This opening chapter turned out way longer than I had planned.
Oh, was it not enough that they were already such lousy, lazy blasphemy to the face of Sithis?
It just seemed rather excessive to Cicero that they all had to be so boring as well.
Cicero sighed sorrowfully as he watched a number of the Brotherhood's remaining handful of assassins lounge apathetically around the dining area of the Sanctuary. The un-child and the grey-snob were talking of flowers and moss and where to find them... as if they didn't know those things could be found in the cave. And perhaps they didn't. The Redguard napped at the table, something which angered Cicero. When he had slept at the table before, they had all yelled at him to get to his room. But no one yelled at the shadow-skin. The Pretender sat on a counter, eating her baked potatoes while reading with her chin held high like the queen she thought she was. This aggravated Cicero most of all.
Altogether, the atmosphere of the Sanctuary was as it usually was: stagnant and stale as the air of the cave it found itself in. It was quite depressing for Cicero actually.
Where were the banners? The songs? Where was that air of festivity and joy for bringing glory to Sithis and the Dark Brotherhood's name? Where was the pride in one's handiwork and having brought a new soul to the Dread Lord? Where did the love of blood and shadow go... Oh, where did it go since Alexandre Dupre left for the void?
They were all so passionless. Cicero spied down on his fellow "siblings" beneath him, eating and loitering about. He was laid out on his belly peering down at them from where he was near the top of the steps leading to the bunks. He knew they could see them, but he didn't mind. They wouldn't do anything about him, he knew. No, no. They were far, far to lazy and apathetic to do anything it seemed, much less care. Perhaps that was why the place was so filthy. That was something Cicero did not fail to notice upon first entering this so called "Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood." Hmph. His siblings from the past, during their Dark Ages, weren't anything like this. They didn't have a lazy bone in their bodies- not one! They wouldn't have let this place waste away like this.
Cicero found himself muttering lowly as he often did, "We at least kept it clean... scrubbed out the blood, beat the dust from the tapestries... because we had them... swept the rubble and kept the place polished and orderly- everything had a place... and the moss' and mushrooms' places were in the garden- their only place..."
His comments had not gone unnoticed to the Blasphemer Queen, who stopped her reading to look up at him scornfully. This was something that brought glee to Cicero. He giggled and wiggled his feet happily.
"Filthy, filthy children." he chuckled.
"Things sticky and wet,
Make Mother upset.
Dust and crust
Rusts her trust.
But just a little dirt,"
He burst in to a fit of giggles before, "and you're in for some hurt!"
The Pretender put down her book, looking as though she was about to say something to Cicero, so he readied himself for another speech. Straightening up the head he had rested in his hands, wiggling his feet anew, and putting on his best... smile.
"The Pretender wishes to speak to Cicero," he chuckled, knowing full well what he was doing. "Why, Cicero is honored."
"Astrid..." Nazir warned.
The Pretender waved a hand at him, silencing the shadow-skin.
"No, Nazir! It's time that we've taught that- that- fool-"
Cicero rolled his eyes. 'Fool'. How original.
"Just who is in charge here. I will not be-"
"Astrid! Astrid! Who the hell is this!" Called the lapdog, Arnyborne. Was that his name? Arenboyner? Bornarn?
The werewolve's yells continued to carry through the cave. He was getting closer and he sounded angry.
The Pretender sighed and turned around.
"What are you talking about?" she called out. "Who the hell is what?"
The Pretender's mate of sorts marched in then, dragging in a weeping young woman by the hair.
"Oooh," Cicero cackled. "Look at what the doggy dragged in!"
Goldie-locks shot the jester a look before turning back to her mate.
"I thought I told you not to bring your meals in here, Arnbjorn!" So that was his name.
The mutt shouted back at the little woman, "This isn't a meal- at least not yet! I found this girl in the Sanctuary! As in, that was the first place I saw her! That was why I was coming to you to ask you if you had added any new members to the family!"
The Pretender lowered her voice, "No, she doesn't belong here..."
Cicero laughed, "Oh, me! Oh, my! An intruder! A spy! Or innocent sweetie!"
He burst into giggles again before saying, "It's so hard to tell- but which one is she?"
"Shush, Cicero." the un-child said quietly.
The not-Speaker walked over to the girl, inspecting the stranger as if there were something of interest in her.
Well, this was interesting... The most interesting thing to happen since he had gotten here.
"Now what is all this racket about," the wizard snapped, walking in.
"Arnbjorn found this girl..." the little monster said quietly.
"Is she really not one of us, Astrid?" shadow-skin asked.
"Of course she isn't!" the Pretender barked. "Why would there be this fuss if she wasn't?"
