So sorry for the very long wait! College happened, and finals, and homework. But I was inspired to write so here it is! On the plus side, I feel my writing has improved, so hopefully you like it! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything other than Thérèse.

She'd had to bargain with the Matron to go on this little excursion. She'd been required to complete two Glenumbra contracts while she was there, and she'd just finished them, exhausted.

One had been a mage who'd accidentally poisoned someone, and the other had been a wife who cheated on her husband. Only now that she'd fulfilled her promise to Astara did she feel she could carry out her own personal quest.

The door to the Harborage closed behind her, and she smelled water, and plants, and must. It reminded her of the Sanctuary, except none of her family were here. It seemed so different now…the woman who walked in here months ago with a vague hint from an ethereal man seemed like a different person. Not a girl, not naive, but she had been less of what she was now. Like the beginning chapter of a story, the woman before had not yet found the plot of her life.

As she walked down to the open cavern, boots splashing in the water, she heard the twangy, out of tune playing of Lyris on a lute. Thérèse smiled to herself. How did The Prophet put up with that all of the time, his hearing being what it was? She sensed the man was closer to her then he was letting on, in a fatherly way. Lyris was the only company he had here, bad lute playing or no.

She walked into the light, and though the Prophet remained still, Lyris jumped up and smiled. "Vestige!" She put down her lute and hurried over to give her a Nord hug. She'd learned recently that Nord hugs are different than normal hugs. "It's been awhile. Come on, The Prophet has a lot to talk about." She led Thérèse to the fire where the old mage sat, face solemn.

He looked at her. White marbles were set deep into his wrinkled, spent face, weeded with careless stubble and lingering disappointment. "You're darker than you were last we saw each other, Vestige." He murmured, eyebrows knitting into a frown.

"What do you mean?" Asked Lyris, confused. The whole exchange would seem strange to her, wouldn't it?

But Thérèse knew exactly what he meant. She'd embraced the darkness. She'd embraced who she truly was. It had always been there, and even he could not ignore that.

After a moment, the Prophet waved a hand. "It matters not. What matters is that you are here. There are rumors of spies in the city of Daggerfall, agents of Mannimarco, but that kind of task requires a lighter touch than Lyris or I posses. Go now, question the citizens about anything out of the ordinary. Find these spies."

Thérèse sighed. She'd forgotten what it was like to take orders from people. At least people who weren't her Brotherhood superiors. The Prophet relied on her willingness, Astara did not. "Alright." She turned to go, but The Prophet's voice stopped her.

"And try not to shed too much blood on the way, Vestige."

"You have to be more careful next time." Growled Lyris, roughly cleaning the wound on Thérèse's head. "A little harder and your skull would be all over the floor of that spy's lair."

"He snuck up on me, I was busy talking to Tharn." It had been a surprise to talk to Abnar Tharn again, but it had only shown her how powerful Mannimarco really was. He held Cyrodiil in his hands. Well, some of it, anyways. She smiled.

"This orb is an artifact of some power, Vestige." Mused The Prophet. "A communication device of sorts." He frowned. "I'm sorry to drag you halfway across Tamriel for this, but I'm certain now that I can divine the location of Sai with the help of this artifact."

Thérèse pulled away from Lyris' painful ministrations. "Have you any further use for me, then?" She asked, a little more stiffly than she meant to. She was aching to get home, to the warm shores of the Gold Coast. She supposed it really was her home, now.

The Prophet fixed her with a blank stare. "Not at the current moment, but I'd like to have a word with you in private." He didn't need to send any other signal than that. The Nord frowned in annoyance and crossed her arms. Her green eyes passed between the Prophet and the Vestige, and Thérèse was struck with the feeling that the warrior had just recalled the man's strange words from earlier. Perhaps she was giving them more thought now. Regardless, she turned from them and headed across the alcove, picking up her lute to tune it. "I know more that you might think I do, Vestige." He whispered roughly, leaning in. "You dabble with darkness greater than you know."

