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Chapter Text

Ahlam: Whiterun

"They've found her," Ahlam whispered, snuggling in close to her husband, the darkness of their room in the Huntsman feeling more threatening than comforting now.

"Does she still live?" he responded.

"Yes, but it's whispered that they sent Kematu. You know he'll realize what happened before they make it back to Hammerfell."

His arm tightened reflexively around her, and she knew by his sharp intake of breath that he agreed with her fears. "He'll be able to see a face sculptor's touch as soon as he gets a good look at her," he muttered. "And then he'll return."

"And he'll be looking for the other woman who has had sculpting done. He'll know I traded Saadia my younger face."

"How do you want to handle this?"

"You know I can deal with him, but I want you out of Whiterun while I do. Do your rounds of the other farms, be the self they expect from you."

He chuckled, adopting the tone every citizen in Whiterun knew too well. "Aren't I always?" He dropped the tone. "How will you find him?"

"We underestimated our maid, she told me that once she found out about the Alik'r being in Skyrim she started gathering information. He's holed up in Swindler's Den."

"So close to the farm," he muttered. "Too close for comfort. I'll start on the other side of Whiterun then, with Loreius."

"You trust me with this?"

Kissing her forehead, he sighed. "I knew the day you told me Kematu and his family were Thalmor agents that you had skills beyond the simple healing you showed. I trusted you then and it got us safely out of Hammerfell before our city could be besieged. My only worry is how long it has been since that time."

"Don't you worry about that, husband," she murmured. "I knew one day our luck would run out, but your distractions have proved useful enough to keep people from paying too much attention to me. I never stopped training."

"I'm glad," he murmured.

"Now get some sleep. I'll make an excuse to go pick herbs in the morning and take care of Kematu once I've left the city."

"What will we do with Saadia when the Alik'r have dispersed?"

"She's gone above and beyond. We'll release her from our family's service."

"With a small coffer to pay for her loyalty," he muttered.

"As is tradition," she agreed.

"Watch for dragons dear," Danica said, patting her hand gently, staring at the sapling of the Gildergreen as she had every morning for weeks now.

"It won't grow if you watch it too much," she teased lightly. "I'll be careful."

Grabbing her prepared basket, she headed toward the gate, tugging her hood over her head against the light spring drizzle. A good day for this work.

It was slow walking across the plains, the long grasses wet and sticking to her dress, making her shoes soggy and she silently wished she'd changed into her work gear for this. There's no one who would readily have paid attention to me. But no, it's better this way. Less conspicuous. It wasn't the first time she'd struck out onto the tundra to gather plants for the Temple, so the guards paid her no mind, some waving to her, one stopping her to make a crude joke about Nazeem that she smiled and nodded over. Once Kematu is gone, perhaps we can start changing our reputations. I grow weary of pretending to hate my husband to all and sundry. But he has spent so many years with this persona, who would believe he truly changed?

She paused near a cluster of tundra cotton and gathered the damp heads, frowning over them. Not good condition for many of these plants yet. And too early for most of them. Still, that meant she had more time for her true work as Danica would expect it to take hours for her to get enough to fill even part of her basket. Pity that person who came to join the fold of Kynareth didn't stay here longer. They were useful for potions. I Swear they could make something out of the tiniest scraps. Wonder if they knew any poisons. Might be worth a trip to Riften to find out. I could do with something stronger than what I have in my packs.

Finding a small hillock near a stream she dropped down behind it and changed out of her dress into a heavy jacket and leather pants, pulling on sturdy boots that shone slightly with enchantment until they were solidly on. Rising, she carefully tucked the dress into the basket and slid it out of sight before pulling the hood of the jacket over her face and checking her blowgun and knives. She'd been young when she'd been trained to defend herself against all dangers and as a very slight girl her father and mother had made it their goal in life to ensure that her weapons were as delicate as she. With the advantage that they were much easier to hide than they would be otherwise. Taking a deep breath, she started along the stream, coming up further than where she'd gone down, her boots making no sound as she moved toward her goal.

The cave was guarded by a single bandit who leaned against the dirt, yawning and half dozing in the weak sunlight.

Lifting her blowgun she slid a dart in place and took careful aim, watching for the perfect opening, getting it when he yawned again, puffing the dart straight into his open mouth.

He choked and toppled over with a loud clang of metal, and she loaded her next dart, watching for any sign of someone coming to investigate.

Moments later a dog came out of the cave, and she swiftly swapped darts, choosing a sleep dart over the poison, unwilling to kill so loyal a beast, even knowing it would have killed her with no hesitation.

Waiting another couple moments, she loaded a new dart and headed into the cave, wrinkling her nose over the scent of unwashed bodies that wafted toward her, taking out two more bandits before the alarm was raised, drawing her knives and hiding in the shadows, stabbing two more before the bandit chief came into view, dropping a blade and swapping for her blowgun, hitting her in the small space between helmet and armor, waiting for a long beat for her to drop, moving forward to slit her throat when she still twitched. Poison resistance. I'll have to plan for that with Kematu and his men. Getting too used to taking out Nords.

It took her longer than she liked to find the path leading to where she needed to go, and she hissed over the lost time. Sticking to the shadows, she used a paralytic dart on the first Alik'r she came across, watching him fall with a critical eye. Good enough. I'll be able to pick them all off if I meet them one by one. Sneaking forward she sank her knife into his throat and then moved further on, using the same method on the next, shooting two darts in rapid succession when she finally came across a pair looking to oppose her. This is far easier than I expected. Either Kematu is lax, or I've kept up my training better than I realized. Or it's a trap.

Coming out onto a small overlook, she looked down at a small group. Group of five. With Kematu at the head. This could get messy. Taking a steadying breath, she took careful aim at the Alik'r leader.

