Several days after the less than happy reunion between his newest and most deceased member, the Listener decided Lucien had had enough time to digest the information and would possibly listen to his Listener. The ghost had been uncharacteristically quiet and unhelpfully gung-ho on this last business venture, and today the Breton found him still outside the Sanctuary since their return, brooding by his old mare.
"By the Night Mother, Lucien, it's time you dealt with this situation. If anything, long journeys home like that are incredibly dull without one of your tales."
The spectre simply stared out to sea, standing beside Shadowmere. "You may mock, Listener, but there is nothing more to be done. The woman deserted the family. Why you keep her here, I do not know."
He had confined the elf to the Sanctuary. She was not a prisoner, but he did not want her running off on him. "You've had plenty of opportunity, why haven't you slain her as a traitor? I have not commanded the contrary."
The ghost paused before speaking, almost irritably. "The Dread Father does not desire it."
"Ah, so she is of use to us yet."
"I wish no further involvement with her. I cannot see what use she could be given her lack of loyalty."
"You know full well she could be an excellent addition. As it stands, both of my best people are not much use to me at all as they currently sulk and live in the past."
"My Listener?" An innocuous comment as the ghost turned to look at the Breton, but the Listener detected the warning tone that edged it.
Unfazed, he elaborated. "Despite how you feel about what she did you know she is good. It was two hundred years ago and a damn sight more has happened since to destroy most of the Brotherhood. This is the last Sanctuary and I need her now to regrow this organisation. I want that Silencer you've spoken of, and I want you without this jilted gloom surrounding you. We'd be a damn fine team if you would bloody go and make things right with her."
Lucien looked away again. "The Silencer is gone. That much is clear from her desertion."
The Listener stood firm and crossed his arms. "She's still there. That's why she feels bad. That's why she's back. I'm not condoning what she did but I want to give her a chance here. I know you do, too."
The ghost cocked his head, giving the Listener a sidelong, questioning look.
"I was there the other day, Lucien. You were pleased to find her here and now you're frustrated and sad that she gave you need to be angry. She did wrong and hurt your professional pride at the same time, you had to disown her, I understand. I'd wager you don't want it to be like this, though."
Lucien's presence seemed to grow colder, despite the biting coastal winds. "You have many thoughts on the matter," he stated in a manner as if to say he shouldn't.
"I'm saying cut her some slack. Do you know how I came to be here? I had a wife, you know, and a son. He was framed and sent to the gallows. The scum didn't even have the decency to kill with his own hands. Martha begged me not to, but I took my sweet revenge. I told her I'd get out of jail and take her away with me, but she wouldn't have me any more. See, I'd still done it even though I knew it was not what she wanted, such is the madness of grief. I escaped prison and High Rock via a ship to Windhelm, and that's where I got tangled with the Dark Brotherhood, such as my mind was inclined at the time."
Lucien was looking at him as if to ask whether this had any point.
"She holds a hell of a lot of guilt, Lucien. She didn't leave on a whim, she loved you, she said so. She was hurting, this is a lot to take on in that state."
The questioning looks faded somewhat under the knowing air of the Listener's final statement.
"I'm not telling you to be friends again, though I'm not sure you need to worry about that after your chat, anyway..." he raised a subtle eyebrow. "Just get her back on form for me. If she stops beating herself up she might at least start to use those skills on some worthy targets."
He left the spectral assassin to consider his request, Shadowmere shaking her head beneath the ethereal hand in her mane.
"I have for you a very special gift." He took the woman by the shoulders and guided her from what trivia she was distracting herself with.
She turned her head to look back at him with wide eyes, curious for the reason of this unexpected kindness. They'd always held sorrow, those deep red orbs. When he met her, they'd been heavy with the weight of recent loss, vacant in her despair. How ironic, he had thought to himself on recognising this tired potential recruit for the celebrated Hero, that the people cry for a champion whom they drive into ruin, yet denigrate and detest my organisation. The Dark Brotherhood knew the meaning of glory, love, family. It took care of its own, it made no heroes or martyrs and, in death, its members were welcomed into the arms of their dark mother and father.
He'd known she would accept the invitation the moment a wistful smile had ghosted her lips, eyes glistening with tears. "Tell me more."