Thérèse clenched her jaw and stared right back at him, defiant. Did he know the 'darkness?' "I have found a home, Prophet. I care not what deeds I do to belong, only that I do belong, somewhere. I will fight Mannimarco if you wish. I will fulfill my 'destiny.' But I will not abandon my friends for a morality I see no purpose for." That being said, she turned her back and headed towards the entrance to the Harborage.

"Vestige, wait!" Called Lyris, splashing after her. Thérèse sighed and turned around, looking up at the tall woman.

"What is it, Lyris?"

The Nord stared down at her with intense eyes. "What was that all about?"

There was no way on Nirn she was going to attempt to explain it to Lyris.

Thérèse shrugged, trying to make the action nonchalant. "Just some unneeded advice."

Lyris locked her jaw and raised her brows. "Yeah, sure." She looked around, even though it was obviously just the two of them. "Look, you talked to Tharn…I still hate him. He's a backstabbing traitor…but did you get the sense that he was completely loyal to Mannimarco?"

Was Lyris wanting to work with Tharn? To save him, even? It didn't sound like her. "What do you mean? How could we offer him more protection than Mannimarco?"

Lyris shrugged. "I don't know. But Tharn isn't stupid. He knows that Mannimarco will destroy him at some point. He helped us before. If he would again, it would be useful."

Thérèse nodded, vaguely seeing her point. "Well, when the time comes, we'll just have to see, won't we?"

Lyris nodded, and the sorceress didn't give her another chance to ask about what the Prophet had said to her, simply turning and sloshing back up the water filled tunnel. Pushing a hanging lichen out of the way, she frowned. She had caught the spy, and they were closer to finding Sahan, but she felt unsettled.

Thérèse trudged up the steep hill back up to Daggerfall, thoughts heavy. How did The Prophet presume to know her? He had saved her from Coldharbour, and she owed him a debt, but he had no power over what she did with her own two hands.

Still, his disappointment in her did chafe. She supposed she just had to weigh her options, and her new family was worth more than his opinion of her.

It was dark, and she needed to rest, so she rented a room at The Rosy Lion and deposited herself on the lumpy bed that was all hers for the night.

She sighed. High Rock had once been second nature to her. Since when did it become so foreign? Her head was aching from where that crazy Imperial spy had lobbed her, and she reached up a hand to heal it. It was a testament to how jumbled her thoughts were, that she hadn't done so already.

Her thoughts drifted to Hildegarde, safe and sound back at the Sanctuary. She hopped she was doing alright after her ordeal. Mirabelle, too. She was still a little…off, after Cimbar's death. She even missed Green-Venom-Tongue, and the way he wrote down everything people said in his thick tomes. Why did he do that, anyway? Of course, she was also looking forward to Elam's dry humor as she returned to announce her contracts were complete.

Who knows, perhaps when she returned she would ask for one of Terenus' Sacraments? For some reason, the praise from his lips sounded very desirable.

Crickets chirped outside her window, and a draft from the door brushed through the threadbare blankets. Both reminded her that she was not home. Still, the thoughts of her family seemed to keep her warmer, and she fell asleep with Hilde's sweet smile in her mind's eye.

The edge of a dagger teased the skin of her neck, and her eyes flew open, wide as a deer's. Her heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught in her throat.

The trespasser leaned in close, and she smelled cherries. "Letting your guard down, Initiate?" He whispered, breath in her ear. His voice, dark and silky, set her heart beating quicker than the knife had.

She blinked, letting herself relax as he pulled the dagger away. "I suppose, if that's what you call sleeping." She rolled over, into a ball. This had to be a dream….

Light flooded the room and she tried to blink it out of her eyes. He was lighting candles. "There's a boat leaving for Anvil in an hour. I've booked passage. I want you on it."

This wasn't even making sense. "What time is it?" She whispered. Her head still pounded from the wound she'd received, and her heart was still fluttering from his sudden closeness moments before.