"I know you're here, it's impressive that you've managed to get passed my men. Whatever she paid you I can pay you double to tell me where she is."

She almost laughed, barely managing to choke it back, glancing to be sure there was no one coming up behind her. You're a fool Kematu. Always thinking you're better than everyone else. Good to see time hasn't changed that. What would you do if you found out that my husband was mimicking your attitude to piss off all of Whiterun?

"Come now, you have no idea who you're dealing with here. I'm certain she told you some sob story about saving her city from the Thalmor. But she lied to you. She's the one who sold it out."

Narrowing her eyes, she lifted her blowgun, swapping the paralysis for her strongest poison. That's how you were going to do it. You were going to convince whoever you managed to hire that I was a Dominion lackey. Fool. Taking a steadying breath, she shot the dart, loading another and coolly shooting it after, aiming for his eyes.

The first hit true and he staggered back with a cry, his guard spinning away from him and searching the room, trying to find who'd attacked him. That's the beauty of darts. Much harder to see where they're coming from.

The second dart hit his hand and he collapsed into a boneless heap on the ground. And that was a long time coming you bastard. She studied the four Alik'r and shook her head before loading more darts. Fools.

Only one made it anywhere near her by the time she'd paralyzed the lot of them, and she methodically slit throats as she moved down to stand next to the leader's dead body. "You always were a fool," she whispered. "Once upon a time our family called you friend but now look at you." Crouching, she reclaimed her darts and slit his throat neatly. "Goodbye for the last time Kematu. May your soul find no rest."

Heading toward the entrance she considered where to go next. The farm. It's the best place to get cleaned up and I can change there. Danica won't question it if I tell her that my dress got muddied from the grass. But where to go after this? Saadia will be released from her duties with a coffer of gold. Perhaps she'll want to stay on with us, or at the Bannered Mare, but she knows Skyrim. She has options enough. Will I return to my old name? She frowned, shaking her head. No, I've gone by Ahlam too long to be comfortable with that.

Sighing, she stepped into her home and moved up to her rooms, changing swiftly into another plain dress. But it would be nice to dress up again. Maybe one day I'll buy a nice dress. I know it's no guarantee that I won't one day have to face another hunter but with Kematu and his team gone, who would they hire? The Dominion won't know what I look like. I'll suggest that Saadia change her face again and then... there will be no trace that Iman ever lived.

Chapter Text

Nazeem: Whiterun

Stretching, Nazeem languidly dressed in his neat boots, pants and tunic, layering a heavy cloak over the top and smartly tugging at the wrists, lifting his hand up to check that they sat impeccably. Something to be said for this disguise. At least I can wear what we were used to back home in richness. Moving down the stairs he lifted his head and looked at Elrindir. "I am going out. I expect the rooms will be clean before Ahlam or I return?"

"Of course Nazeem. As they ever are," he responded, his tone the subservience that he expected from the Mer when others were around, his skin itching at the knowledge that he knew more about their history than he was comfortable with.

There was something almost furtive in the Bosmer's expression and he paused near him when he neared the door. "Is there something amusing going on?" he asked.

"No, of course not." He jerked his head slightly and Nazeem nodded, knowing that it meant there were others who might overhear. Ah, news of the Alik'r I suspect. He doesn't realize that Ahlam is going to take care of it. And he never will.

Walking out of the Drunken Huntsman he took a few seconds to relax his face where none could see and then pasted on his usual haughty expression and started toward the gate.

"Morning Nazeem," one of the guards greeted, a burr of amusement in his voice. "You're up early."

He sighed heavily. "Yes, I must speak with my neighbors. They've been lacking on their goods lately and I simply must ensure that I've offered them every bit of my expertise."

"Of course," he agreed, and Nazeem suspected he was trying not to roll his eyes, hiding his own smirk as the gates were opened for him.

It's fascinating what you can get people to believe about you by acting in a certain way. Has no one paused to consider that I am aware that I know less about farming in Skyrim than people who've lived here their whole lives? Do they truly believe this face I show them? Shaking his head over their folly he moved down the path, not greeting anyone he passed.

Maybe we should move out of Whiterun when this is over. I've heard good things about Solitude. Might be closer to what we were used to back home. But then, we've been here so long already, I'm not sure what would be most comfortable.

Reaching the stable, he turned and approached the stable-master. "Skulvar," he greeted. "My horse if you'd please."

"Yeah, I'll get her," he muttered, grumbling as he set aside his meal and went to saddle the requested horse.

This scowl was genuine as Skulvar returned. How can you not realize that without the stud we brought with us, you and your boss wouldn't have had nearly as many good quality horses? Mounting his mare, a descendant of the stud he'd brought, he turned her neatly toward the main road, taking a left instead of his usual right. May your endeavors be successful my dear. he glanced over his shoulder toward his farm, almost imagining he could see Ahlam on her way to deal with Kematu.

Musing over the plans for the day, he guided his mare automatically, mulling over everything that had brought them to this cold land. It's been worth it but exhausting to try and keep most from getting close enough to find out who we really are. But I believe we've managed to trick even the Jarl and that is something I will always be proud of. Shaking his head, he focused on the road. I'll get myself into trouble if I'm not paying attention.

Contrary to what nearly everyone in Whiterun believed, the sword that he attached to his saddle every time he went out was not just for decorative purposes and he adjusted it, ensuring it sat within easy reach. Ahlam is not the only one who kept up her training.

Amused, he scanned the tundra as he road, occasionally passing a guard or an early morning traveler, ignoring them all.

As Loreius's farm came into view, he reined his horse in, staring at the broken down cart in front of the farm, watching a man dressed in jester apparel lean against the broken wagon wheel. What is going on?

Riding closer he watched the jester scramble to his feet. He looked about on height for an Imperial and he frowned, wondering what on Nirn had brought him here.