"Then how did she get in here?" He asked, though more to himself.
"That's what I want to know." The Pretender turned back to the girl.
"Who are you? What's your name? If you're thinking about lying to me, I'd suggest you'd think twice."
The girl sniffed, still bent and pained by the grip the dog had on her hair.
"Critare," she said quietly. "That's my name. Critare."
The Pretender crossed her arms, "Alright, Critare. Now tell me, do you have any idea where you are?"
"A cave." she said, a tear falling down her cheek.
Cicero guffawed, causing the girl to look around the room wide-eyed for him. Cicero realized that the girl probably couldn't see him like the others could from where he was above her in the shadows. Without the trained eye of someone who's prowled in the shadows...
The blood hound twisted his grip on Critare's hair, drawing a cry from the small thing.
"She knows where she is... " he seethed.
"Arnbjorn," the Pretender said, "let her go."
He bared his teeth at his mate and growled.
"I said: let her go." she said more firmly.
The dog growled louder but obeyed his little mate.
It wasn't until the girl stood fully up that Cicero really had a good look at her. He couldn't help but chuckle. Dripping wet in her tattered black dress that fell just below her knees with her slight, feather-light frame and length of raven hair tangled with flowers and leaves, she looked just like a little wood faery that had her wings plucked. So sad, so sad...
Cicero giggled.
She looked around at her captors, fresh tears falling down her cheeks. Her large, dark eyes were wide with fright and uncertainty as they went from face to face, taking everyone in. She lowered her eyes then.
"Don't play games with me." The Pretender warned her. "Now, I'll ask you again. Do you know where you are?"
The girl stared at the ground at her feet, shaking. Whether from fear or from cold, Cicero couldn't tell. Maybe both?
She whispered, "I don't know where I am..."
A few more moments passed with nothing other than Astrid's livid gaze on the girl filling them.
"She's a spy." The dog sneered.
"No! No! I'm not a spy, I swear!"
"She's not lying," the un-child spoke up.
The not-Speaker pulled back a corner of her lip ever so slightly. "I'm not so sure."
"I'm not lying! I'm not!" the girl whimpered.
"Arnbjorn!" the un-child cried, standing on her chair. "Tell Astrid she's not lying! Tell her!"
The Pretender looked at her husband who shook his head. Her gaze traveled back to the girl, Critare.
"Well, Critare, it seems that you really don't know where you are, so I'll tell you. Right now, you're inside the last living sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood. You know what that is, don't you?"
Critare nodded, "I think that they were assassins."
"Were? My dear, we are. And we're very secretive. So secretive, in fact, it is impossible to get in to contact with us... or pay us a visit unless you're either one of us or invited to join us. Which is why I have to ask: just how did you get in here?"
Critare sniffed, "I was picking flowers. I saw some bushes of nightshade by a black pond... I didn't want to go in the door," new tears were springing down her face, "but the woman, she said she wanted to see me. She told me that the door wanted me to tell it, 'Silence, my brother'..."
Her voice began to quicken, "I don't know why. I just thought I should listen. And then- then the door opened. She told me to come in and so I did and-"
"Wait, wait." the Pretender stopped her, waving her hand. "What woman? Who told you to come in? Was it either of these," she gestured to Babette and Gabriella.
When Critare shook her head, the Pretender sighed angrily.
"Alright, what did the woman look like, then?" the not-Speaker went on.
"I don't know... I didn't see her..." Critare wept.
"What do you mean, you 'didn't see her'?" Oh, temper, temper, Miss Pretender.
"I only heard her voice."
"Do you think that I'm some sort of fool?"
Cicero raised his hand, but the gesture went unnoticed.
"No," the faery-girl whimpered.
"Then why do you-"
Doggy cleared his throat.
"She's telling the truth. I saw her picking flowers in the lobby when I finally noticed her- had a bunch of them, too. And I didn't smell anyone on her either."
"Explain to me how you think that's possible then? How do you think some stranger can just walk in here without anyone having tipped her off?"
The doggy growled, "I didn't say I know how! I said her story is consistent and she's telling the truth. Isn't she, finger-pie?"
The un-child rolled her eyes, "No, she is. I'd be the last person to figure out how she got in here, but as far as I can tell, she's telling us the truth. Some invisible woman we don't know about, told her how to get past the door. Simple. I guess now the question really is: what do we do about it?"
The Pretender stared at the faery while a conversation went on with the others.
"Well, we can't just let her leave." The shadow-skin started.
"Nazir!" the wizard shouted, "You can't be serious! Look at her, she is just a-"
"Just a little pheasant bone that walked in here and now knows what we are! You really want to release her back out into the world?" Arnbjorn barked.
