Work Text:
Nimrin never got so much as a whiff of his arrival until a sudden chill crept through her body.
Moments before he materialised from between the trees she had been busying herself crafting arrows for her quiver beside the crackling campfire. Listening to the sounds of the night; of crickets chirping in the brush and the cool midnight breeze sifting through the emerald glades like whispers. Here, utterly at peace, she felt one with nature. It was moments like these that kept her out in the wilderness for longer than she was supposed to. Camping under the stars in between contracts was far more favourable than staring at the cold rock in Cheydinhal’s Sanctuary. She would report back come dawn, for tonight she would enjoy the peace a little longer.
Her solitary peace was disturbed however. He had been one with the shadows for divines know how long before slipping out. As if the darkness had unfolded its arms and released him from its embrace. Igniting dread like a creeping illness within her as she kept her eyes trained on her craft, lest he sensed her panic at his arrival.
“Speaker,” She greeted him in a low voice with as much composure as she could muster and as much reverence as she could. Lucien and her had hardly interacted, but he had always left a lasting impression on her. A cold hearted killer who had made her feel more welcome and wanted in his company than any other had in a long time. Their first meeting had been but a brief encounter, but she felt a strong kinship with the Imperial.
As for their last; He had come into Cheydinhal like a ghost some months ago. Conversing quietly with Vicente in his alcove as she entered the vampire’s abode to report a successful contract. Vicente was as pale as snow - more so than usual - when she interrupted their discussion. Or perhaps, it had been an argument from the look on his face.
Lucien merely turned slowly towards her dispassionately. As if she was a mild inconvenience. He nodded at Vicente, then nodded at her before leaving, deciding whatever he had been discussing to Vicente to be cut short.
To say she felt disappointed was an understatement. Lucien had inducted her into the Brotherhood, wetted her appetite for killing those deserving and welcomed her into a family that gave her a sense of purpose in a world that felt like it hadn’t been worth saving from the Oblivion Crisis. He had made her feel special and seen and chosen . And the two reunited after she had gone to Cheydinhal at his orders? He barely blinked.
Y’free, did he even remember her?
Maybe everyone ever inducted had been seen and then tossed like she had. Ocheeva and Teinava were raised by him for Yfree’s sake and never saw him. When upon asking Vicente what it had been about, the Breton turned somber. Muttering that a sanctuary had been uncovered, purged, and razed by officials. Amongst more bad news he deferred to comment on.
When Lucien graced you with his presence. Unsavoury things were about to follow, as he simply put it. And as Lucien began to stalk around the campfire the air turned dour upon his existence. Like a black mark had marred it.
“Eliminator,” He hummed in greeting, pressing his hands together in front of him idly as he began to pace. The flames licking his features gave him a more haunting aura. He held a calm facade, relaxed and loose as he stared at her. Which only served to put her more on edge.
She wondered if a lot of his victims experienced the same thing from him before their demise...As he rounded the fire, even with the whole forest at her back it was hard to not feel cornered. “It is has been some time,”
“It has. Come to see how your recruit fairs?” They both knew that was the least of his reasons, and she couldn’t help the way a bitter tone took hold of her voice out of the resentment she held for him. “Or is there another reason for this ambush?”
He seemed attracted to that idea. His eyes glisten in amusement and his lips quirk. As he continued to pace, Nimrin noticed he had a sword strapped to his back. “An ambush? Do you feel as though I have ambushed you, my child?”
“I am a lone woman in the middle of the woods. Yet you have somehow found your way to me,” Nimrin finally looks up at him, stern and wary as she shrugs. “Whatever is a woman supposed to do?”
“Ah, such a delicate flower you are,” He hums delightfully, perusing her figure with his eyes in a way that settled warmth into her chest. “Yet, underneath those crimson petals lies a thorny stem, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I would, careful not to get prickled”
“Is there a particular reason you would assume this was an ambush?” He asked, smiling ever more.
Nimrin cocked a brow. Was this a trick question? “I...no?”
“Really? You don’t have the barest inkling as to why I might have appeared before you tonight?”
“Should I?”
“You tell me,” Lucien stops in his tracks. Eyes seering into her soul as he smiles with his teeth. His grin is cruel and the way firelight licks at his features gives him the appearance of great beast from Oblivion.
Nimrin bristles, sitting up straight and setting her arrows to the side quickly. “I have no idea what you are talking about,”
Lucien, who seems utterly unconvinced, motions with his fingers to her. His sick expression glowing against the firelight. “Stand,”
Nimrin’s concern starts spiralling. “Lu-”
“Just stand, my dear,”
Hesitant, Nimrin slowly ascends to her feet. Feeling vulnerable and weak under the glowering intensity of Lucien’s gaze. Nimrin’s heart races. Eyes darting all over Lucien, yielding some kind of weakness, some kind of vulnerability. But all she saw was black silk. Masking and shifting around him endlessly.
He nods to her waist. “Draw your sword,”
“Why?” She hisses, slowly reaching for her hilt. “What kind of madness has taken over you?”
“No more than usual,” He hums. “Please,” He motions casually. His tone is still infuriatingly composed, still smooth and low in pleasant rumbling. As if he wasn’t exerting such a threatening aura. As if his voice wasn’t betraying what vague intentions he must have. As if all this was just a damn game to him.
Did he intend to kill her? Was this some twisted test that she had already failed?
“Am I going to have to defend myself?”