"Early." Came his dark voice. "Get up, pack your things. You can sleep on the ship."

Finally wrestling sleep from her bones, she sat up and rubbed her eyes, feeling her curls drift down into her face. They tickled her cheeks and itched her skin. She reached for the nightstand for her metal hairband, and pushed her curls back into place. "Why now?" Was all she could say. It seemed so urgent, so strange.

He turned to her, eyebrow raised. "Because events are unfolding and I want all able hands back at the Sanctuary. Astara told me you were in High Rock for some errand."

Thérèse sat up and slipped on her boots, still suffering from some grogginess. "But why are you here?" That, that was what made no sense.

He glanced down at her. "A meeting with the Black Hand brought me close to Daggerfall."

She finally stood, blinking at her momentary dizzyness, before grabbing her small bag of items. "Why High Rock?" She finally inquired.

He sighed. "Because, Initiate, Cyrodiil isn't exactly safe. And since the clearing out of Angof, Glenumbra is much more hospitable." He gave her a dark smile, then turned and walked out of the room.

Glancing around to make sure she hadn't left anything, she blew out the candles as she followed him. This was the strangest way to wake up.

They left the Inn in silence, heading towards the docks. Her senses were finally catching up with her, spurred along by the crisp air and glistening stars above her. "Was it really necessary to wake me? I could have taken another boat."

He didn't turn to address her. "The next ship to pass Anvil leaves in four days. Four days is too long for the Sanctuary to go without an able bodied assassin, things as they are."

She could understand that. She hadn't known passage was that sparse. Staying here for four more days sounded vile to her. "Well, I suppose I should be thanking you for waking me then." He grunted in reply. He was wearing dark clothes, but other than that, he was dressed…normal. No Black Hand robe. From behind, he could almost pass as someone else. He looked…nice.

They walked to the docks in silence, and the salty sea air was reminiscent of home. She wondered absently if Terenus thought of the Sanctuary as home, too

Workers were loading cargo onto the ship, but other than that, the docks were silent at this hour. She followed the Speaker up the ramp and onto the ship.

A female voice was addressing him. A familiar voice… "Welcome aboard, Mister Reboius." Thérèse's lip twitched at the fake name, but the voice was bothering her. "Did you get in contact with your friend?"

"Yes, fortunately." Came Terenus' polite reply. When Thérèse stepped up onto the boat, her heart sank.

"Kaleen."

The Captain's eyes narrowed into slits as soon as she made out Thérèse, lip raising in the beginning of a snarl. "You! What are you doing on my ship?" The words fell out of her mouth like bitter, poisoned saltrice.

Thérèse's heart sank, but this was only to be expected. "Booking passage with my friend." She said calmly, keeping her face carefully blank.

Kaleen's dark eyes stood out as daggers against her chocolate skin, beauty coiled into hostility like a desert snake. "I said it once and I'll say it again, you are not welcome on the Spearhead, you—"

"Kaleen." A old, muscled Khajiit lept from his perch, striding towards them as if the wooden deck bore him along of it's own will. Master Kasan. "The man has already paid for her passage."

Thérèse blinked, glancing at Terenus. He had?

Kaleen was appropriately nettled by Kasan's disagreement. After all, she was the Captain, not him. But perhaps he was more than a Captain. He was Kasan, master pirate, wise words more numerous than the sand colored hairs covering him. Her frown deepened. "I was just about to tell our friend here that a Bosmer came aboard while he was looking for his companion." She growled. "There isn't enough room." Was that even true, or a lie to keep her off of the Spearhead?

Terenus was out of it all, eyes flicking lazily from one person to the next. In fact, it looked like he was enjoying it.

Kasan only stared back calmly. "You know we can make room. They are friends, put them in a room together." At this, the assassins both frowned, exchanging glances.