"Oh! A traveler! Won't you help poor Cicero?"

Shaking his head, he looked down at him. "Help you with what?" he demanded, "Do you have any idea who I...?"

He trailed off, feeling the strangest sensation in his head.

"Who you are?" Cicero asked, tilting his head side to side, looking almost comical though Nazeem noted absently that his hands were straying a bit close to his waist. 

Knives I think. Dangerous.

The slightest whisper came to his mind again and he shook his head, lifting a hand to his forehead. "What are you playing at?" he demanded. "What magic is this?"

"Magic? Cicero is sure he doesn't know what you mean!! Poor, poor Cicero. Trying to bring my mother home! When the wagon, the damned wagon!"

He gritted his teeth, irritation with the jester burning in his veins. "Then why didn't you go up to the farm and ask them for help?" he demanded.

"Cicero did! He did! But Loreius refused! Refused to help poor Cicero. Refused to help mother."

"Come closer,"

This time the voice was clear in his mind, and he edged his mare closer to the wagon.

"Please sir! Will you help poor Cicero!?"

A dry chuckle in his head. "Do not mind Cicero. He has gone so long without a friendly word. And he's been quite lonely."

"How long have you been traveling with your, mother?" he asked, looking down at Cicero.

"So long!" he wailed. "So long! And we got so far and then the wagon! The blasted, damned wagon."

"He is a loyal child," the dry voice murmured, echoing in his head. "He tries so hard to do well by me. He is a worthy Keeper."

"Where were you trying to go?"

"To Falkreath! Where the burials are in Skyrim. And Loreius! He refuses to help! Just tells me to leave! But I cannot leave without my mother!"

"Tell him that I would that he take me to Dawnstar. For Falkreath will not be suitable for my Listener."

"Why don't you take her to Dawnstar?" he asked, "it'd probably be safer for the Listener."

"The Listener?" he perked up, tilting his head again, moving closer. "What do you know of the Listener?"

He shrugged, feeling deeply uneasy. "It just came to me."

"That was poorly done. Swiftly, tell him, 'Darkness rises when silence dies.'"

Immediately, the jester's face darkened, and his hand flashed toward his waist almost too quick to see, halting when Nazeem repeated the words the voice whispered to him, hand falling away as he stared at him, mouth agape.

"Listener!"

Disconcerted by the tears in Cicero's eyes, he dismounted and shrugged. "I'll see if I can convince Loreius to fix the wagon wheel."

"Oh yes! Yes! The wagon wheel must be repaired!"

Frowning, he moved toward the farm, certain he'd find the man he was looking for in the fields, rewarded with the sight of him a moment later, smirking at the sagging shoulders when he registered who was approaching.

"Ah, good morning Nazeem."

"Have you taken complete leave of your senses?" he demanded. "Someone breaks down in front of your farm and you refuse to help him?"

"He's creepy," he responded flatly.

"And he won't leave without his wagon. So, you fix his wagon, he leaves, and your problem is solved."

He scowled, working over the words. "I... what if he's moving contraband?"

"What does that matter to you?" he demanded, letting his exasperation creep into his tone. "It's none of your business what he has. And you won't be looking in the cart anyway, so even if the legion just happens to stop by, you will just tell them the truth."

"I... suppose you have a point. Fine. Anything to get that creeper away from here."

Sensible. Finally.

Following him back to the road, he grimaced to see Cicero doing an odd little dance as he approached. "He helped! He helped! Oh, Cicero knew he would!"

His mare moved to his side, and he reached up to stroke her nose, running his hand over his head, watching Loreius fix the wheel.

"I'll guide him out of Whiterun so you don't have to think about him," he offered, getting a flash of a genuinely grateful smile from Loreius. First I've seen one of those on anyone other than Ahlam in a long while.

"This way," he said, helping Cicero hitch his cart horse. "Your horse has seen better days," he grumbled, frowning over his condition.

"He is just a stupid beast. Just for hauling my poor mother."

"Horses are useful," he countered, scowling at him as he clambered into the wagon. "You should take care of them."

He cringed back, snapping the reins lightly to get the horse to move. "You are angry with me! Already!"

"You can learn," he grumbled, helping him turn the cart around, eyeing it critically. "I hope you have furs, you're going to need them for where we're going."

Where are we going? I'm certain I don't know.

"Don't worry my child. I will lead you. And I will tell you what words to send to Falkreath so that my children who've worked to keep my legacy alive know you are an ally. A friend."

Chapter Text

Ahlam: Whiterun

Stepping into the temple of Kynareth, Ahlam smoothed her skirts with one hand and approached Danica with her basket of herbs. "I'm sorry it took me so long Danica."

"I rather thought it would," she responded, smiling over at her from the altar.

"Yes, I had to stop by home to change, it's very mucky out there."

"Your husband is still out riding to the local farms," she said, her tone mocking. "Still spreading his 'wisdom' to the poor Nord farmers."

She laughed. "Maybe they'll teach him something. I doubt it though."

Danica laughed with her, turning her attention back to the shrine. "Or maybe he won't return, and you'll be free of him at last."

Her breath caught and she was glad Danica had her back to her. Don't fail this close to the end. Don't let them know you've been maintaining a ruse like this. It wouldn't end well. Forcing herself to laugh, she turned her attention to the herbs. "Perhaps," she agreed, setting them in front of her.

Worry was a heavy weight, but Ahlam bore it stoically as she prepared her hair for sleep, tugging a silk cap over it. Nazeem has never been gone this long. What could have happened?

Saadia had been beside herself with relief when Ahlam had told her she was free of her burden, promising she would remember her always, fleeing back to the Bannered Mare with her gold as soon as the discussion was over, Elrindir stopping her to whisper warnings of the Alik'r, warnings she graciously thanked him for. Warnings I no longer need.

