A very unlikely pair of elves had left the Red Ring Road half an hour ago and now followed an overgrown little dirt road. The heavy rain muffled everything around them. There were no birds singing, no living being seen, even their horse's hooves barely made any sound on the softened wet ground. They rode in silence, hoods pulled deep into their faces. Soon Harm's Folly would come into view and though Sorilkad had uncovered a small hint at the traitor's identity, he had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He felt like he was coming too late.

Too late for what?

He asked himself, when he finally he realized where his thoughts were drifting to. Nobody knew of this hidden cottage and nobody knew that his assassin friend was hiding out there.

He should be fine. I assume that an assassin knows how to hide properly. Then why do I feel like riding right into trouble?

He slightly turned his head to catch a glimpse of the Altmer, who had been suspiciously quiet on their whole ride from the Imperial City to here. Caman's mouth was set in a grim line. Sorilkad could not tell, if he was upset by the weather or if he felt it too. Or maybe it was something completely else. Caman wasn't stupid, had he figured out, that Sorilkad did not tell him the whole truth? But by the look the Dark Elf could tell, that his friend was more than only a little upset. The mage would not want to be on the receiving end of the warrior's sword, especially when Caman was in a bad mood. He had quite the temper sometimes.

They continued on in silence until the farmstead came into view. Sorilkad's frown only deepened. It looked empty. There was no smoke coming out of the chimney, no light in the windows. It looked void of life.

"If we rode the whole way in this bloody weather and he's not home, I'll kill that bugger!"

Caman growled, slowing his steed down to a halt and got out of the saddle. Sorilkad patted his dapple grey gelding on the neck and took a look around. His gelding whinnied softly, ears perched forward. It was then, when the Dunmer spied the huge black mare with her flaming red eyes. She looked miserable, head hanging low and showing no sign of interest in the other horses. This did not bode well, especially since Lucien loved his horse very dearly.

"He has to be home. He would never leave his horse behind."

Sorilkad said in a hushed tone of voice looking around again, but his time more carefully. The rain hid everything from his eyes and ears. He turned to face Caman, who's expression was as grim as his own.

"Something's not right."

"Oh sod off Soril. Just delivering information, eh? Looks like you are neck deep into your friend's shite!"

"Oh shut it! I did not ask you to come along!"

The Dunmer growled back and walked up to the front door. It was locked, so he knocked. No answer, the feeling of impending doom growing. He knocked again.

"Lucien! Open up, it's me Sorilkad."

Again he waited a couple of heartbeats and again he received no answer. He turned towards the Altmer, who only shrugged as reply. Sorilkad bit his lips in anticipation as he opened the lock with a spell. As he was about to open it however, Caman's hand clamped tightly around his wrist, stopping him.

"Wait. Don't!"

The Dunmer searched his face.

"What's wrong?"

"Aside from helping a bloody Imperial... I don't like it. This place looks deserted. We could very well walk into a trap."

He pulled his long elven dagger from his hip, tightening his grip around it's handle so much, his knuckles cracked. With his other hand he reached for the doorknob.

"You stay back, I know how to defend myself!"

With a deep breath the Altmer warrior ripped the door open and stormed inside. And stopped.

"Oh bugger!"

he exclaimed, sheathing his dagger, while covering his nose as he was met by the rancid smell of blood and vomit. The Imperial sat against the wall, his posture slumped a massive cut across his chest, his intestines resting on his legs. Caman looked back over his shoulder to Sorilkad, who was still waiting outside.

"Your friend's a goner!"

He said turning towards the door, just as Sorilkad passed him by, mumbling curses under his breath. For once his usual scowl was gone, replaced by shock and worry. He crouched down and carefully pushed Lucien's shoulders back to get a better look at his face. With his other hand he gently raised his head towards him and bit his lip.

"Oh Lucien, look at the mess you've made..."

He whispered. Gone were the Imperial's even features, his face was covered with cuts and bruises, the right side swollen and purple. By the smell of him, he could tell that he sat here at least a couple of hours.

"Come on Sorilkad. Let's go home, can't do jack for him now."

Sorilkad just ignored the tall mer, a frown appearing on his face. The body still felt eerily warm. Shifting his weight a little, he summoned a small ball of light and held it above his palm, while he pushed Lucien's eyelid up with the thumb of his other hand. The pupil contracted.

The light died and Sorilkad jumped up in utter shock.

"By Mannimarco's pubic hair! Caman! He's still alive!"

The Altmer turned, squinting his eyes while regarding the body again.

"He is? B'vek! What kind of bloody amateur can't kill a man with broken hands?"

Sorilkad rushed over to a table and pushed it in front of the fireplace.

"You would be surprised."

The red-haired warrior shook his head and drew his dagger again. Slowly, he went down and pulled Lucien's head back on his hair, ready to cut his throat.

Just as he was about to draw the sharp blade across the skin, Sorilkad pulled his hand away with a surprisingly strong grip.

"What are you doing, you S'wit?"

he growled angrily at the tall elf. Caman's bright green eyes darkened in anger.