Kaleen finally relented under her mentor's gaze, though it was with a bitter reluctance. "Fine!" She snapped, turning to Thérèse. "But you stay out of my sight." She turned on a heel and stalked away, scimitar sashaying at her side.

Kasan's whiskers twitched as he watched her go, and he sighed. "Forgive her, Teresa-ko, she still smarts from her wounded pride." He gave her a toothy khajiiti smile. "This one is glad to have you on board once more. Let us hope we don't run into another storm, yes?" He gestured for them to follow him below decks. "The Captain was too eager to grant passage to another, but there is a room for two."

Terenus and her exchanged glances. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. What was she thinking?

"Here you are." He said, pointing to an open door. "You should find Neramo and Jakarn when the moon sets, Teresa-ko. They would be pleased to see you." With that, he turned and headed back up onto the deck.

They both stopped in the doorway as they looked at their predicament. They had said it was a two person room. In size it was, but there was only one bed. Her stomach coiled into a tight knot, uneasiness bleeding into her chest.

Terenus turned to her and raised one grim brow. "Flip a coin?" He asked, tongue tight with sarcasm. He studied her face casually, but the flippant curve of his jaw melted away into a frown. Her gaze felt trapped in the silver pools of his eyes, and wisps of memory assaulted her like the acrid smoke of an alchemical fire. The alleyway…a hare caught by a wolverine and screams shoved down through her teeth. She took an involuntary step back, mirrored in contrast to Terenus' swift stalking prowl towards to door, growl almost lost in the ever-creaking belly of the Spearhead.

"Terenus." She said, voice blank and hard and aimed like an order right at his back. The authority in her voice stunned him, perhaps as much as her. She was an Initiate. But she had gained herself back and she merely gestured into the room once he'd turned to her. He didn't seem angry at her insubordination, just curious, with a hint of irritation. "Flip a coin." She murmured, with just enough flint in her voice to indicate she meant what she was saying. He was not his father, and simply sharing a room with him didn't engender the same circumstance. She would not allow mere memory to shake her. He paused momentarily before nodding. "I'll take the floor first."

Thérèse moved to protest, fueled by some sort of Breton hospitality, but he waved her unspoken words away with a stiff hand. "A strong wind could topple you, as you are right now."

She nodded, knowing there was little sense in arguing. He was right. She dropped her bag onto the floor and kicked off her boots. Slipping under the covers, she sighed. There was a nagging unease that tugged at her back, willing her to roll over and keep the man in her sights. She clenched her jaw and stared blankly across the room at the worn wood walls.

Silently, she rolled over in the bed, eyes locked on Terenus' back. He was as still as a corpse. So was she. She had no idea when either of them finally fell asleep.

"Do I even want to know how many notches you've earned on your belt while I was away?" Chuckled Thérèse, looking up at Jakarn.

He sighed and raised a brow. "Not near as many as I'd like, not with Irien around." At that, Thérèse let a full laugh come out of her lips. Irien, one of his unlucky ladies, had sworn to follow him across the seas of Tamriel and sabotage Jakarn's attempts at debauchery. By the Eight, she hadn't thought she was serious.

Jakarn raised a brow. "Now, I never thought I'd see you laugh like that, good-looking." He elbowed her. "Does it have anything to do with Mr. Charming?"

Thérèse rolled her eyes. "He is not charming, Jakarn." Especially not when he wakes you up with a blade to your throat. "He's just a friend." Just a friend?

He nodded, giving her an un-convinced look. "Uh huh, sure. How's life been treating you?"

She shrugged, looking out over the waves. "Good enough. I have…I have a place I belong now, so that's good. Like you."

He chuckled. "Never thought I would. But I didn't think you would either, good-looking."

She narrowed her eyes, gazing out over the turquoise waves. She agreed with him. "Why's that?"

He shrugged. "You're just a weirdly shaped peg. I'm glad you found a hole to fit into." He laughed and nudged her. "Speaking of things fitting into other things." She followed his gaze to see Terenus, speaking with Master Kasan. "Come on, you are not just friends with that guy."