But that had been hours ago and now, she lay herself gingerly in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, worrying over Nazeem.

Three Days Later

"Good morning Ahlam," Elrindir greeted when she'd come down the stairs. "Nazeem still isn't home? Do you think he ran afoul of...?"

She shook her head, pleased with her ability to remain dry-eyed at the thought that maybe one of the Alik'r had recognized him while he was riding. More likely to run afoul of bandits and as soon as he was away from Whiterun he'd show them what he's truly capable of. I shouldn't be worried.

"The Courier stopped by this morning, left a letter for you."

Eagerly she grabbed it, her brow furrowing when she opened it to only see a black hand print and the scrawl below it. "We know."

Black hand print. Dark Brotherhood. But who am I supposed to have murdered? Kematu? He was here to kill me, how would that count as murder? Well, I suppose if we're being technical... Which I suspect they are. But what now? What's the point of this note?

She escaped to the tundra again to pluck more plants, telling Danica she was going to head to her farm and make sure to check things there, hoping she'd find some evidence of Nazeem. Three days. No word. We haven't been apart this long in over a decade. It's strange not having him around. Uncomfortable.

The farm hands greeted her cheerily enough as she wandered through, none of them offering any usable information when she questioned if they'd seen Nazeem, just repeating what she already knew, that last he'd been seen was on the road in front of the Loreius farm.

I'll have to go back there tomorrow, she decided, crawling into the bed at the farm, unwilling to return to the empty bed in Whiterun. We were so close.

The smell of rotting wood filled Ahlam's nose and she groggily woke, pushing herself up and frowning as she looked around the small shack she found herself in.

"You sleep soundly for a murderer," a soft voice greeted, and she looked up to see a woman sitting casually on a shelf, her leg dangling. "It was neatly done, expert work."

"I didn't murder anyone who didn't deserve it," she responded, surprised to find her blowgun and darts next to the pillow, her knives in a neat stack next to the bed.

"Oh, I understand that you believe that. And you may even be right. But it was a beautiful kill."

"What do you want from me?" she wondered, drawing a leg up to her chest. And where are we?

"I want to extend you an offer. My family could do with someone like you on our side. How about it?"

"Your family being?"

"Oh, forgive me. Where are my manners? The Dark Brotherhood of course."

She considered her, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged. I had planned to go looking for Nazeem. "I have a husband," she said briskly. "I have no interest in leaving him for an assassin organization that's on its last legs."

"Oh, of course you wouldn't have heard. Your husband is gone."

A chill ran down her spine and she stared up at her. "What?"

"The last anyone saw of him, he was leading a jester of all things away from Loreius farm. He has yet to return to Whiterun. But from what I understand, that shouldn't bother you, should it? Everyone knows that you don't think much of your husband." She smiled, hopping down from the shelf. "Unless... Have you been deceiving Whiterun this whole time?"

"So I've heard," she said bitterly. "But I'm certain it's been a misunderstanding."

"No one has seen him since that day. What else can be believed Ahlam? Or should I call you Iman?"

Rising, she stared up at her. "How do you know that name?"

She smiled. "To be in my position means you have to be comfortable doing such things as picking locks."

"So, you found the safes," she muttered. I knew I should have burned the rest of those papers, but Nazeem was so sure we needed them in case we had to flee to Morrowind or back to Hammerfell.

"We found the safes," she agreed. "Now we'd had some people in the area you see. To watch for how things went with this Kematu. We had considered approaching him depending on how he handled the situation. But he died. And it was so gracefully done that we knew that you were the best."

"How were you able to act so swiftly though?"

"We have our ways," she said easily. "Now, how about it?"

"How can you be so sure that Nazeem is dead?" she countered. "He'll probably end up in Dawnstar."

"You can murder men in cold blood but you're still this naive? Perhaps you're right, perhaps he's not dead but then why wouldn't he return to Whiterun? If a bandit group had taken him prisoner, you'd have received a bounty notice. But you didn't, did you?"

Her eyes itched and she reached a hand up to dab at the tears. We were so close. So close to putting our past behind us entirely. To be free of the shadow hanging over our heads.

"And what could the Dark Brotherhood offer me that I don't already have in Whiterun?"

"The freedom to be honest," she responded softly. "The freedom to act as you wish, when you wish. No need to act the subservient wife of a blustering man. A reason to maintain the sharpness of your skills."

"And where would I go?"

"I would lead you to the Sanctuary. You have everything you need right here."

"And what of the farm?"

"You know what Balgruuf will do with it. He'll see it sold, the responsibility gone from your hands."

But do I even want to go back? We were so close to being safe of the shadow and I lost everything anyway. "Alright. Show me to your Sanctuary."

"I knew you'd see things my way. But tell me, how will I introduce you to your new family? By Ahlam? Or by Iman?"

"I haven't been Iman in decades. Ahlam is my name now."

"Very well."

The overwhelming scent of rot increased when she opened the door, waiting for Ahlam to collect her blowgun and knives. The swamps near Morthal. I always went out of my way to avoid this place.

"We have a swifter way home," she said warmly, "hold onto my arm."

Stepping forward she grasped her arm as directed and closed her eyes as the recall spell wrapped around them.

"Welcome to Falkreath, I realize I forgot to introduce myself. You may call me Astrid."

"Astrid," she murmured, following her toward a small pond. "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you but I'm not so sure of that yet."

She laughed, glancing over her shoulder. "You've got a sense of humor. That will do you well."

Pressing into a small alcove, she pressed her hand on a part of the rock in front of her, stepping back as it lifted. "I'll show you exactly the spot to press later, for now, follow me."

Following her into the tunnel, Ahlam stopped after a few paces, staring at the glowing door in front of them.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," she murmured.

"Have you ever seen one before?"

"A long time ago," she admitted. "When I was still a child."

