and trying to write when I'm stupid sick...Which is usually a bad idea because I tend to make some really poor and nonsense decisions. I didn't want to let my few readers down though...so here is an update. I wanted this chapter to have Lucien meeting up with her again, but sorry guys...I need to just curl up in a ball with my theraflu and stop trying to write..or Lucien's going to end up juggling cats and singing songs and that's cannon Cicero not Lucien.
Anyways comment if you enjoy. Comment if you hate, Comment either way. I will even take "meh" as a legit comment. I consider it a shot in the arm to keep going, because someone's reading it.
Using her finances meagerly Lana had booked passage for Bravil on a rickety cart. Seated around here were several other dirt covered presents, nodding their heads in time with the wheels encounter of rocks. No one said much, and the quite pleased Lana, who had been given a new appreciation for silence. Unfortunately the man sitting next to her couldn't seem to find comfort with the lack of chatter and kept trying to strike up a conversation with anyone who would listen.
"I can't tell if you're from Hammerfell or High Rock," the man said to Lana with a smile. "Wherever you're from, you're unusually pretty."
Narrowing her eyes and studying the man like had just betrayed himself as mad, Lana said nothing for several seconds. She muttered thanks so she wouldn't seem peculiar.
"You're tanned, like you're from Hammerfell," The man continued, "You have a broad nose like you're from Hammerfell, but you have a russet tone to your hair no one from Hammerfell would ever have. It's curious to me."
Exchanging awkward glances with an older woman sitting next to her, Lana just chuckled and ignored the stranger. Such words seemed foreign to a girl raised alone by her Stepmother. Not that she didn't want to hear she was pretty, but the man was talking about her more like she was a statue than a person. Plus she had a mission to focus on.
"I think what's best about you are the eyes," the blond man interrupted again. "They are a light honey brown, like the best mead from my home of Skyrim."
"Nords," an old Imperial woman in the back of the cart snorted, causing a funny look from the flirtatious man.
"My name is Jon," The man told Lana, as if he was starting the beginning of a long story. "I find employment with my flute and fiddle. I'm a bard. I decided to travel the lands beyond my home in order to gain experience which to sing about. I know, I should sing you a song about a woman with mead colored eyes."
Before Lana could protest the bard burst into a pleasant tune about the beauty of glacial sunsets, and the pleasure of a warm woman at your side. Lana responded by tucking her hair behind her ear and trying to pretend she didn't hear what Jon was singing about.
Sadly Jon would not allow himself to go unnoticed. He continued his one sided prattle all the way to the camp sight, occasionally sharing songs, and trying to get the others to join in. The older women on the cart were quickly won over by his charisma, but he kept coming back to Lana to flirt. She tried not to smile or seem friendly towards him, wanting to blend in with the shadows as much as possible. She hoped the Dark Brotherhood paid well, because being a young female on public transportation attracted way to much attention.
At the campfire the Bard continued to direct love songs towards Lana, who finally just slunk down into her bedroll and pretended to be asleep. She prayed Jon would get the hint. Unfortunately the tall blond man proved too dense as he slapped his bedroll down next to hers, his head resting on his arms, and his eyes staring up at the stars like a little boy who was in love with the world.
"You really are beautiful you know," Jon said. "I didn't catch your name by the way. It's been bothering me all day. I need a name so I can write a song about the beautiful cinnamon kissed girl from Hammerfell."
"Anvil," Lanna corrected him.
"Anvil is a terrible name for a pretty girl," Jon responded halfheartedly.
"I'm not from Hammerfell," Lana sighed, "I'm from Anvil. I'm mostly Redguard and Imperial, but rumor has it there is also a little Breton in there somewhere. I'm all human, but I guess my ancestors weren't' picky about what kind of human."
"So your name is?" Jon asked, unwilling to let that go.
"Maura," Lana lied.
"Maura from Anvil, not Anvil from Maura, with mead colored eyes and cinnamon colored thighs," Jon hummed to himself. "See, I already have the first verse."
"Please," Lana complained as she turned so that her back was facing Jon.
The Bard did something foolish, and reached over to run his finger along Lana's arm. She felt surprised at the touch, but that quickly gave way to outrage that he would be so forward.
His voice was the only thing that kept her from attacking him, "I'm sorry, I'm a fool for pretty girls, and you're particularly pretty. Forgive me if a song writer can't help but dream that someone so fair maiden would grace him with a kind word, or even a kiss."
"You're smooth," Lana muttered, "I'll give you credit. You've picked the wrong woman I'm afraid. I just ended an affair, and I'm not in the mood for a new lover."
"No cure for an old lover like a new one," The Bard countered.
