A/N: Thanks for your review Ozymandeos - that's exactly the kind of reaction I was hoping to get!
Chapter 2: Blood to Come
There was blood. So much blood. Llovesi's hands were covered, her arms too, up to the elbows. The wedding dress was adorned with a blooming red rose.
She sat on the beach in the ebbing tide, letting the seawater wash over her, scrubbing furiously. She felt that if she scrubbed hard enough she might be able to rub it all away. This was never meant to happen. This was all my fault.
They had laid sheets over Mashti and Galdal. And so, their wedding had become a wake.
"But, who would want to murder the Nerevarine?" Hannat Zainsubani had finally asked in a trembling voice.
That question went unanswered, out loud at least. Llovesi looked up at the crowd through a veil of tears and seen that their faces all said the same thing. Anyone. It could be anyone at all.
She spoke, in a faulting voice. "I thought it was the Temple, perhaps. Forgive me," she added, upon seeing Danso Indules's face, "but they would have had their reasons, at the time. This has happened twice before. I never went to the guards, because I thought the attacks would stop if I managed to defeat Dagoth Ur. And... and they did..."
She couldn't bear to look at Julan, sitting with his mother's body.
"But who are these people?" Raesa Pullia asked. "The Morag Tong?"
"No, this is not the work of the Tong," Athyn Sarethi said flatly, gazing down at the bodies of the killers.
"How can you be so sure, Dunmer?" Raesa asked, fixing him with her trademark steely glare.
"Because this is not the armour of the Tong," Athyn Sarethi replied smoothly. "And neither of them carried a writ. They attacked and killed one other to their target. And they used tactics of deceit and trickery. Poison. Concealment. There was no honour in this. And, Champion, you'd do well to remember you address a councillor of House Redoran. That's, serjo, to you."
Raesa gripped the sword at her hip, but before she could reply Llovesi cut across her.
"Please," she said, "just don't. Ser Sarethi is right. I know that it was not the Morag Tong."
She didn't want to discuss her reasons for this knowledge, her deal with Eno Hlaalu, but fortunately, no one asked her. She didn't see Julan glancing at her from his vigil.
"But who then?" Brara Morvayn whispered, clutching her shaking children to her skirts.
There was a polite cough from the back. "The Dark Brotherhood."
The crowd turned as one. It was Percius Mercius. "I didn't know they operated here on Vvardenfell," he continued, stepping forward, "but I recognise them from my time on the mainland, and in Cyrodiil."
A shocked hush fell upon the group. Ralyn broke the silence, speaking bitterly from his position next to Galdal's body. "Of course they do not operate here. The organisation is entirely illegal. We would stamp out such depraved filth. Of all the barbaric, cruel–"
"Right," Llovesi said, cutting across him. "The Dark Brotherhood. I like to know the names of my enemies before I destroy them." She got to her feet. "I need to take a walk. I need to... When I get back we shall honour the dead with the respect they are due... But I–"
"Are you sure that's wise, Llovesi?" Mehra Milo asked quietly. "There may be more of them."
"Then they will not leave this island alive!" Llovesi shouted then bit her lip. She turned and walked from the hall, and it took her remaining bit of composure to not flee on the spot.
Now she was out here alone, gulping in the dusk air in the vain hope that it would clear her mind, but all she could focus on was deep thudding in her temples and the taste of bile of her mouth. And the image of Mashti swam in her mind, the light in her eyes sputtering out...
The sound of footsteps crunching in the sand behind her forced her round.
Julan took her hands, in a twisted parody of their position just a few short hours ago. He looked as hollow as she felt.
"Julan," she whispered, "your mother... I'm so sorry. This was all my fault."
He frowned slightly, but when he spoke his voice was soft, if tired and raw. "Why do you say that?"
"Because if I'd gone to the guards all those months ago, then I might've been able to stop the attacks. And... this... would never have happened."
She took a deep breath.
"Well, they made a mistake too, in coming here today. I will not rest until every one of their heads rolls to the ground."
She spoke with such bite that Julan dropped her hands and took a step backwards. Which made his next sentence a surprise to Llovesi.
"I'm coming with you."
"But..."
"No buts. Before their heads touch the ground they'll have found one of my arrows in their throats."
This was not Julan, this suddenly cold figure before her. He looked as if he'd aged a hundred years. So when she reached out for him, she was glad that he returned the embrace.
"And the tribe–?"
"–Will understand. And they'll manage without us for a few days. Besides," he spoke into her neck, "I let you walk into an assassins' den alone once before, and I won't let you go alone again. You're all I've got now."
The tears came then, good and proper, until they were both a wet and trembling mess. Sobs racked their bodies as they stood on the beach, but they didn't let go of one another. Llovesi felt something had broken inside her. Grief was all she knew. Then she looked up through the film of her tears and knew that, no–that was a lie. Something stronger could fill her, if she let it.
The desire for revenge.
The guests left in small, sombre groups. Some teleported directly from the camp, others hurried into the enveloping darkness to the beach where their private boats were waiting. Even those who had planned on staying said farewell, said that they would leave Llovesi and Julan in peace.
Galdal Omayn had been cremated and her ashes placed in a small earthen jar.