Astrid nodded and rested her hand on the door.

"What is the music of life?" a rasping voice asked, seeming to come from the door itself.

"Silence my brother," Astrid responded, smiling at Ahlam, gesturing her forward.

"Welcome home," the voice rasped, and the door swung inward.

Following Astrid inside, Ahlam looked around the small hallway.

"Now I had worried that you truly followed Kynareth, and I'd have to worry about accidentally intercepting an Aedra worshiper, but your home revealed very little in the way of shrines. Nothing I'd expect from a priestess."

"It was a good way to blend in," she said softly. "To escape notice."

"Brothers and sisters," Astrid said, raising her voice slightly as they stepped into a large underground cavern. "We have a new sister. Meet Ahlam."

A small group of assassins pressed into a small area in front of a curved stone, strangely a child among them, her eyes glowing eerily in the light.

"About time we got another member," an old man, too wizened for her to tell his race, at the back of the group griped. "Does she have any sorcerous leanings?"

"No," that was the muscular Nord near the front. "I examined her kills myself. She'll get along with Babette I'm sure, they were some well made poisons. And the projectile in the mouth was excellent aim."

Her cheeks inexplicably warmed and she inclined her head slightly.

"Your talents will be recognized here," Astrid murmured. "We'll look on your growth fondly."

The only ones who ever showed interest in my skills were my uncle and Nazeem. Danica and Jenssen were more interested in how many potions and poultices I could make.

"So, a crossbow then?" the Argonian in the group asked. "A useful weapon."

"Nah," the Nord countered. "Darts."

The Argonian perked up and the little girl laughed, a strange, delighted sound.

"Another poisoner, how delightful!"

"Come, meet your new family," Astrid said softly.

She followed her down the steps.

"This is my husband Arnbjorn, do not be afraid when he transforms in front of you, he will not harm you, unless you try to harm the family."

"I understand," she murmured, meeting the yellow eyes of the man in front of her, shivering slightly.

"This is Babette, she's our resident alchemist. Perhaps you can learn from each other, although there is very little that our girl hasn't learned over the last two hundred or so years."

Oh. That's disconcerting but also explains her presence.

Swallowing her discomfort, she smiled down at her. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm always interested in learning more."

"Excellent," she said brightly.

"And we have Gabrielle, she's one of our best," she said, gesturing to a Dunmer who nodded slightly. "If you need training with your knives, ask her and she may be able to help you out. And back here we have Veezara, a Shadow Scale. Which is a pleasure to have among us."

"Well met Land-Strider."

"And Festus is our crotchety old mage. He can turn anyone inside out as he often reminds us."

"That's good to know," she said, privately wondering what she'd ever do with that information.

"Nazir is on a job but you'll meet him when he returns. And I lead this merry bunch. As much as they'll allow me at least."

It took three months for Ahlam to be considered trained 'well enough' to leave the Sanctuary and she basked in the glow of the sun for a long moment, hearing Nazir chuckle just behind her.

"Lucky you to have sunlight. Usually it's drizzling here in Falkreath."

"I'm surprised they're sending someone with me for this job," she responded. "I thought it was going to be 'tossing me into the deep end' as Festus said."

"No, we've learned that doesn't always result in a good outcome," he said gravely. "And I admit I was curious to see your skills for myself."

"You're here to ensure I don't send a letter back to Whiterun, aren't you?" she asked, tilting her head slightly and smirking when she saw him glance toward the trees.

"It was a consideration," he agreed. "With your reputation we didn't expect you to take the loss of your husband so hard."

She looked down, kicking at the dirt. "I know."

"Come, we've got to get this job done so we can see if you can go to Dawnstar."

"What is happening in Dawnstar? Astrid said something about receiving a gift from someone called the Listener and Babette vanished so swiftly after."

He sighed, pausing to lean against a tree. "You're very observant. Which I understand considering your..." he smiled. "Background. It's simple. The Dark Brotherhood has been hunted for years and it was successful in a great many places. And we lost our Listener, the only person who could directly hear the Night Mother's voice. But someone showed up in Dawnstar recently claiming to be the new Listener. Claiming they had the Night Mother with them. And this Listener sent a token to Astrid, a dagger that is a known Dark Brotherhood artifact called a Fang of Sithis, one of only two in existence. Veezara examined it, and it's legitimate. So, we're hoping this job will go well because if it does, you'll be the liaison between Falkreath and Dawnstar. Babette is of course quicker than you are, but she's only comfortable traveling at night, and with everything heating up with the Volkihar vampires and the Dawnguard, it's safer if she isn't the one doing the traveling."

"Do I get to know my target?" she asked, keeping pace with him more easily than she expected with how long she'd spent in and around the Sanctuary itself.

"A bandit. Thought we'd put you on familiar terrain considering what brought you to our attention. Our contact is in Rorikstead, a girl formerly from Windhelm named Muiri. She'll be waiting near one of the barns." He laughed, "be hard to hide the ritual anywhere but an outbuilding."

No wonder they're planning to keep an eye on me. With how close that is to the farm Nazeem and I had. "I understand."

Chapter Text

Nazeem: Dawnstar Sanctuary

"Cicero, have you heard anything?" Nazeem asked, sitting down at the table, studying the cold marble surface, tracing some of the darker splotches.

"I do not hear what the Night Mother asks," he whined, flopping on the bench on the other side of the table.

"You know that's not what I was asking," he responded, lowering his voice, letting it take on a hard edge.

"Yes. Babette said that Astrid accepted the Fang as proof of your status. There are plans to use their newest recruit as the go-between of the two Sanctuaries."

"What do we know about this new recruit?"

"She's from Whiterun."

Oh, that will be interesting. He sighed, forcing himself not to think about his wife. The Night Mother tells me to be patient. That I will understand everything in due course.

"Do we know anything else?"