"What does it look like? I'm ending his suffering, that's all!"

The Dunmer's eyes widened.

"No!"

"No? You're dead up from the neck! Look at him!"

Sorilkad's gaze flickered towards the broken body of his friend and quietly said.

"I can save him..."

The warrior stood suddenly, pulling his friend up with him. Caman took hold of Sorilkad's shoulders and started shaking him.

"Bollocks, Soril! Look at him!"

The Dark Elf's gaze flickered, yet he resumed to stare at his friend stubbornly, making him furious.

"LOOK AT HIM!"

Caman shouted at the top of his lungs, turning Sorilkad's head forcefully to the side.

"He's sitting in his own blood and piss. His sodding guts are ripped out of his bloody body! He vomited all over them! He smells like he's gone to the dogs!"

Caman stopped, taking a deep breath to calm himself down, before he continued.

"Let me end his miserable life. There is nothing you can do."

The Dunmer freed himself from the other mer's grip and stared down at Lucien. Caman was right. A gut wound that severe was almost always deadly. If the blood loss would not kill him, infection would. Still, he was to stubborn to just walk away now.

"No, Caman. I can save him."

The High Elf stared at his friend for a long time, before he sighed deeply, shaking his head in resignation.

"Fine."

Sorilkad gave him a thankful nod, before shrugging out of his Leather robe. Carefully he picked Lucien up and carried him to the table, the warrior following him.

"Can I help you?"

Sorilkad looked up and a thankful smile graced his lips, but soon vanished to a grim expression.

"I need a hot water. I'll start the fire."

Caman nodded and hurried outside to the well, while Sorilkad blasted the pile of wood with a strong fire spell.

The water heated quickly, the Dunmer helped with that magically as well, before he finally turned towards the Imperial. Pulling his sleeves up he took a closer look at the wounds. It was a miracle that he was still alive, and the elf only guessed, that by a lucky stroke of fate no major arteries had been severed. He frowned. The intestines had already turned form a lively pink to a greyish white colour. Not a good sign and suddenly he wasn't so sure, if he really could help him. If he should help him. Caman picked up on the uncertainty of his friend.

"Soril? You ok?"

Red eyes briefly met green ones.

"I..."

Sorilkad trailed off.

"You're not sure what to do."

The High Elf concluded.

"I've never worked on a living person. You can't do much wrong with a corpse... Caman. I ...I...think you were right, we should end it here."

The tall warrior shook his head and stepped around the table putting his hand on Sorilkad's shoulder.

"Listen. I understand he is your friend and that you can't let him die just like this. If there is a chance, you can save him, then try what you can. I trust you can do this."

Sorilkad nodded, yet could not bring himself to look in the other mer's eyes.

"And I'll guard you and the property. The last thing I want is to have those amateurs coming back."

He paused and squeezed the Dunmer's shoulder assertively.

"Now get to work!"

The Dark Elf took a deep breath, before he started to clean the Imperial's stomach and bowels. He worked carefully, knowing that he had to reduce every risk for major infection. So he first rinsed out everything, then cleansed very intestinal loop again. Once he was satisfied, he put the intestines back into their native cavity.

So far so good. He is still alive.

He thought, before closing his eyes and focusing on his magicka. He pressed his hand firmly against the wound and let a healing spell flow in.

I hope the strain of the magic does not kill him now. He is very weak...

He could feel the muscles twitch beneath his hands in involuntary spasms. He only not even imagine how painful the procedure must be, having a pair of hand pressed in you abdominal cavity and magic meshing together nearly every muscle and fibre. For once the Dunmer was thankful that his friend was not awake during this.

Or maybe he has a massive head injury as well...

The Dunmer worked on his friend tirelessly until his magicka was completely drained. He had to lean heavily on the table, chest heaving, hands shaking his forehead covered in sweat and black dots dancing in front of his eyes. He needed rest so very badly. He had the feeling, that if he dared to move now, he would just drop to the floor like a sack potatoes. But looking down, he could not rest just yet. He still had not been able to address every wound. The fingers still needed to be repositioned, the back was still shredded and needed to be addressed and the mage still was not sure, if Lucien would survive that horrid wound on his stomach even though it had closed nicely. Only a red angry red line reminded of the cut across his lower abdomen. The chances, that infection was already spreading through his system were rather high. But at the moment, he just had no strength left.

Perhaps I could make some potions, until I have enough magicka again...

He thought and turned towards the fireplace. And nearly collided with Caman, who had snug up behind him.

"Come. You've done enough for today."

The High Elf said, his voice calm and low, while pulling the Dunmer in direction of the bed.

"I'll keep vigil. You rest. I don't need you to end up in a bloody heap on the floor as well."

Sorilkad did not resist being led away to the bed. He had not enough strength left to struggle. And he felt so light headed that he clung to the tall mer for support.