"I need to return to Ghostgate directly and inform the Buoyant Armigers," Ralyn said, cradling the jar as if it might break between his hands. "Stay safe, Nerevarine."
They buried Masthi on the beach in front of the ruin. It seemed a perverted way to carry out her final wish: to be closer to them.
The next morning they discussed their plan with Sinnammu, and she agreed to watch of the camp in their absence.
"We'll only be a week at most," Llovesi assured her. In truth, the camp would probably be safer without them–without her. These were days of peace and safety, and if the Dark Brotherhood were hunting her they would have no reason to go to the camp if she left it.
They were headed to Ebonheart. Julan had reasoned that, as the main port in Vvardenfell, the assassins would have had to come through there, if they didn't operate on Vvardenfell itself. Seyda Neen was too small; it was too easy to get noticed. Perhaps someone in Ebonheart would know where the Dark Brotherhood was based. Llovesi hoped so; mainland Morrowind was roughly twice the size of Vvardenfell. If she didn't know where to look, she would never find them.
And find them she would. There had been blood, and there would be blood yet to come.
"Have you seen anyone come through here wearing this helmet?"
The guard who had been patrolling the port sighed, and took the stitched leather helm from Llovesi, turning it over in his hands.
"No," he said, "but then, you are aware that Ebonheart is Vvardenfell's biggest port? That I am not the only guard to patrol here in the western docks? What I'm saying is, it's entirely possible that someone could have come through and not been noticed by me."
"I have very good reason to believe it once belonged to a member of the Dark Brotherhood." Llovesi said.
The guard handed the helmet back as if she'd just mentioned it was diseased.
"The Dark Brotherhood? Who did you anger?"
"To be honest, I don't really care about that. I'm the Nerevarine, I'm bound to attract attention. But when they attacked me, they... went too far. I need to find them."
The guard sighed, looking for all the world as if he wished he'd been assigned somewhere different to patrol that morning.
"You're mad. But okay, I'll tell you what, talk to Apelles Matius. He's our new Captain of the Guard, recently arrived from Cyrodiil, now the quarantine's down. Dark Brotherhood activity is illegal, and should be officially reported. He may have an idea of where they operate from too, if you're determined to track them down."
Apelles Matius was patrolling the battlements of the Grand Council Hall. He was dressed head to toe in silvery-grey plate armour that Llovesi didn't recognise.
He took the helmet from Llovesi and looked between her and it several times, his eyebrows raised.
"You say this came from a Dark Brotherhood assassin? That they attacked you? The fact that you're standing here seems to suggest otherwise."
"The only reason we're standing here is because someone we loved jumped between me and the assassin's blade. We've heard they operate from the mainland, and we've got a score to settle," Llovesi replied.
Apelles Matius handed the helmet back.
"Well, I've heard about Dark Elves and their honour. If you're determined to have vengeance, and if you're feeling particularly suicidal, then I have it on good authority that they operate out of Mournhold, the Temple city at the heart of the city of Almalexia."
"The capital?" Julan asked. "Fine. How do we get there?"
"They're still wary of Blight contamination, but if you're willing to go through their checks then all you need to do is get the boat to Old Ebonheart, then a carriage to Almalexia."
Llovesi's heart sank. That was a journey that could easily last a few weeks. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to go through with it if she waited that long.
"We need to get there faster than that," she said.
Apelles scratched his stubble. "Well, there's Asciene Rane. She's a mage from Mournhold, on a special appointment to Duke Dren himself. She arrived the same time as me, a few weeks ago. On the same ship actually. Nice woman." He coughed. "Anyway, if you're so hell-bent on tracking down these assassins she may be able to speed up your journey a bit. You'll probably find her in the council chambers. Excuse me now if that's all, I need to finish my patrol."
Asciene Rane, a small Breton woman with sleek brown hair, looked highly flustered when Llovesi and Julan approached her with their request.
"I don't know," she said. "This is highly irregular. I could send you, theoretically, but it's usually by special appointment only. They're still worried about the Blight, you see? And to send two of you... What's your reason for wanting to go to the city?"
Llovesi glanced at Julan. It probably didn't matter who they told at this stage.
"The Dark Brotherhood made an attempt on my life, only to take the life of someone very dear to us by mistake. We want to find them."
Asciene looked horrified. "I can't say I'm happy to send you off on that sort of fool's errand. Still." She bit her lip. "I can see why you'd want to get it cleared up. Okay, I'll send you. I maintain a psychic link with the new court mage, Effe-Tei, in the Royal Palace, much like the Mages Guild's guild guides. You'll need to speak with him to come back, or take the longer trip. It's up to you. Okay, I wish you the best of luck... take my hands."
She held out a hand to each of them. Llovesi and Julan took hands too, and he cast her a determined glance as all three of them stood there in the council chambers, as if they were taking part in some sort of ritual. Then they were flying through dark space, being squeezed all over, only to emerge floating into soft light.
They'd arrived in Mournhold.
A/N: Just a small explanation on my usage of Mournhold/Almalexia - if I'm correct in my understanding, it's a Vatican City/Rome situation, so that's how I'm handling references to the two places. Also, I'm imagining the city (and buildings in it) as far bigger than in game (a lot of my in head references are based on Istanbul). Next chapter - Friday!