Sorilkad pushed Lucien's shoulder down on the bed. The Imperial was covered in sweat and tossed and turned in bed while groaning in pain. He had come down with a high fever right the next day after the elves had found his beaten body and the mage suspected, that Lucien might suffer from infection of the abdominal cavity. Sorilkad had tried to force feed him some cure disease potions, but Lucien, who was still unconscious could just not keep them down long enough for them to take effect. In the end the Dunmer had to reopen Lucien's abdomen to let fluid and puss drain off. But that also meant that he had to leave the abdomen open, and though covered with a clean cloth, every febrile seizure caused it to bleed again.

The Imperial's feverish fit slowly subsided and he lay quiet again, yet his face was distorted by pain. Sorilkad sat back in his chair and wiped his forehead wit the sleeve of his necromancer robe. Keeping the man down was hard work for the slender mage. For the umpteenth time Sorilkad asked himself, if he had made the right decision. He did not mean for his friend to suffer so much, but there was nothing he could do to help him. He had to fight through it on his own.

If only he would keep those damn potions down. He could be out and about by now.

He thought, while uncovering the wound. It looked as fine as such a horrific injury could, so Sorilkad got up with a sigh. He needed a tea.

Or maybe a good glass of Greef...no better a bottle.

He thought, pressing his knuckles into his lower back, making it crack. The Imperial had quietened down quite nicely, though his breathing was still laboured. Sorilkad made his way over to the kettle with boiling water and poured himself a cup adding some herbs. He was tired and wished for his comfortable bed back at the Arcane University whole heartedly. And a strong drink to knock him out for a couple of hours. This was turning into a personal nightmare. Being a necromancer did not allow for many friends, having one of them gutted and suffering, pained him to say the least. Not knowing if said friend would survive, did nothing to help him. And it started to take a toll on his body. He had not planned for such a long journey, he did not bring many alchemy supplies. There was no way for him at the moment to restore his magicka any faster. All he could do was rest, a luxury he did not have at the moment.

Sorilkad looked up and met the gaze of Caman Verhane, who leant against the mantelpiece, legs crossed and arms folded over his chest. The Dunmer paused, regarding his friend a moment. The taller mer was in a bad mood, judging by the sour look on his face. His mouth was set in a grim line, while his normally bright green eyes had darkened a shade with suppressed anger. Caman had kept himself busy roaming around the cottage and stables, while the mage was too occupied with nursing the Imperial back to life to notice. He had found out some interesting things, that only deepened his suspicion about the Imperial and his would- be murderers. He was both angry and disappointed, that Sorilkad did not tell him beforehand. Caman raised a hand to his left ear, and trailed the scarred edge. He straightened to his full, impressing hight and turned towards the Dunmer.

"I was feeding the horses. That black steed of his, that's not a normal horse. Nerevar would not even go near that mare, despite him being a bloody stallion."

Sorilkad nodded solemnly

"Yes. As far as I now, it came from the Void."

"From the Void."

Caman echoed with an arched eyebrow and started pacing in front of the fireplace. Wearily Sorilkad sat down, not quite liking where their conversation was going. Finally the red-haired elf turned, a fierce gleam in his eyes.

"Don't you think it's time to tell me the truth about that Imperial prick?"

He said, his voice hard. Sorilkad's red eyes drifted towards the bed and regarded the man there with a long look.

"I told you enough."

He said after a while his voice quiet. The High Elf snorted and walked over to a drawer.

"Enough? You think?"

Caman did not pause long enough to let the mage answer. He didn't need one anyway.

"The bloody fuck you did!"

His anger was finally showing through, his voice raised and his veins in the neck showing. He pulled something black out of the drawers and threw it at Sorilkad, who had walked up behind him.

"Look what I've found! Any explanation for this?"

The Dunmer held the black cloth up. He didn't need to look at it any ways he already knew what it was.

"A black robe."

He stated matter of factly.

"A black robe?!"

The High Elf closed their distance, his head lowered, shoulders squared. Anger seemed to radiate off of him and Sorilkad involuntarily backed up until his back was against the wall. Caman's hands slammed down either side of the smaller mer's head, thus effectively trapping him.

"You are helping a sodding assassin!"

He shouted right in Sorilkad's face, who turned his head to the side.

"And not only that! That fucking bastard over there is a member of the Black Hand! Have you no honour?"

Still Sorilkad was not able to look at his friend. Never before had he seen him this angry and he felt intimidated. He knew what the mer was capable of doing to others.

"If I had known this, I would have knocked you out and let that bleeding gilt die miserably!"

Caman's hands fell to his side as he straightened to his full height.

"I thought, I knew you. I thought, you were my friend. But to drag me into this mess... how dare you after all we've been through!"

Finally Sorilkad had recovered from his initial shock and was able to lock their gazes.

"I never asked of you to come here! I never asked of you to stay here!"

Caman turned away with a growl.

"And leave you to a bunch of assassins? Incompetent assassins?"

Sorilkad stared at his friend for a while.