Fredas turned to Morndas and life in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary has been unusually slow. Vicente Valtieri sat in the common area reading a book. Well, he was trying to read a book, but found it hard to concentrate on anything lately. His thoughts had the tendency to wander off to a certain Speaker. It was then, when a dark robed figure entered the Sanctuary. The vampire looked up and a deep frown appeared on his features, as he took the figure in. Black Hand Robe, obviously male but carried himself with an air of royalty, yet the stature did not match Lucien's. Vicente rose.

His face turned grim, as he got a sickening feeling to his stomach. The man stopped in front of the Vampire and took his hood off. With a smile, that never reached his eyes, he inclined his head.

"Vicente."

He said smoothly. The vampire's eyes widened ever so slightly.

"Mathieu. That's a … surprise. What can I do for you?"

A smirk appeared on the younger Breton's lips.

Ah Vicente. Straight to the point.

He thought, before he said.

"There is something we need to talk about. Please gather every one here."

The normally relaxed vampire tensed, his face a stoic mask, as he nodded and hurried away.

Ten minutes later the members of Cheydinhal had gathered around the Breton Speaker. Most of them looked curious, but Mathieu could see the suspicious gaze the vampire regarded him with. He did not care, he would deal with the vampire later. He had thought of a nice way to dispose of him, without even getting his hands dirty. His gaze shifted to the Argonian twins, both clearly worried. And then there was the young blonde Breton. He would have his fun with her. Images of her being bloodied and begging for him to stop appeared before his inner eyes and he had to take a deep breath to will them away. He could feel himself getting excited and this was not the right moment for it. Another deep breath and he put on a serious face.

"My brothers and sisters. You may have heard some disturbing news about a traitor killing our beloved family members."

He stopped a moment to let his words sink in. He watched the vampire out of the corners of his eyes, his face had turned even grimmer, if that was even possible.

"But fret no longer. The identity of the traitor has come to the attention of the Black Hand and was dealt with."

Again a pause for dramatic effect. It was then the vampire stepped forward.

"Where is our Speaker. I'm sure Speaker Lachance is more than capable of telling us these news all by his own."

All eyes turned to the vampire. There was an animosity in his voice, they were not used to. A slight frown was appearing on Bellamont's face. He did not like the vampire's attitude. He deserved to be treated better than this. He deserved to be treated like a kind, but he would teach that vampiric scum later a lesson in respect.

"Speaker Lachance is not here, Valtieri, because we found out that he was the traitor."

If it was possible for the vampire, he paled even more, taking a step forward with fists raised. He bared fangs he hissed:

"Lucien is no traitor!"

"Valtieri it is enough!"

Bellamont said in a cold very dangerous tone of voice.

"No it is not! Lucien has always been a loyal child of Sithis, ever since he came here. Where is our Speaker! I'd like to talk to him!"

A cruel smile tucked on the lips of the young Breton man.

"I am your Speaker now, Valtieri."

A murmur ran through the small crowed

"As I said. The Black Hand has dealt with the traitor. Lachance was questioned and then send to the Void."

With satisfaction he noted the shadow of shock cross Valtieri's eyes. The old Breton assassin knew very well what " questioned" meant. Mathieu ran his hand through his light-brown wavy hair.

"I was named Speaker and entrusted with this Sanctuary. I wish for us to all get along well. Like in the old days."

He looked from face to face until he stopped at Vicente's.

"But I'm afraid I have to make some changes. As my position is new to me, I wish to stay at the Sanctuary. I hope you do understand that my position does not allow me to sleep with you in the common quarters. Vicente, it saddens me to inform you, that I have to strip you of your private room. Please clear your personal belongings out within the hour."

The Sanctuary went completely silent. Only the Dark Guardian's creaking bones could be heard as he shuffled around in the background. There was an unearthly glow in the old vampire's eyes, his fists balled so tight, the knuckles went completely white. Finally he choked out.

"As you wish."

He was about to turn, when he heard Bellamont say behind him.

"As you wish, my Speaker."

Vicente froze, yet did not turn back. He had his eyes fixed to Ocheeva as he snarled with bared fangs.

"Yes my Speaker."

An hour later Bellamont sat in Vicente's room, doors locked and smiling to himself, while he was wiping his spilled seed from his hands. Finally, he had the privacy to think the recent events through. Thought about how he had broken Lucien's fingers. The memory of the delicious sound of breaking bones had excited him greatly. The humiliation the former speaker had to suffer at his hands. Oh how he had wished for Arquen to leave him alone with Lucien. He would have taken him, broken his spirit and pride alongside his body But at least he knew, that his death had not come easy, which excited him only more. Then his thoughts shifted to Antionetta. Still as sweet and petite as he remembered. The thoughts of how he would break her, would make her beg and scream had finally pushed him over the edge.

Spend and satisfied he looked around.

This place is dank. Not worthy of mine.

He thought. He ran his hand over the surface of Vicente's desk. Truth was, he did not need to stay in the Sanctuary. He did not need to stay in that little room, when he had Fort Farragut all to himself now. But he just wanted to see the vampire humiliated. It was time now to work out a special contract for Valtieri. One he would not come back from.