"I have to agree with Arnbjorn on this one," long-ears cut in. "She may look harmless, but who's to say what she'll do when she's out of here?"
"I say, kill her!" Cicero shouted as he smiled manically. "Slay her! Let her blood spill out on the floors!"
The girl jumped and continued shaking. Her wide, tearful eyes searched the room for the source that proposed her death. This made Cicero giggle. Poor girl wouldn't see him coming.
"Quiet, Cicero." said everyone but the Pretender and her lap-dog, who had instead said, "Quiet, clown!"
Cicero pouted, but did not protest.
"You children are a joke!" the wizard snapped. "In my time, we would have never been so shaken by some little wisp of a woman! Back then, we knew who we were- the scariest things you'd ever hope to cross while living in Tamriel!"
The doggy snarled, "Watch yourself, you washed-up peice of shi-!"
"Arnbjorn!" The Pretender shrilled. "That will be enough! From all of you!"
The Pretender turned back to the little weeper.
"Critare," she said, "Does anyone know you're out here?"
The faery shook her head.
"Do you have any family- anyone who would care if you went missing?"
The girl shook her head again.
Cicero smiled fiercely, gripping the handle of his dagger tightly.
"Oh-ho-ho!" he cackled quietly, "Just what Cicero was thinking..."
The Pretender narrowed her gaze but ignored the jester and continued her interrogation as Cicero went on, singing:
"Small blight,
Small sprite.
Poor child filled with fright.
I wish I may,
I wish I might,
Send her soul to Sithis, tonight."
"Are you sure?" The Pretender asked. "No family? No friends? No acqaintences of any kind?"
The faery shook her head once more.
"No," she whispered. "I haven't had family- or friends- for a long, long time. I hardly remember them... I don't think they remember me, either now."
"Arnbjorn? Babette?" The Pretender called.
The dog grunted while the little blood-drinker said, "She means it, Astrid. Nobody knows her... "
The next few moments passed in silence with Cicero waiting for something to happen, as quiet and tightly wound as ever.
The doggy snapped first, "So let's kill her already, damn it!"
He grabbed the girl by her hair causing her to start weeping again. Despite this, she did not try to physically resist the over-grown pup, something Cicero found... odd. And disapointing. Didn't this girl know she had to be screaming and begging and fighting for her life right now?
"No- no, please!" the little girl quietly begged. Ah, there it was.
"Please don't kill me. I don't want to die! Please... " Hmm, still not loud enough. Cicero wondered if he could draw something loud out of her when he was finally carving into her little body.
"Let her go, Arnbjorn." the Pretender said firmly.
Her pet growled loudly but obeyed, throwing the little faery to the ground with a flick of his wrist.
When the weeper made no move to get back up, the Pretender kicked her and barked for her to stand. She stood, but kept her eyes low and shook more violently than she had during the whole situation.
"Well," the Pretender began. "Since you have no family, no friends, or anyone else who would happen to know you-"
Cicero smiled menacingly.
"- it would seem that this is your lucky day. I'm going to spare your life, Critare. And in return, you're going to repay me the debt of your life as a slave for my family for the rest of your days. How does that sound?"
Cicero scoffed.
The faery gulped, "So... if I become your slave, I don't have to die?"
"Yes, and that is the only option I am giving you. Now, are you going to accept my proposal?"
Critare nodded. Cicero sneered looking down at them all darkly.
"Well, then... " the Pretender began, looking awfully pleased with herself. "Welcome to our home, Critare. Tomorrow, you can begin your duties.
"Babette, give this girl a tour of our home and get her cleaned up. Then I want you to find this girl somewhere to sleep for the night."
"But we have no more beds?" The tiny un-child squeaked.
"Find some spare hay lying around and lay it out somewhere decent, then."
"Alright." She said as she got her chair.
The half-ling padded over to the feary and took her hand.
"We're going to be best friends, I know it." she smiled as she led the weeper out of the room.
"You lucked-out, roast-spit." The lap-dog called out after the crying faery.
Everyone but the wizard, who looked rather relieved by the outcome, seemed entirely indifferent to it and were going about returning to their things.
Cicero thought about the faery-girl, Critare, and how sad she looked.
He muttered to himself, "Now, nobody wants a sad, wing-plucked faery... No one ever wants something that's broken, don't you know? It would have been better for you if you were dead. Nobody will want you, nobody... You should be dead."
And she looked so sad, too, the little weeper.
Oh, how Cicero hated her for it.
What do you guys think? This Cicero fan fiction is going to be pretty different compared to the other romances written for him out there.
Thank's for reading and please review!