Day Of The Dead (Lucien)

A/N: May mini fic prompts continue, I've been spending too much time doing side quests in Falkreath and Whiterun, and I want to give Lucien a hug.

  Prompt: Day of the dead (+ storytelling collective prompt: that was the same day you died) 

 “Do you remember that time in Bravil where you nearly knocked out the son of whoever was in charge there?” I ask Issy as we sit around the Falkreath sanctuary waiting for Astrid to get back from wherever she went. Issy looks over at me silently and almost slightly confused. “Lucien, I remember that, but my memories of that day have very different events that come to mind much more clearly.” I tilt my head and give her a look of not entirely understanding. “That was the same day you died.” Issy reminds me, and seems like she might cry. It’s very rare to see her cry, I’ve only seen it happen once or twice in all the time I’ve known her. She’s right now that I think of it, that was the same day. We’d met up in Bravil after I figured out the contracts were being swapped with forgeries, and the people being killed were not the actual targets but other members of the Dark Brotherhood. I’d tried to get to Issy before the most recent one she’d been given could be carried out but was too late. There had been an unrelated scuffle with some nobles son though due his drug addicted state he certainly didn’t look anything like a high and mighty ruler in training, and Issy had nearly knocked him out when he lunged at her with a shiv. I found it kind of funny in all honesty, she pushed him back so easily he nearly went right through the flimsy wooden wall. I must have blocked out the rest of that day over time, or at least somehow associated it as an entirely separate event. In reality, as soon as the realization of what had happened was explained to Issy and that The Black Hand would blame me for it, as I was the one supplying the contracts, I went into hiding…or at least attempted to. Applewatch had seemed like a safe place to go, it was remote and difficult to get to due to the terrain and climate around Bruma, and yet I was found. Upon emerging from my thoughts, retracing the steps of that day I find that Issy had wandered off somewhere else, leaving me alone sitting on the ledge that I find myself usually squished into whenever I happen to end up here. I don’t like thinking about my death, it was rather painful, extraordinarily unpleasant, and the maniacal grin on Mathieu's face as he watched me die is one not easily erased from my mind. I close my eyes and shake my head in the attempt to get rid of the mental image, instead trying to think of happier things. It works to some degree, but I find myself now in a strange mood, not exactly angry, not particularly sad, and yet annoyed isn’t the best way to describe it either. “If you’re going to be here can’t you at least be useful?” I hear Arbjorn ask from below and glare at the werewolf unhappily. “No.” I tell him bluntly, crossing my arms and refusing to move. “What?” He asks with a note of irritation clearly heard. “I’m. Not. Moving.” I enunciate as clearly as possible and that gets a response that isn’t even words as much as a noise of annoyance and he practically stomps off. “What’re you gonna do, kill me? I’m already dead wolfy!” I call after him before being left alone again. As much as I dislike being alone, I would prefer it to being around Arbjorn. My choice of werewolf company would be Farkas, he’s at least quiet and interesting to talk to. Eventually Astrid returns from wherever she was and I overhear Arbjorn complaining about me to her, their room is the first one off this main common area after all, all that separates them from me is a door. Night has fallen by now and as a result more and more members of the sanctuary come and go through the room, and I decide it’s irritating to the point that I’ll go for a walk. Being a spectre means I have no real reason to carry a torch, my not quite dead form gives off a soft bluish light. Shadowmere looks up as she hears the door open and makes a noise upon realizing it’s me. “How are you my dear friend?” I ask her giving her some pats and she makes another noise as if to reply. “That’s good. I’m going to go on a walk, I’ll be back soon.” I tell the horse, making sure to give her an apple before I walk off into the woods. I would be more careful about doing this elsewhere, but the people of Falkreath are used to seeing all manner of death, and undeath, to the point where I believe they even have an entire day devoted to it. Hours pass as I wander aimlessly, ending up in the large graveyard at the edge of the town of Falkreath itself. Most of the townspeople have gone to sleep by now, it is mostly just the guards who make their rounds, and they tend to avoid the graveyard. I inspect the gravestones, reading who is buried here and when they died, and in some cases clean them off if they’ve been neglected. While few have the capability to manifest in a way like I do, respecting the dead is still important. At one point I sense that someone is watching me and look up to find a man standing in the road, looking at me. He doesn’t seem like a guard based on the way he’s dressed in clothes that have seen better days and wears no shoes. There is something else off about him, and eventually I notice it. Most people's eyes don’t shine like that in the darkness. Silently I raise a hand to acknowledge him, one supernatural being to another. The man nods, before silently wandering off into the forest, leaving me alone again in the graveyard among the dead, as another relic of a past age.