Her face reddened considerably. "Bastard." She growled, turning back to the ocean.

"Oh, so it's that sort of thing…" His voice was patronizing. "The 'I have feelings but I won't acknowledge it' sort of thing. Well, I'll give you some unsolicited advice." Very unsolicited. "If you look at someone and you want to sleep with them? Sleep with them."

There were so many things wrong with what he just said.

Thérèse frowned and fixed her friend with a hard stare. "Jakarn, that's not how you—" Something bumped into them both, something sharp and metallic. "Oh, Clanker." It was Neramo's Dwemer spider pet…thing.

"Oh, sorry, sorry, lost track of him!" Said the harried Altmer, running towards them. "Oh, Thérèse! I heard you were on board!" He grinned. "Sorry, but I don't have any ruins for you to poke around today. Clanker!" He exclaimed, running after his wayward pet. "Just some, calibrations I need to make on the control wand!" He called over his shoulder.

Jakarn laughed at their mutual friend, shaking his head. Then, he turned to look down at her, face suddenly, uncharacteristically serious. "It's your eyes, Thérèse. I can tell by your eyes." He pushed off of the railing, and walked away. It was the first time he'd ever called her by her name.

It was her turn to take the floor, and it was even harder than it looked originally. Kaleen hadn't wanted her on her boat, but if she wanted her to suffer, this was a pretty good place for it.

Speaking of things fitting into other things. She flushed and closed her eyes even tighter. Come on, you are not just friends with that guy. Was she even his friend? She had no idea. If you look at someone and you want to sleep with them? Sleep with them. By the Eight! If Jakarn only knew her situation, he'd know that those flippant words could cut deep.

His voice entered her mind. Do not dally. A throat awaits your blade's sharp kiss. And she had seen, she had thought she had seen, his eyes drift down to her neck. But why would he do that? She was talking about her attraction, not his! The kill didn't go as cleanly as you'd hoped, Initiate? His fingers had rested there, and her skin had tingled when they pulled away. Absently, she touched her neck, where the faint scar of Dunmer teeth could be seen. Maybe she was attracted to him, but it did not warrant any action. He was the Speaker, and she was an Initiate, as he constantly reminded her. Not to mention…those silver eyes flashing, the shadow of an alleyway…she snapped her mind's eye close with a stern nod. He was not his father.

Her memory pulled away from her, to the subtle curves of Terenus' cruel lips, darkened by shadow, wet with red wine…She growled softly, pushing herself off of the floor and stepping out into the hallway. She needed some fresh air.

What the hell was wrong with her? It'd never bothered her before. His eyes, so much like his father's, had always seemed detached from the legacy they bore. Why now did they sting her like viper's teeth? Why now was she spinning madly like an autumn leaf from one extreme to the other—from fear to attraction?

The stars were winking down at her, and in their number coiled the serpentine sign that marred her birth. A derisive breath parted her dry lips. She always felt the most vulnerable when The Serpent was in the sky. She walked to the side of the boat and grabbed the railings, letting the cool sea air play with her loose curls. It didn't often get to.

Her mother had always worn her hair down, and she looked too much like her when she didn't put hers up.

"You'll catch your death." Out of the dark, out of the dead silence rimmed with lapping waves, accented by dim ship lanterns, his voice unfolded like a raven's feather against her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat. She had thought she was alone, she hadn't even heard his approach. Once his stealth had reconciled with her nerves, she closed her eyes to the breeze and cursed every star in the heavens.
"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" He ignored her question, just walked up next to her and leaned on the railing. She glanced at his silver eyes, reflecting the light of the ship's lanterns.

He looked up. "What sign?" His voice, dark as ever, seemed to mimic the inky slapping of the waves against the wooden hull.

His unfinished question was obvious in the light of the firmament. "The Serpent." She whispered, voice nearly lost in the wind.