He shook his head. "Babette said only that she wanted to be here when you were introduced. She seemed quite giddy. Almost giddy enough to dance with Cicero!"

"That is pretty giddy," he agreed, giving him one of his rare true smiles. What would Ahlam think of me now? Now that I've almost finished shedding the pompousness that Whiterun required of me? "Are you growing bored Cicero? Shall I go and ask the Night Mother for a job for you?"

"Cicero would love that!" He sat upright, grinning at him. "You take such good care of Cicero."

Shaking his head, he pushed back from the table to wander down to the room Cicero had decided was the right place for the Night Mother's casket. He studied it for a moment, wandering around the perimeter, noting the lack of decorations with a small sigh. Would that I had brought more money with me. I could have made this place much more comfortable.

"Do not fret," the Night Mother murmured. "You will have your chance to make this place feel more like a proper home. And soon."

"Do you have a job for Cicero? He's growing bored."

She laughed softly in his mind. "My poor jester often grows bored between jobs. Tell him that soon he will have an opportunity he could only dream of. The sacrament has not been completed... yet. But once it is... it will set into motion a beautiful chain of events and my children will once again leave their mark upon the world."

"Of course," he agreed, bowing his head slightly and moving toward the door.

"Nazeem."

"Yes?" he asked softly, turning to face the open coffin.

"There is a new recruit nearby. A Nord man. His name is Kyrrad Wanderer and just last night he murdered a wandering herbalist. Use your clairvoyance spell to find the herbalist first, examine his body and then follow the trail to where Kyrrad takes shelter. Use a paralysis spell to immobilize him while you recommend that he would do well as a brother and then leave him there and go to Dawnstar's lighthouse. When he seeks you out there, lead him home."

"As you say," he agreed, looking down at his hands and flexing them slightly. I never used as much magic before as I have now. Another change, I hope Ahlam can accept this side of me. Should I ever see her again.

Shaking his head, he walked purposefully to his room and dressed, enjoying the feel of the leathers against his skin, surprised by how swiftly he'd adapted to the change in dress.

"Cicero," he said, tugging his gloves to sit right. "The Night Mother says you are to have an opportunity soon that will help us leave our mark on the world."

"Truly?" he chirped, looking around the door frame.

"Truly," he responded, turning to meet his eyes, amused somehow by the madness reflected there. "I must go and retrieve a new brother."

"Cicero will clean while you are gone," he promised. "Scrub and scrub so the new brother is comfortable!"

"Do that," he agreed, pulling a heavy cloak over his gear, heading toward the door.

The herbalist wasn't too far from Dawnstar, and he crouched by his body, mildly surprised to see he had no marks of being devoured by wildlife. Studying the body, he noted the marks of a small dagger, searching his clothes and pack, finding signs of one cut coin purse but finding another full purse among the herbs and smiled, understanding why the Night Mother would believe him a fit for the Brotherhood. Moving away from the body he searched around, finding light footprints and following them, using his clairvoyance spell from time to time to lead him to the next set of tracks.

He caught movement near a small shack and cast his paralysis spell reflexively, watching a tall Nord topple out of the shadows into the snow. Shaking his limbs out, he sauntered closer.

"Hello Kyrrad," he said, letting his amusement show. "Good job with the apothecary. I have to wonder, why did you kill him? You left most of his herbs behind, took one of his coin pouches but not the one hidden among his herbs."

He glared when Nazeem rolled him to his back, eyes widening slightly as he took in the dark armor. "Was it the thrill of the kill? Knowing that no one would find out who'd killed him? Knowing that sooner or later the wildlife will cover your tracks?"

Smirking, he watched him digest those words, leaning back on his heels.

"You'd make a good Brother." He looked around the shelter, shaking his head. "It would certainly be more comfortable with us than in this... shack. If you're interested, come find me at the Dawnstar lighthouse tomorrow evening. I'll know if you alert the guard. But I expect you won't."

Rising, he stretched out his limbs and headed away from the shelter, moving away from the small path to circle it, killing a wolf sniffing around the edge of the woods just to make sure the potential recruit wouldn't be eaten while still paralyzed before heading back home.

"Did he agree to join?" Cicero asked, taking his cloak as soon as he entered. "Will we have another join our Sanctuary?"

"We'll find out tomorrow," he responded, moving to sit by the fire, thawing his hands. I hope I did that well enough. I don't know the first thing about recruiting assassins.

Cicero bustled around, heating some water in a kettle, muttering under his breath about his frozen Listener, pausing to do his odd little dance.

"Are you happy Cicero?" he asked, accepting the mug of tea with a grateful nod.

"Oh yes! Cicero is ecstatic! He has a Listener again! It was so long. So very long and he got lonely without Mother's voice."

"I understand," he said gravely, sipping at the tea.

"You do, don't you?" he asked, his voice changing slightly, the shrewdness to his tone becoming just as familiar as his more cheerful blather. "You miss your wife."

"Yes."

"Cicero could find you a new one! One who will fit into the family!"

"Thank you Cicero, but no. That's not how I chose my wife." You don't need to know that ours was an arranged marriage. A marriage of convenience to keep us both safe from Dominion influence. Ironically exactly what resulted in our exile. Well, Ahlam's exile. But I would not have chosen anyone else to move to Skyrim with.

"As you say, Listener."

Letting the tea finish warming his hands, he finally rose, glancing to see that at some point Cicero had set up a few more lamps. What is the Keeper's role? I could ask the Night Mother, she seems willing to help educate me when I ask.

Wandering into the room with the coffin, he paused to watch Cicero sweep, leaning against the door frame.

"My Keeper does good work to ensure that I have all the comforts I could want and extends his help to the rest of the Brotherhood as needed."

"An important job," he mused.