"My heart needs to heal a little more," Lana said, thinking less of the Kajiit and more of Julius. Something about the way Jon was dotting reminded her of the bright eyed young Imperial. Then of course the fondness she felt for him faded as the old worn memory of him unabashedly fucking her Stepmother reemerged. If she ever got the chance to go back to Anvil and have time to cause Julius's death alongside a contract, she was pretty sure she'd do it.
"Sithis how I've changed," she thought, grateful that Jon had now become silent beside her.
The next day Jon made a menace of himself on the cart again and the older women riding with them seemed to eat it up. One of the matrons was in her forties and still looked very attractive, so Lana had hope that Jon would focus on the more available female in the group. Lana had made a point to get up early so she could sit towards the front of the cart, away from Jon. When she could ignore the singing and conversations Lana would find her thoughts drifting towards the family Lucien had spoken of. Something about being part of a family again, a happy one, one that understood each other and worked for each other's betterment, made Lana happy.
Unfortunately Jon didn't get the hint again today, and he kept trying to drag Lana into his stories. By the time the cart stopped for the last evening on the road, Lana was grateful for the chance to go off with the women and bathe themselves in a stream by the road. The rivers were full from the spring's melt, and Lana kept diving down under water, enjoying the ominous noise filling her ears while she was submerged. As she kept diving under, Lana had noticed that several people had walked away from the water, but had not discovered she was alone until she reemerged for air and found Jon waiting for her by the bank.
"It's well past dusk," The bard teased, "You're going to catch your death of cold."
Floating in the water, Lana simply narrowed her eyes and watched Jon. She knew the water was to dark for him to see anything revealing, but he was keeping close to her clothing. The bard split his lips in an infuriating smile, letting Lana know he had trapped her from getting close to her clothes. A pair of well oiled leather boots kicked the dagger Lucien had given Lana up into the air. Jon caught the weapon deftly in his hands, pulling the scabbard away to study what she was carrying on her hip.
"Nasty looking blade," he said after a whistle. "Did the dirty Kajiit that fucked you give it to you as a gift?"
Anger filled Lana from toe to finger and she growled from the water, "What are you talking about?"
"Those scars on your shoulder," Jon gestured with the dagger, "Kajiit's like to leave a mark on human women who are stupid enough to sleep with them. It's a mark to let other Kajiit's you'll whore yourself out for kind words or money."
Fuming with anger at the Bard's boldness, Lana tried to bore a hole in the man's chest with her eyes, but said nothing as she felt no need to justify herself to this stranger.
"You should count yourself lucky you met me," Jon kidded, "It's time someone taught you why you should keep it in your own species, or maybe you like being fucked by a barn cat?"
As Jon hurled his last insult at Lana, the would-be assassin sunk underneath the water again, pushing herself towards the bank of the stream. Coolness surrounded her in a swirling tide, and her breath stilled. She could taste the anticipation of what she was about to do as she stepped close to the bard, putting her hand on her dagger, and pushing it down. Jon's eyes grew wider as the woman slowly emerged from the water, no sign of bashfulness as her body glimmered with wetness in the light of the setting sun.
She ran her finger across Jon's mouth, and the man closed his eyes. Jon cooed a little, amazed his taunting had worked out so well. Of course that was the distraction Lana wanted as she quickly pulled the dagger from Jon's hand and drove it into his gut. Jon let out a wounded grunt, and Lana removed the dagger, using all of her strength to slice his neck open and silence him. Silent, Lana followed Jon, who was now backing towards the water in fear.
"I need you to die already," Lana said as she kicked Jon into the water and drove her knife into his heart.
Lana felt a great release as the life slipped from Jon, as if his death had caused a kiss of satisfaction from the Night Mother. She felt even greater pleasure at the thought of his soul joining Sithis. Lana put her hands on dead man's shoulders and pushed his body down into the stream as best she could. Under the tide she placed several loose rocks on top of Jon's corpse, eventually weighing him down between breaths of air.
Feeling secure Jon's body wouldn't break free from the pool for several days, Lana returned to the shore and put on her clothing. She checked herself for blood spots before moving several branches over the drops of blood. That was when lightning flashed in the distance with thunder following not long after.
"Praise Sithis," She said, grateful her crime would be so easily washed away, but shocked as how well she had adapted to a religion she wasn't really a part of yet.
She joined several people who were trying to set up bedrolls under the cart, but mud from the storm quickly churned up once the rain came, leaving no one at the campsite dry. Everyone except Lana complained, and several started down the road towards Bravil rather than wait out the rain.
In the morning the cart was stymied in the mud, and by the time Lana reached the city of Bravil she was filthier than she had ever been. She walked through the gates of the quaint little town, making it to the road she needed to traverse, and reached the inn by nightfall. More rain came and washed a lot of the mud from her body, but the discomfort of the constant wetness did not stop Lana. With grim determination she walked up to the door of the Inn of Ill Omen in the middle of the cool night and knocked at the wooden door.