"The most blessed and the most cursed." He murmured, looking into her eyes. Those eyes…

"And you?" She ground out, looking away.

He chuckled, and it was the earthy sound she'd heard when they'd had breakfast in her house all those years ago. Her shoulders uncoiled slightly. The boy in the kitchen, a bit of him was here. "The Lover."

Her lips twitched, and she pressed them together to keep from smiling. "The most graceful and passionate." He shook his head, exhaling roughly. She raised a brow. "From what I've seen of you, it fits."

He blinked. "And what, exactly, have you seen, Initiate?"

Her eyes tilted away to glance at Aetherius. "I've seen your eyes, filled with hatred, filled with intelligence." She relaxed as she verbally separated what she knew of Terenus and Galen. She smiled at herself. Her words must sound ridiculous, but she didn't care, what with the turmoil in her mind. "And you always move with grace."

He raised a brow, eyes shadowed. "Should I be offended at how closely you've been watching me, Initiate?"

He was joking…right? She thought she saw the glint of mischievousness in those silver eyes. "Black on black is very flattering."

He snorted, something akin to laughter. A silence stretched between them, but surprisingly, it wasn't an uncomfortable one. "So what's the story with you and the Captain? It sounds like an interesting one."

Thérèse sighed, feeling her peace fall away. "Perhaps, but very long."

He gestured a steady hand across the ocean palette. "We have plenty of time." His voice was firm, yet inviting. He willed her to speak, but she didn't know exactly why. Curiosity, perhaps?

Thérèse did her best to smooth her features out, to appear as if this story was easy to tell. "I woke up on this ship, after a heavy storm. Kaleen had fished me out of the ocean. She saved my life." A pause. Closed eyes. A breath. "Kasan got me breathing again. It seemed only logical that I would help them out after I awoke. There was a heist she was planning, involving Headman Bhosek." She glanced aside to see Terenus' raised eyebrow. So he did recognize the name. "I helped recruit Jakarn, Neramo, and Lerisa, and together we swiped Bhosek's shipping records."

"A murderer and a thief. I imagine they didn't have you picking any locks."

"No." She said simply, a crease between her brows. Deep in the haze of unpleasant memory, his comment seemed superfluous, and her lips pressed together in compliment to her frown.

From the dark, what could have been a breathless chuckle sounded beside her. "Be calm, Initiate. I am assuming that something else caused the terms of your relationship to change."

Be calm, Initiate. His words were patronizing, but in the flurry of her mind she didn't much care. Be calm. It was still wise advise. She brushed the velvet of his words aside, and felt them carry some of her nerve with them.

If there was one thing Thérèse felt remorse for since Coldharbour, it was the way she'd left the Spearhead. If she had stayed…been a part of the crew…she probably never would have followed that letter back to the Gold Coast. "We were on good terms, until we arrived on Betnik."

That tiny Orc island had been oddly beautiful. It had the magic and bright plumage of the Summerset Isle, and the cold gloom of High Rock in one oddly wild package. "Angof's minions were trying to use an wanted to raise an army of Aylied ghosts to destroy the Covenant." She frowned, voice taught. "How do you fight the ethereal, the replenish-able?" Absently, her head shook from side to side, and her gaze fell into the dark, formless waves. She had been to the past, played the part, tortured for information, all to find that damned artifact, and they wanted her to save it? "No, we had to stop them. The Covenant would have fallen to them, and then Tamriel. Kaleen is very loyal to King Faharajad. She wanted me to give the artifact to him, to protect the Covenant."

Finally, she let an angry voice hiss out of her throat, aware of how much resentment had been boiling up inside. "What foolishness! He would have no need of the Covenant's protection with that artifact! It would mean war, and that's disregarding the fact that it would be Necromancy—that you would be pulling souls from their rest and cursing them to your reality."

Terenus hummed, a deep sound like the harp's thickest string. "So you destroyed it."