“That depends. Draw your blade, if you would,”
Gritting her teeth. Nimrin heeds his commands, unsure of what else to do but feeling as though a weapon in her hand would at least grant her some kind of defense. Unsheathing her blade which releases a metallic hiss into the air. Maybe he planned to make this a fair fight at least. Do away with the dagger in the back, or a poisoned apple snuck into her pack. A battle of wits and strength only out of respect; assassin to assassin. She grips the hilt tightly, bracing herself and stands at the ready. Spreading her legs to keep herself rooted to the ground and aiming the tip of her katana directly towards him.
She knows not just how crafty and skilled he was in battle. Indeed, he was a man Nimrin had hoped never to turn into a foe.
At first, he made no move to attack. Simply analysing the sword in her hands and it’s intricacies like art to be savoured.
“A majestic blade,” He says. “Finely crafted. I happen to have seen one just like it the other day on the corpse of a Breton man I killed,”
Nimrin frowns. But before she could respond, instead of reaching for his weapon like she expected him to, Lucien reached into his robes. Pulling out a medium sized sack. Tossing it at her feet on the ground.
She did not need to open it to know what lay within. The stains pooling at the bottom of the brown sack was evidence enough. That and the evident shape of a nose peeking from the material. Her stomach churned.
“Don’t you want to open it?” He taunts coldly.
Nimrin takes a deep breath to calm herself. Whoever he killed, it didn’t matter, she tried to reason with herself. The only ones carrying swords like hers were Blades. A Breton... Ferrum? The Breton man who gave her hot tea in the morning and always had a friendly smile when she returned to Cloud Ruler. They spoke little, but a silent companionship had been forged.
Or a new recruit possibly that she had not even met.
Nimrin pushed down the hurt as best she could. Trying not to mourn for a blade she either didn’t know, or didn’t know well. Still possessing some loyalty, some amount of respect for those who pledged themselves to the organisation. And for them to have come looking for her? For him to have died for her? What a waste.
Still, there was only one blade she was interested in keeping safe no matter what. And thankfully he was no Breton. Still, the notion that Ferrum’s decapitated head laid within that sack still made her knuckles burn white.
“Why did you kill a blade?” She asks. There was no point trying to dance around this. Even if he did, she didn’t want to play his little games anymore. “They are not enemies of the Brotherhood. A contract?”
“Ah, you would be correct. The blades are no enemies of ours, save that a contract doesn’t demand the life of an emperor,” Lucien had a devilish look to him. “Indeed, nor was this man an enemy of mine. Enemies sire hatred, sow distaste and disgust. This Breton merely made himself an...inconvenience. He uttered my name to many across Cyrodil hoping to usher me from the shadows. And when his wishes were granted I made him see the lesson in being careful for what you wish for,” Lucien chuckles to himself darkly. Pleased and riveting in glee as he relives the kill no doubt. “Obstacles must be overcome, after all. Just before I killed him he told me quite a lot of things, my dear. He had some peculiar notions, spouting some rather interesting accusations that I had kidnapped a Bosmer woman and was holding her captive. That I had better to return her less I meet the wrath of the Blades and their grandmaster,”
Nimrin watches as he unsheathes the sword on his back. Holding it out for her to see. “These weapons are not granted freely, this I know. They are only given to members of the Blades,” He sneers. “So, you understand why I find it alarming that you are in the possession of one,”
Despite the fact that he could quite easily start trying to hack her to death, Nimrin is overcome with a bit of relief. “You think I am a member?”
“I do,”
“Well, I am not,”
“Oh? You know, I have a very fond method of dealing with liars, Nimrin,” Lucien holds the katana closer to himself. Gliding his long, slender fingers across the length of the blade. “I cut out their tongues, make them wear it around their neck as a reminder for their sins,”
“Oh? You do know how to make a lady feel like she’s in intimate company,” She seethes, knowing fully well that his threats were anything but empty. Especially with how creative he was. “But while I am a liar through and through, I promise you this is no lie. I was never inducted into the order,” She sighs, the katana in her hand suddenly feeling very weighty. “The blade I have...it was a gift, nothing more. The chance to join was offered but I turned it down. I am no one’s agent except the Brotherhood’s, Lachance,”
“And why should I believe you?”
“Because that order...those people...I want nothing to do with that life anymore,”
Saying that aloud, in the company of the severed head, made her mourn all the more for the poor fool who had lost his life for a woman who had never been kidnapped in the first place. As Nimrin’s mind whirls for possibilities, only one seems to stick out. Baurus must have sniffed her out, and deemed her killings at the behest of a slave serving a cold-killer. The truth was much simpler yet much more disappointing however.
Lachance’s face falters; his sneer replaced with... relief? A bout of alleviation reprieves his face as he begins to walk closer. Strangely, she senses a wave of calm wash over the assassin. She does not feel threatened as he stands before her. Hands on the blade and hilt as he reaches for her to take it.
“I understand such a sentiment. If you are true to your words, return this blade to Cloud Ruler Temple, I am aware such rites need to be performed for fallen blades. I would not abdicate this fallen one’s rights to them. Return with the news, and move on from your past for good. Or do not return at all,”
There is almost something tender about the way he looks at her, nodding in silent encouragement for her to take the Breton’s blade. As she does so, Lucien takes a few steps back. And right then the shadows welcome him back into obscurity as he vanishes before her eyes. She thinks about his words on her way back to Cloud Ruler. Tracking the familiar path she had not travelled in over three years up the winding steep of the mountain; how Lucien was so knowledgeable in blade customs and such. As the blades were a famously secretive order...
She supposed some people, like her, had a past they’d rather forget...