She laughed in his mind. "Get some rest my Listener. Tomorrow you must retrieve your new brother. It was well done Nazeem. You know how to read people better than anyone in Whiterun ever learned. You and... well... you'll see."

Chapter Text

Ahlam: Falkreath Sanctuary

“This way,” Babette whispered, gesturing Ahlam toward the door. 

Curious, she followed after, nodding to Astrid when she stepped outside, the Sanctuary leader nodding in return. 

“You did well on your last job. Come with us,” Astrid said. 

Following them noiselessly to the edge of the dark pond near the Sanctuary door she stopped, staring at the black mist coalescing above the water. 

“I told you Astrid,” Babette chirped. “The Night Mother is looking out for us again. Why else would she appear for the one we chose as the go-between?”

“Her?” Ahlam asked, taking a step back when a pitch black horse stepped out of the mist onto the bank of the pond, tossing her head with a blood chilling whinny.

“This is Shadowmere,” Astrid said quietly. “She is one of us, and she has served me as my mount for many years.”

“I don’t understand,” Ahlam said quietly, offering her palm to the mare when she approached, noting that her eyes seemed to glow red in the evening light. 

“It is the tradition of the Falkreath Sanctuary to see if any others can entice Shadowmere to come from the pond without summoning. Babette was certain that if you were meant to be the liaison between here and the Dawnstar Sanctuary that she would come to greet you. And she has.”

“She’s kept saddled?” she asked, automatically falling back on her upbringing, horrified at the thought.

Babette laughed. “She can’t feel it. She’s an ancient Brotherhood member given flesh when called.”

“If stealth in your mount is called for, the tack will change to a more nondescript black and red without the handprint,” Astrid said quietly. “But I will be glad to pass her reins to someone of your background.” She reached her hand out to rest between Shadowmere's eyes. “We have worked well together but we both know that even with her tutelage, my riding skills are lacking.”

Shadowmere nudged Ahlam with her nose, getting an ear scratch in return, pressing her head harder into her chest when she moved to pull her hand away. 

“Spirit given flesh or not, she certainly acts like a horse.”

Babette laughed again. “Astrid. Are we going to send her alone?”

“With Shadowmere to carry her,” she agreed. “And you and I to follow after to be sure of her safety.”

“As you say,” she agreed.

“Are you ready Ahlam?”

“Yes Astrid,” she responded, accepting a small pack from the Nord woman. 

“Shadowmere can run faster than any other horse in Tamriel. She will get you to Dawnstar within days. I suggest you hold tight.”

Checking the girth out of long habit, Ahlam swung into the saddle, holding the reins lightly in one hand, nudging Shadowmere with her knees. 

As promised the mare bolted forward, faster than any horse she’d ever ridden and she leaned low over her neck, knotting her free hand in the mare’s mane, enjoying the breeze teasing at her hair. 

They stopped to rest in a grove near the edge of Falkreath, Shadowmere’s bridle vanishing before she lowered her head to the grass, jerking her head back up when Ahlam began running a brush over her coat, twisting her head around to look at her before lowering her head back toward the grass, closing her eyes and leaning toward her. 

Ahlam laughed, pushing back against her lightly, watching the saddle disappear just as easily as the bridle had.

Once Shadowmere was seen to, Ahlam set about making a quick meal for herself, looking up at the sky as she ate. I've missed riding. I hope I have the opportunity to do it more often. If things go well in Dawnstar I suppose I shall. Something to look forward to.

Reminiscing on rides with Nazeem, she settled down under her blanket close to the fire, closing her eyes and seeking dreams of her husband, heart aching.

"How did you make it ahead of me?" Ahlam wondered, walking to stand next to Babette and Astrid.

Astrid laughed, "Babette set a Recall spell here the last time she came. We wanted to give you a chance to bond with Shadowmere."

"I think we did," she said softly, reaching out to rest her hand on the mare's cheek. "She has the smoothest gait of any horse I've ever ridden."

"I suspect that whoever she was, she spent much of her time with horses," Astrid said, giving her a pat on the nose herself. "Only reason I could see her choosing this form to assist us in."

"So, where are we going?"

"This way," Babette said, gesturing for them to follow her.

They walked in companionable silence before Babette stopped by a small shack, fishing gear spread out in front of it. The little vampire glanced around before pushing the door open.

Ahlam patted Shadowmere one last time and ducked inside after the others.

The building was cramped inside, a small bed and chairs by the cold fireplace, a large wardrobe near the back, and she shifted nervously, watching Babette approach the wardrobe, pushing the door open and leading them into a hidden hallway that led to a familiar door.

"What is life's greatest illusion?" the door rasped.

Babette smiled. "Innocence my brother"

"Welcome home." 

An eerie laugh echoed through the halls as they entered, and the vampire shook her head.

"What was that?" Astrid asked.

"Cicero. The Keeper. He's a bit mad but he brought the Night Mother's body all the way from Cheydinhal on his own."

"With the Cyrodiil sanctuaries destroyed," Astrid murmured. "He wrote to me, but I am ashamed to admit I did not offer help."

"We were so few," Babette said soothingly. "And you only wished to protect us."

They rounded a corner to see the gathered Brotherhood waiting, a Nord on either side of an Imperial in jester attire and a Redguard standing slightly in front of them, and Ahlam stopped. Stopped moving, stopped blinking, stopped breathing. 

"Ahlam," Nazeem said. "I understand now what the Night Mother said! I understand why she told me to have patience! Ahlam, my love. My wife." He smiled, stepping forward.

With a wild cry, she brushed past Astrid and Babette, throwing herself at her husband, joy filling her heart, lightening her steps.

They met halfway, Nazeem pulling her to his chest, lifting her up and swinging her in a wild, joyous circle. "My love," he whispered.

"Babette," Astrid said quietly, Ahlam just able to hear her over the wild beating of her heart. "You knew?"