After a pause, Thérèse nodded. "Almost everyone else saw my reasoning. Even Neramo, and he was itching to study the artifact." She sighed, at the bitterness in her own voice. "But not Kaleen."

He narrowed his eyes. "I see." After a moment, he continued. "I would have destroyed it too." When she looked to him in confusion, he smiled cruelly and waved her question away. "Not for nobility, but because it is simple for captured power to be turned against you." He raised a brow. "It is better to keep other man's tools in the realm of mortality, and keep them thinking that we are oppressed by the same rules." Briefly, the Blade of Woe materialized in his hand, all smoke and glinting metal.

She frowned. "How do you do that? I mean, call the Blade of Woe when you're not ready for a kill?" She'd often tried to get a closer look at it, but it would never come when she was idle.

He chuckled grimly. "Perhaps it is just more attuned to me, Initiate. I've called it far more often than you."

Sixteen years of more practice, she supposed. Sixteen years of death, silence, shadows, and glinting metal. But it was more than that…it was sixteen years of wrinkles, of silent dinners, unshared stories. For one brief moment, she imagined a Terenus as lonely as she. No, not imagined. She told herself, squinting. It was true, she knew. Lonely people carry themselves with a lightness to their bones that only emptiness can offer. "So, what happened to you after I left?"

"I joined the Brotherhood." He said simply, voice almost melting into the shadows.

Thérèse just sighed. "I know that. What I don't know is how the boy I knew as Fasion turned into a Speaker for the Brotherhood."

He turned, eyes a deep kind of disconcerting. "It's simple, really. I killed many people. Enough blood to paint the Red Road the color of it's namesake, and moat the Imperial City." He snorted. "I do not welcome talks of my past, Initiate."

His past, her past. She supposed she could understand. But, things had been simpler then, before she was fourteen. She'd only seen Fasion at a distance, at the dreaded social events that both of their parents had forced them to. They'd never talked, until the morning of his father's death. "Do you remember," she began, voice light with amusement, "the party that was held for Lord Amonious?" She glanced over to him, face alight with the memory. He said nothing, but she was rewarded with a small, growing smirk. "When he bent down to cut the cake, and that Vintus boy ran up behind him, and just pushed." The scene played back in her mind, retrieved from dusty shelves. The fat, bulbous form of Amonious poised delicately over the large birthday cake…the skinny, jerky limbs of a pubescent boy flying through the air until they hit their mark. "And there was icing everywhere, and he just, sort of…" Her hand tipped forward and she made a sound like blowing wind.

Finally, she heard soft chuckling at her side. "And then, of course, the table broke." Thérèse laughed a little harder, his words completing her memory. "Nothing made of wood with four legs could hold a man of such ostentatious girth."

"By the Eight, I'd never seen the Lady Vintus so angry in my entire life." She had exploded at her son, pulling him away by his ears, too embarrassed to even offer apology to Lord Amonious.

"And the Festival of Kings, in Kvatch, do you remember that?"

He sent her a sideways glance. "Of course." Who couldn't? The lights, the dancing, the drunk men dared to walk through the hedge maze. There had been such music and revelry. On those nights, even a normally proper Monet could be known to slip away from her parents. It was all worth a box on the ears. "You're keen on the past." He smiled dangerously. "What about yourself? I've pieced together parts of your story, but not the entirety of it." He turned his back to the ocean and leaned on the railing, arms folded, eyes latched onto hers.

She frowned. She had so much of a story, it seemed. When had her life started spiraling in circles? It kept turning and turning, hitting upon new duties and destinies with it's outer edge as it fell further and further down. "Which part of my story?"

He huffed. "Your disappearance. One minute you were on Nirn and the next you weren't. I thought I'd lost track of you, but you popped up again in Daggerfall."

