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I leaned on the table before me and watched. He sat a few tables across the bar, talking to someone I didn’t know. I drew circles on the table with my finger subconsciously. Occasionally he would send a wayward glance in my direction, and I could practically see a chill run through his bones. I knot my hands in front of my face and leave them there idly. The person he was talking to must’ve noticed his nervous behavior and looked to be asking him a question.
He can’t say anything about me, I’m only a theory in the back of his head. He doesn’t really know if I’m staring at him, or if I’m staring off into space. If I’m a crackhead or if I’m an assassin. He doesn’t know, so that’s what I’m guessing he told them. It’s shrugged off and they continue their conversation as if nothing happened. Soon enough a burly nord brings me a black coffee, and I utter something close to a thanks. There’s a lot of phlegm in my throat and I haven’t spoken in a while.
Eventually he gets up and so does his partner. They shake hands and go their separate ways. I wait a moment before following in suite. I leave the check and the coffee untouched, and an aching feeling makes me feel bad for wasting the café’s time. I continue on, however, because I’m on a mission. He wanders down the main roads of the Imperial City, and thus so do I. I’ve cloaked myself with an invisibility spell and duck behind people and buildings every time he gets an itching feeling that he’s being followed.
He stops at a door, something of a hole in the corner of two walls. He fumbles for his keys before entering. I hear a latch sound and my ear twitches in reaction. Gliding over to the door, I slip out a few lock picks and begin the methodical process that is breaking and entering. I hear the ever rewarding sound of the lock giving in, and I quietly enter.
The main room looks like every other house in this goddamned city. Empty with the occasional décor strewn about the place. I scrunch my nose and continue on. I first go into the basement and raid the place for food, clothes, money. They always have that in their basement, except for the exceptions that I would find. [But that was before they banned the practice of the dark brotherhood in the city.] After pocketing tons of dry fruit and vegetables, I also find a teal, weathered shawl. I instantly fall in love with the garment and stuff it into my satchel.
As I prowl back up the stairs to the main area, I spot him sitting at a dining table. Alone. It’s midnight, and he’s all alone in his little hole in the wall. Just how valued are the citizens of this city? All the same, I reach for my dagger. With my other hand, I ready a spell of paralyzation. I quietly step behind him, placing the enchanted hand upon the crevice between his neck and shoulder. The spell overwhelms him and I can see his face tense. His eyes, unlike the rest of his body, roam fearfully around him. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t look behind himself without turning his head.
“Hello,” I whisper into his ear. His eyes snap to his left, where I’m set. I raise the dagger so he can see it on his right, and he gazes upon it too. “I’m sure you saw this coming, filthy bastard.” I reach around so that the dagger is facing directly into his chest. Just as knife meets skin, the main door bursts open. Three sweaty guards stand alert in front of me and the man.
A loud shout pierces my sensitive ears as the man I’m embracing scrambles away. He falls at the feet of the guards, pitifully crying and pleading with them. Please save me, he cries. Oh gods. It’s my turn to be paralyzed. It’s in that moment when time stops. Just enough of a window for my dreadful mother to begin muttering orders into my ear. She says to run upstairs, dear. Run among the balconies and terraces. They cannot do the same. Not with all that gleaming armor, oh no.
I sprint towards the guards, and one reaches out to grab my arm. All he manages to do is graze my elbow before I’m already halfway up the staircase. I burst through the bedroom door and spot a window that leads out to a balcony. I cast an invisibility spell and rush out the window with a vigor I didn’t know I had.
It’s been twenty minutes. I lay across a rooftop, sweating and holding my forehead. The stars glimmer above me, attempting to lull my nerves. I surprise myself by finding a piece of hard cheese between my lips, half chewed. I didn’t even realize I was eating. My entire body feels as if it’s being lightly pricked by a million needles. I gather myself before thinking of how I’m supposed to get out of this city. Knowing it’s swarmed with guards and witnesses, my best bet is to change clothes and constantly use the cloak spell. They’ll never register my face long enough to convict, right?
I slipped into a lace gown with the green shawl that I had found previously with little hassle. I put my hair up into a neat bun, then slowly began descending the roof in which I sat upon. I hop down with ease, and cast the cloak spell quickly. My legs work in unison to carry me swiftly out of the cities limits. It also helps that I know this city like the back of my hand. I hardly ran into anyone, and only needed to replenish the spell twice.
The grass beyond the city never felt softer than when I fell into it. I gaze at the city as if it’s below me, in this moment. Only now does mother’s disappointment flutter over me like mist. And I let it somberly. I roll on my side and see a black robe draped next to my head. I gasp and look up with wide eyes, but they recede in recognition. “Oh, lord. Luci don’t fucking do that.” I hiss, glowering at the man as he kneels down next to me.
“He’s not dead.” He chastises and I turn away from him in acknowledgment. “Leave me to sulk alone, brother.” His hand grabs my shoulder and pulls me back to face him, laying me fully on my back. He continues, “I am, however, glad that you’re not dead in his place.” I challenge his statement by raising an eyebrow, but he stands his ground. After a moment I remove his hand and agree that I, too, am glad I’m not dead or imprisoned. I pat the spot of grass next to me to let him know he can sit down, so he does.
I didn’t know this night would end with Lucien and I star gazing, but here we are. I’ve locked my hands across my stomach and let silence fall upon us. But then I crudely am reminded that Lucien loves the sound of his own voice. Can I blame him? No. He once told me, a long time ago, that he preferred silence. Was it a lie? Was it unintentional? Because any time we get together, and I am more than happy to leave a comfortable silence come over us. He isn’t. He’s always quick to a conversation. Though I can’t say I don’t appreciate it sometimes.
His voice is delicate as he begins, inwardly I already feel as though I know what he's going to say. This is the first mishap that's occurred, for me, under this thumb. It's been months and months of flawless engagements. Fifteen people have been released to the mercy of Sithis so far, and I had naturally assumed Lucien was proud. Or something resembling that. A part of me yearned for some kind of notion of approval. A quick smile there, a nod or a glance when he didn't think I was aware. But I'm always looking out for these kinds of things. They're almost the only motivation I have anymore. Besides the obligatory pay that's received between contracts, and my lukewarm devotion to the Nightmother who speaks to me as though I were her literal daughter, Lucien was my primary ambition. That's not to say that I don't feel a bond with the Nightmother, but that's not something I like to dwell on.
Once he gets on a roll, it's hard to interrupt him, let alone defend yourself. First he addresses the fact that I didn't cover my bases before beginning the hunt. I didn't check if I was being followed, I didn't do any research to see if this man had tipped off the guards, I didn't make myself inconspicuous in the restaurant. Lucien tells me that's where a concerned citizen told a guard about my suspicious behavior. How I hadn't drank my coffee, how I didn't talk to anyone and how I followed a man out. I get an irked feeling, that the motivation of this citizen wasn't so innocent. It was a bar that mostly Nords frequented due to its heavily implied references to the country and its culture. They come for their ale, spiced mead, glazed venison chops. Strong, strong beer. Not to mention the architecture is also very inspired. One look at my ashen skin, and my maroon eyes with their white lashes, you could tell I was the odd one out.
I bit my lip at this as far as Lucien is concerned. He wouldn't understand what it's like, nor would he make any exceptions for me. My heart churns as I gaze up at the passing clouds, temporarily obscuring the waning moon.