"How long have you known?"

"Does it matter?"

Caman snapped but then sighed, before he continued with a much calmer voice.

"I had suspicions ever since we left the crypt. Two days ago I've found his robe."

He turned to face the mage again.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Sorilkad shook his head.

"Because I know how you feel about them."

"And yet you dare to drag me into this? What if they had caught up on your little plan first hand? Their guild has ways to learn of things, mysterious ways."

Caman paused again and looked towards the bed with a scowl, while running his hand over his cut ear again.

"This scum drove me out of Vvardenfell, after they were through disfiguring me!"

He growled darkly, thinking back to the day, he was caught by assassins in a dark alley in Balmora. They did not so much torture him, not like the Dark Brotherhood had tortured their Speaker. They hadn't come to kill him either, not on that day. They just held him down and cut his left ear of very slowly with a dull knife. The death threats came afterwards. In every town or camp he went, they had found him and attacked him. It was then, he almost lost his other ear as well. It had stopped, when he had crossed the border to Cyrodiil. He started anew in the Fighters Guild and tried to stay out of trouble.

Sorilkad raised an eyebrow.

"It's not like they jumped you on the street, because you were some snobby N'wah. You ..."

The Dunmer commented dryly, but was not able to finish his sentence. In a matter of seconds the fierce Altmer was back in the other mer's face, grabbing him by the collar of his dark blue robe.

He shook him so hard, Sorilkad's head bumped painfully against the wall.

"You defend them? You DARE to take their side? You Dunmeri asshole!"

He stopped shaking the smaller elf, before whirling around and storming towards the door. Before he reached it, he could hear Sorilkad say.

"I told you time and time again, to stay away from the Morag Tong, Verhane. But you wouldn't listen. Besides I don't hear you complain, when you tell the story of how you lost to ear to your doe eyes women."

The look Sorilkad received was poisonous. The High Elf ripped the door open and spat.

"You know what Malur! Fuck you!"

The door banged shut and left the Dunmer mage alone and slightly dazed in the gloomy silence. He sighed, pulling his chair up to the fire and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. It did not take long for exhaustion to take its toll and he fell into an unquiet sleep.

"Lucien..."

He opened his eyes, as he heard his name called but saw nothing. He touched his face to make sure that his eyes weren't covered. They weren't. Around him was absolutely nothing, only darkness. He shivered. He could feel the fast emptiness around him and his heart rate sped up.

"Lucien."

Closer this time. He whirled around and suddenly got aware on a faint orange glow in the distance.

"Lucien, come to me."

He swallowed nervously, but followed the voice towards the light. The nearer he got, the clearer he could see the outlines of a door. He frowned deeply, wondering what this place was. There was no echo, no sound at all, just this heavy depressing silence that could drive one mad. He reached for the knob and carefully opened the door. He had to blink a couple of times, the warm light of candles making his eyes water after that absolute darkness he had been in. Carefully he stepped into the room and looked around surprised. This place reminded him so much of his Sanctuary in Cheydinhal. He stopped and frowned. His Sanctuary...was it still his? He wasn't so sure any more.

"Come to me Lucien."

He was called again. In front of a fine tapestry with the black hand print stood a gorgeous young Dunmer woman. He bowed his head and looked to the floor, while he walked up to her. Dread had filled him, the moment he had heard her voice in the void. It seemed like an eternity until he had finally reached her.

"Oh Lucien, don't be scared. There is no pain in the void."

He could hear the smile in her voice, yet could not bring himself to look up. But she was true, he felt no pain, felt almost weightless. Faintly he remembered the agony he had to endure, before he woke up here. A slender hand cupped his cheek, her thumb running softly over his lips.

"Look at me, my child."

Almost shyly he raised his eyes to meet her red ones. She had even features, full black wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders and shone in the firelight like polished onyx. Her eyes were soft and full of love.

"Mother."

He whispered. A smile graced her full lips.

"Is it my time to kneel at our Dread Father's feet?"

She put her other hand to his face as well, running her fingers gently down his temples. Unconsciously he leaned into her touch, while she still regarded him with a smile.

"Not yet, my dear child."

She picked up a stray strand of hair, that hung loosely into his face and gently placed it behind his ear.

"Sit with me, my child."

She pulled him over to a plain wooden bench and sat down with an unearthly grace. He joined her, turning towards the young woman, while she still held his hand. Her fingers danced lightly over the back of his hand, as she continued.

"Listen well, my child. I have foreseen that treachery would befall our family. I have foreseen your torture and death at the hands of your brothers and sisters. As well as the deaths of so many more. But your actions, my dear child were the seed of a new fate."

She paused, ghosting her fingertips over his cheek, while regarding him with a long look.

"My actions? But how?"

"You have set this all in motion many years ago, Lucien. Only a little mistake on your side. And now you will end what you have started so long ago."

Again a little pause to let these words sink in.

"In my visions the Black Hand has ordered the ancient ritual of the Purification. You however choose to fight the traitor."