The innkeeper was more than happy to help a poor wet girl with gold. He found a pair of dry pants and a shirt from an old tenant who had left in the middle of the night, and quickly ushered Lana into a dry room with a bed roll. She paid a gold piece extra for the clothes, and was glad to find that they were lacking holes or stains. Lana was annoyed but grateful when the owner came back upstairs to offer her a half warm cup of soup, but not surprised, as she had been listening to track his movements through the creaking old Inn. Fortunately he returned to bed afterwards.
Lana curled up on top of the bed roll, watching the dripping water from her clothes as it hit the floor, and waited for anyone she had awakened to go to sleep. Once a considerable amount of time had passed, Lana slipped down the stairs on her bare feet, taking each board as gingerly as possible. She found a basement entrance and opened it as slowly as possible, and took the same care with the new set of stairs. Lana listened in the darkness for any sign of life, because no other occupants were residing on the second floor, and Rufio had to be somewhere.
A soft snoring alerted Lana to someone sleeping in the room to the left. She entered the humble quarters, annoyed when she discovered that a full bed was unoccupied in the cellar and she was stuck with a bedroll. She stood over the sleeping man, the power of their situation filling her with an uneasy strength. She discovered, as she stilled the stray worries that she had the wrong person, that she anticipated this murder like a beggar anticipated his next meal. A feeling seeped from between the boards and into the air, filling Lana's lungs with a dark starriness that made every moment pleasurable in an indiscernible way.
With no word or noise Lana brought the dagger down into Rufio's heart, the man jolted under the impact then quickly fell still. Lana fancied for a moment she could feel his last heartbeat echo up the steel of the dagger, and Lana shivered as she retracted the weapon and filled the room with the wet noise of tissue. Wiping the ooze from the blade now became a holy gesture for Lana, who cut free the part of the man's shirt for the task and stuffed it in her pocket.
Without remorse she then slowly crept upstairs, ready to leap upon anyone who might be trying to investigate strange noises coming from the cellar. It seemed strange how the air should be so still right after a murder, but life always goes on no matter how cruel the moment. The last thing Lana did before returning to her room was to unlock the front door to the inn, making it look like the person who had killed Rufio had picked the lock.
A night of fitful sleep came, Lana laid on the bedroll energized from the murder, and worrying someone would figure out the death had been because of her. She watched as dawn's light wiggled through the cracks in the wood of the house, casting cobwebs of light across the floor and wall. Noises came from the kitchen as the businessman started up in the Inn. She waited awhile before heading down for food, and as she took her first step on the stairs she expected the people in the inn to throw her out for being evil.
Once Lana made herself comfortable at the table, a cup of warm tea was pushed in front of her alongside a simple plate of salted bacon. She ate greedily, amazed that a murderer could still sate hunger in such a simple way. After all she as thrice blooded now wasn't she? The secretiveness of it seemed almost as appealing to her as the deed itself, and now she could return to Bravil for a real night's sleep and indoctrination into a new family.
As the Innkeeper took a bowl of meat towards the cellar, Lana rose and bid him farewell.
"Bravil is to the south, correct?" she asked, seeming very eager.
"Good luck in your travels Miss," the stern looking man wished as his head disappeared down stairs.
Expecting to hear screaming or someone calling for the guards Lana kept an eye out for anyone wanting to slow her journey towards her fate. She was amazed how quickly the gates to Bravil appeared, and as she entered the town cleaner than before. Almost in a trance with the thrill of having gotten away with murder, she found that she wandered over to the statue of a maiden with several children reaching up from the base. The figure seemed to speak to Lana in a way she couldn't quite decipher, and she barely noticed a wood elf who bumped shoulders with her as he walked by.
"Excuse me," Lana muttered, and the wood elf paused for a second, looking her in the eye in a way she wasn't comfortable with. Lana looked back, confused by the stranger's sudden interest. The Wood Elf then turned his head to the statue, a smile parting his lips as if he heard a joke, and he turned to look at Lana with an off-putting kindness.
"Some say a prayer to the Lucky Old Lady that she may guide them," The elf said, "You might find her blessing more beneficial than most."
The brown skinned elf then turned and walked away without another word. Unsure why she felt the need to heed the stranger's odd request, Lana walked forward and said a prayer before the statue of a woman. Remaining for several seconds, a thick tiredness her body and Lana looked up at the statue who seemed to be pointing suggestively towards the Inn. Unsure at the motivation for her action Lana kissed the statue's foot in reverence, then turned and followed it's gesture to find room and board.