So he really had been keeping tabs on her all that time…that was slightly disconcerting. She archived those feelings for later examination and sighed. "That's close to the way I felt." She narrowed her eyes and cast her thoughts back to that day. The details were so hazy. "One minute I was scalding my chickens. The next, I heard screams from the town nearby. Naturally, I ran to see what was going on, and to help if I could."

"Naturally." He intoned, voice dripping with amusement. For the most part, she ignored him.

In her mind's eye, she could see the flashes of blue light…explosions from the heavens…Daedra everywhere… She would spare him the details. "There were too many Daedra to count. Agents of Molag Bal ripped apart the earth but, strangely, not the people." She breathed in sharply. "They needed us." Her pale fingers worried at a thick splinter on the surface of the railing, and her mouth formed a thin line as she observed the distraction. "They took us, transported us using some sort of Daedric portal. We were in a large temple, dome shaped. I think…" Her memory was spotty, and her architectural knowledge recreational at best. "I think it was the Temple of the One." It didn't really matter, did it. "He took us—Mannimarco, King of Worms—and sacrificed us. One by one. Wailing child all the way to arthritic elder." She finally snapped the splinter off of the railing, and her forehead creased as she stared at it. "His blade lingered. You could feel it burning in your body for an eternity as it stole away your soul for the sacrifice." She clenched her jaw and let the splinter fall into the inky water. It didn't even make a sound. "It wasn't just death I felt, but soullessness."

She turned and leaned on the railing as he did, but didn't quite master the nonchalance of his pose. "I woke up in Couldharbour. Molag Bal's realm of Oblivion." She was shivering, but it wasn't that cold. Indeed, the air was quite warm. "There's not much to tell after that. A woman named Lyris Titanborn freed me from my cell. She exchanged herself for The Prophet, and it was he who gave me a physical, mortal form to take in Nirn. Now I help him, and we thwart Mannimarco and Molag Bal wherever we can."

"Thwart." Terenus breathed. "It sounds too noble for you." Then he paused, looked down at her, and turned his gritted teeth into a smirk. "Perhaps not. You're a strange creature, Monet."

"I'm not a creature." She said coolly. "A Breton, a Sorceror, a Murderer, a woman, but not a creature."

"No, not a creature. Not something to be hunted and pressed into a corner like prey." He said knowingly. His air of calm almost dismantled her own, but she took comfort in the fragility of it all. Both of them, unequal in rank, were forced onto common ground by their unsavory past. She realized then, he'd called her by her old name.

Her eyes flicked over to him, then back across the deck of the ship. "Quite." Silence stretched between them like shadows at sunset. The passage of time was marked only by the rhythmic lapping of waves. "Mannimarco is the one pulling the strings in Cyrodiil, you know." She eventually murmured. "Tharn works for him, and Clivia undoubtably takes her father's advice."

Terenus was staring straight ahead, across the width of the empty deck. "I care not about the governments of this world. Governments fall to Sithis, and the Void fills with their blood." He narrowed his eyes. "However, I have no wish for Tamriel to be ruled by Daedra. The Brotherhood would suffer without the trimmings of society to cover up the ills of mankind." Pausing, he glanced at her. "Should you need to do some heroic thwarting, you have my permission, as long as your loyalty to the Brotherhood comes first."

Thérèse's blinked and stared at him. She had expected to fight tooth and nail to get him, or Astara, to let her leave the Gold Coast more often. The Brotherhood was their life, their religion, and she hadn't expected either of them to understand.

He shook his head. "Don't look so surprised, Initiate. The Night Mother does not look fondly upon those who steal the souls of her children."

The Night Mother… "Thank you, then."

He nodded, arms crossed tight against his chest. His teeth clenched, and for a moment, he looked to be in pain. Thérèse frowned. "You have my sympathy, Thérèse, for what happened. For whatever that's worth." He pulled away from the railing and headed back towards the room.

She blinked, and though her eyebrows knotted, she smiled. "It's worth plenty, Terenus." She didn't know if he'd heard her, for the wind stole away her words.