Lucien turned his gaze away from her.

"Fight? I hid away like a coward. And was so foolish to let them find me. And … "

She raised a slender delicately curved eyebrow.

"And Lucien? I have watched you, my dear child. The little things you did, set greater deeds in motion. You've warned your brother about a purification, you made your necromancer friend look into the matter. And you fought the Black Hand in your darkest hour without ever loosing the faith in your Dread Father and me. As a matter of fact, you are fighting still my dear Lucien."

She paused and a pained shadow crossed her face. It was there a only second and then it was gone.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

"You'll live. You'll make us proud."

His gaze wandered to his hands, brows furrowed together. He could feel her hand comb through his long hair.

"What troubles you my child?"

She whispered softly into his ear.

"But I don't know who the traitor is. How..."

Softly she placed a finger over his lips.

"But you do Lucien. All you need to do is remember."

The Night Mother suddenly stood, holding her hand out to the Imperial.

"Come now my child."

She let him to a bed on another side of the room like a lost little boy. Before he lay down however, he asked.

"Why did you not warn the Listener?"

She shook her head.

"It is not your place to question my actions, little Lucien."

Lucien understood and lay down, while she sat on the side of the bed. With a smile she bend down and pressed a soft kiss against his forehead.

"Sleep now my child. I'm not meaning to keep you."

He closed his eyes and a was taken away into a blissful deep sleep.

Sorilkad's eyes snapped open, as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped to his feet. Fire engulfed his raised fists as he took a defensive stand, ready to blast any attacker into Oblivion. But the elf quickly relaxed, when he realized that he wasn't attacked by a stranger, but stared into hard green and very familiar eyes. The High Elf shook his head, leaning heavily on his claymore.

"Feck! Soril! I could have killed you!"

Caman scolded, leaning the great sword against a chair. Sorilkad's rubbed his hands over his tired features before he threw his long black hair back and out of his face.

"But you haven't..."

He started, but was distracted by the sunlight that shone through the window. His eyes widened.

"How long have I slept?"

The sun was already high up. His face turned pale and he whirled around to rush towards the bed.

"Lucien..."

The same heavy hand that had woken him up, now clamped around his upper arm and pulled him back.

"Sorilkad, calm down already! He's fine."

With a confused look the Dunmer's red eyes searched his friend's face. Caman smiled, pointing to the bed over his shoulder.

"He's sleeping rather soundly."

He paused a moment, cocking his head to the side.

"As did you. You didn't even hear me coming back, just right before midnight."

The High Elf put both his hands on the smaller mer's shoulders, squinting his eyes a little. His friend looked pale, almost grey and had big circles under his eyes.

"This mess does take a major toll on your body, eh mate?

Sorilkad nodded.

"It drains my Magicka constantly, leaving me tired and weak. But ..."

"But he is your friend. I understand."

The Altmer took a bit breath, for what he had to say next did not come easy to him.

"Soril. I'm sorry. I should have trusted you and your judgement."

"No Caman. You were right. I should have told you."

The High Elf nodded grimly in acknowledgement and stepped to the side, letting Sorilkad's red eyes fall on a big bundle on the floor. The Dunmer's curiosity was peaked.

"What's this?"

A mischievous smile appeared on the warrior's face.

"Take a peek. It's for your friend."

The Dark Elf opened the bundle and looked inside, before blinking in surprise.

"Caman! What did you do? Where did you get that?"

Last evening I was so furious, I actually wanted to return to Chorrol and have Oreyn give me some contract to blow of steam."

The warrior paused, his face turning serious.

"Stumbled across this poor sod near the Red Ring Road. Got his bloody head bashed in by a Minotaur. Should have used his helmet."

Sorilkad nodded while listening.

"Fucking Minotaur tried to attack me as well. Cutting that damn bull into pieces was just the outlet I needed. Made me think though."

Again there was a little pause, as the tall elf walked across the room and looked down at Lucien.

"It'll fit that Imperial bugger just well, I think. They're about the same stature."

Again the Dunmer nodded.

"But why?"

Caman raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't that obvious? We need to move, we are not safe here. And I want us gone before these bloody amateurs decide to come back. He cannot run around in a robe that literally screams Dark Brotherhood."

Sorilkad's eyes wandered to the robe and then to the Imperial. He hadn't thought of this, but his friend was right. Lucien's more casual clothed had been shredded and they could not let him run around naked.

"And here's the best part."

Caman continued with a big smile.

"It comes complete with papers and a new name for him."

The Altmer held up a neatly folded parchment, which was almost ripped out of his hand by the other mer. Sorilkad skimmed through the text.

"No way!"

The Dark Elf exclaimed.

"And Cheydinhal even! That's such a big coincidence."

The grin on Caman's face widened.

"Looks like Sithis has still plans for that bugger."

The Altmer clapped his hands together.

"And now, Soril my friend. Let's have something to eat. I'm starving!"

Sorilkad rolled his eyes, but happily followed his friend over to the fireplace.