And he knew he would be glad of her presence in the Sanctuary. It was a joy to teach an interested recruit of the glory of Sithis and she came to him regularly when he was resident in the Sanctuary. He knew she was attempting to justify her own existence, her own actions; if the Dark Brotherhood could turn murder into a legitimate way of life, if the Void really did exist sated only by the passage of souls into it, if death claimed every man making this creed the truest... her actions were validated. Lucien didn't mind for she was not using their traditions to merely justify some petty desires. In fact he could see that she was not struggling with guilt over the lives she had taken but with the fact that she felt none, in contradiction to how society told her she should. With enough teaching she would accept the great and dark things of which she was capable, she would become a most excellent servant of Sithis, and so he greatly enjoyed discussing such topics with her, observing as she emerged further from her chrysalis week by week.
"I don't like surprises, Lucien," the elf complained as he led her up and out of his private residence.
She'd been staying at Fort Farragut since returning after performing the Purification. Despite what a fresh wound it was, she had a distance about her. In fact it had appeared when he finally succeeded in gaining her agreement to perform the ritual. Perhaps it was merely a defensive measure- the woman was no emotionless psychopath, she had loved and lost and the members of his Sanctuary had been a tight knit group into which she had slotted fairly smoothly. The act would be a tremendous challenge without a firm belief in the bigger picture, so distancing herself was a sensible measure, but he was worried she may not come back from this nonetheless.
Thus he had refrained from explaining her new rank fully just yet and allowed her to reside with him in the fort, where he kept a watchful eye on her recovery and tried to strengthen her resolve in the Brotherhood. In fact she had given him some trouble. After the act she was as an external observer, watching this woman that would slay her own friends and family. Lucien attempted to counter her self-hatred with praise, informing her she had done well and that the Black Hand itself was pleased with her work. But he was met with a frenzied outburst, the elf unwilling to admit the ritual was necessary, un-wanting of a promotion for such a heinous act. Actually this was good; she had spirit in her, the pain had an outlet, it meant the event hadn't broken her.
Still, she was not ready to roam the land alone, isolated as she would be as Silencer; she suffered nightmares, bouts of depression and fits of anguish, through which Lucien had to guide her. They grew closer in this time, seeing parts of each other they never normally would. He learned she had not always resided in Cyrodiil, coming here when she was young with just her mother. She sometimes dreamt of him, his name slipping out during her sleep between words from her mother tongue. She bore many scars, physical and mental, from all her previous trials. In turn she was intrigued and envious of how soundly he slept, entranced to learn that his life here had begun when he was only fifteen, and surprised at how sensitive he could be when she required aid.
As her condition improved they had returned to discussing the philosophy of the Brotherhood and her place in it. She was uncertain how someone like her could truly fit, affected as she had been by recent events, and contrasted herself to the collected and unfeeling composure of Lucien. He enjoyed it, no emotions complicated it, he was a natural- the archetypal serial killer the Brotherhood surely thrived with, she said.
This was not entirely true. He could feel, but chose only to do so for those who were deserving. And was it not love and family that bound dark brothers and sisters together under their one mother and father, separating them from common murderers? What was common to them all was the lack of pity or remorse in their work, indeed that was what brought him to her. She was of the same mother as he, but her capacity to love was a blessing, not a hindrance, for it reinforced the Family values and the Dread Father would reward his loving children.
She had smiled at this, drawing encouragement from Lucien's words and glad of his companionship. Vowing their deaths would not be for naught, she took his hand and thanked him for ensuring her survival once more. He allowed her this liberty, familiar as they had become with one another now, pleased with her dedication to the Brotherhood but also relieved to see her smile.
So today he led her out to the secluded spot where the magnificent steed waited, presenting her, a symbol of his pride, a token of his trust and love, a parting gift, knowing also that the mare would do as much to protect his Silencer as carry her swiftly to her work. Her thanks had been equally ceremonious but her eyes burned with a love far beyond that of family.
The memories swam in his mind as he stroked Shadowmere's mane. The horse had always been a good judge of character, and he wondered if the way she was shaking her head beneath his touch was not her attempt to add input to the discussion.