"Yes Astrid," she responded. "I knew."

"Cicero is so pleased for the Listener!"

Slowing, Nazeem settled her on her feet. "How did you come to be recruited?"

"After I killed Kematu, Astrid tracked me down and invited me to join. Her husband had looked over my kills and said they were very impressive."

"You always were quick with your kills. What method did you use?"

"Blowgun for the most part. Poison."

He smiled, lifting her hand and kissing the back of it. "I should have guessed. Oh, so many times I wanted to try and find you. The Night Mother promised me I would understand in due time. That I just had to be patient."

She leaned her head against his chest. "I missed you every day."

"And I you."

Pulling back, she looked at Astrid and Babette. "Astrid, this is my husband Nazeem. Nazeem, this is Astrid, the head of the Falkreath Sanctuary."

"Astrid. I have heard much about you. The Night Mother is willing to look past your indiscretions because of the care you took of your remaining brothers and sisters."

"I'm relieved to hear it," she said, ducking her head slightly.

"I do wish for you to send each of the brothers and sisters to meet me over time. Babette and Nazir I have met already but I wish to speak directly to Veezara, Arnbjorn, Gabriella and Festus."

"Of course, Listener."

"It will take some years but there will again be a Black Hand and they will revitalize our lost Sanctuaries. The Night Mother demands it."

"Cicero is so pleased to hear that!" the jester crowed.

"You should be," he responded, a trace of his Whiterun haughtiness threaded in his voice.

"I have a contact in the Thieves Guild who would be able to help us keep an ear out for anything we could use to make this Sanctuary more comfortable," Astrid offered.

"Good. It could use some work."

"I look forward to sharing all of my contacts with you," she said, giving Ahlam a small smile. "Having Ahlam in our Sanctuary has been a blessing and she's told us many stories of the front you showed Whiterun. And indeed, I remember you from a few visits. You were a very unpopular man."

He laughed. "I was." Grasping Ahlam's hand, he turned toward the others. "Ahlam, Astrid. This is Cicero, the Keeper for the Night Mother. The man who brought her safely to her new home. On his left is Kyrrad and on his right is Bradir. These two I found close to home, and fit to join us."

"Does the Night Mother tell you about new recruits?" Astrid wondered, moving to stand next to Nazeem and Ahlam.

He smiled and nodded slightly. "She does. Come this way." He led them through the stony halls, not relinquishing Ahlam's hand, resting a fist over his chest when they entered a room with an open stone coffin, bowing. Ahlam bowed at his side, looking up at the Night Mother.

"I had never expected to lay eyes on her again," Astrid whispered, bowing low.

"Your ambition has been your strength and your weakness Astrid," Nazeem said, twining his finger's with Ahlam's. “She says to remember Alisanne Dupre. To remember her warning about your ambition blinding you. To temper it into a fine blade, not unlike the fang you wear at your hip."

"Of course," she whispered. "I've only ever wanted what's best for my family."

Nazeem turned slightly toward her.

"I just sometimes lost track of the form that should take," she added. "I should have offered to meet Cicero at the docks."

"Yes. But she does not begrudge you as it led to my meeting him instead. Consider yourself forgiven. This time."

"Thank you Listener."

"Go, meet Kyrrad, Cicero and Bradir. Tell them of their brothers and sisters in Falkreath."

She bowed again and backed away.

"Ahlam, the Night Mother is pleased that you have come at last. She wants to know how you found traveling with Shadowmere."

"It was lovely," she said, leaning against Nazeem. "She has the smoothest gait of any horse I've ever ridden. And she enjoys a good ear scratch."

"She's pleased," Nazeem said. "She says to keep that feeling of closeness and Shadowmere will always come when you need her."

"I was told she was one of us."

"Yes. She was closest to Lucien Lachance. A man I'm sure you've heard stories about."

"Festus and Babette are fond of relaying tales of his exploits."

"The Night Mother tells me that he will return as an advisor as we regain our lost strength." He laughed. "And she says I should show you the rest of the Sanctuary. That you will split your time between here and Falkreath so should be as knowledgeable of this home as the one you were first introduced to."

She squeezed his hand, ducking her head slightly to the Night Mother once more, turning with Nazeem toward the door.

Cicero entered as they neared it, offering a sweeping, comical bow. "Cicero is so pleased to meet Ahlam! The only shadow that lived on the Listener's heart was losing you! And to think you were a sister this whole time!"

"Thank you Cicero," she said softly. "I was recruited shortly after you met my husband on the road near Whiterun. Thank you for being here for him."

"Cicero is here for his Mother first," he corrected. "But he is pleased by Nazeem. Nazeem understands what the Brotherhood needs! He is a true Listener! And he is good to poor Cicero."

"I'm glad," she said, squeezing Nazeem's hand again.

"We'll leave you to your work," Nazeem said softly. "The Night Mother says she would like you to light extra three candles while our visitors are here."

"Of course! Cicero will take care of it," he promised, ducking past them to bustle around the room.

Nazeem walked through the halls, pointing out different areas, ending at a small door. "And this is my room. Our room while you're here. It's not as comfortable as I'd like but I have hopes that with Astrid's contacts we'll have a comfortable home here soon."

She nodded, entering the room with him, releasing his hand finally and walking to the small desk. We did it. No more Alik'r. No more Kematu. And no more Whiterun. No more pretenses. 

"Ahlam," he sighed. "Did you want to return to your old name?"

She shook her head. "No. I am happy being Ahlam."

He pulled her into his arms, resting his head on hers.

She sighed, closing her eyes. "I'm so glad you're safe. I worried for so long."

"I know. I wish I could have contacted you sooner. But the Night Mother warned me against it, promised me that you were safe, and patience would reward me."

"And so it has."

His arms tightened and he let out a long breath. "So it has."