One-shot featuring Cicero, the Dark Brotherhood's Keeper. This is a look into his childhood. Please read and review!
Also, observe the rating. This story includes matures things like sexual violence, language, and death.
"Galia, slow down," Cicero called, chasing the mass of red curls through the woods. The little girl laughed, not slowing at all as she ran towards the house in the distance.
He laughed as well, a boisterous sound , as a cheeky smile curved his features. Tall and slim at only one and ten, he could easily have caught her, but she enjoyed the chase, so he let her stay ahead.
She bounded into the house and Cicero turned, going around to cut her off from the back entrance. He froze when the door opened, high pitched screams making his blood turn to ice and freeze him in place.
His mother cried out, shoved against the wall by a rugged bandit. "Stop moving, or I'll take the little one next," he warned, slapping her so that her scarlet curls whipped violently to the side. She bit her fist to contain her sobs and stilled as the man pounded into her, again and again, ripping her skirts and bodice, his gauntlets leaving gashes with every touch to her breasts and thighs.
Cicero stared in horror. "Mother…," he whispered.
She looked over the man's shoulder, her golden eyes fierce even as they were red with tears. She shook her head, mouthing the word, "Go."
His sister shrieked from across the room, another man holding her little arms together as she struggled and cried out for her mother…for her brother. For him.
"Oh, shut up!" the thug roared. With a cruel swing of his hand he splintered her skull with his mace. A sickening crunch echoed in the house and his mother cried out. Blood as red as Galia's hair ran down the ruin of her face.
"No!" Cicero roared, pulling the only weapon he had, his father's ebony dagger.
"Cicero, please!" he mother yelled.
Her attacker looked behind his shoulder, laughing at the gangly boy in the doorway. "Take care o' 'im," he ordered his partner. He glanced back at Cicero's mother, slamming his hips into hers, "I'm not finished yet."
The gruff man who killed his sister stalked towards him lazily, his mace held loosely in his meaty hand. "You shouldn' 'ave come 'ere boy," he said almost regretfully.
Cicero could have run, his lean legs would have easily outdistanced the bandit in his heavy armor. But he didn't. He stood his ground, as his father would have wanted.
The man swung, hard, the weapon arching threateningly towards the boy's head. At the last moment, Cicero ducked aside and under, falling to his knees and shoving his dagger into the man's stomach. He could feel it punch through armor and mail, blood running hot between his fingers. With a cry of rage and pain, he twisted it before pulling it out and stabbing it in again, and again, and again…
The thug looked down at the blood in disbelief, dropping the mace and falling to his knees. Cicero didn't pause to watch him die, adjusting the blade in his hand and looking towards the man who was assaulting his mother.
The sight he found would haunt him. The man glared at him, but he was smiling, a cruel, malicious grin. "That was a mistake, boy. Ye 'aven' saved anyone," he told him.
Cicero didn't understand, until his mind made sense of the entire picture. His mother's head hung limply and her arms and legs were lifeless even as her blood trickled down them. The only thing keeping her upright….was the long sword, protruding from her stomach.
He stared, his young mind unable to comprehend what had happened.
"I…I didn't save her. But I am going to kill you," Cicero promised grimly. The man laughed again, pulling his blade carelessly from the woman's body.
"Go ahead and try," he told the boy, laughing again.
Cicero sprinted forward and the man swung the heavy sword, a cut that could have cleaved him in half. The man must have watched his friend's death, because he expected Cicero's feint, bring his sword back around towards the youth's neck.
Cicero's eyes widened and he ducked once more, but not fast enough. The long sword caught him in the shoulder, leaving a gaping gash that wept blood. He cried out in pain, never having experienced such a wound before.
The bandit laughed yet again. "Perhaps I'll fuck you just like I did yer mother. Bet yer little arse is tighter than her-," his words broke off into a choked groan, Cicero's blade lodged in his chest.
"Stop laughing!" Cicero screamed, enraged. To be sure he could never hear that horrid sound again, he pulled out the dagger before burying it in the man's throat and viciously turning it before yanking it out once more.
He watched with hard golden-orange eyes as the man drowned in his own blood, choking and gasping.
Only then did he drop the bloodstained dagger, staring at the red on his shaking hands.
Then he ran, like the frightened boy he was, to his mother crumpled on the floor. He lifted her shoulders, pillowing her head in his lap, her lovely scarlet hair cascading over his legs. He began to cry, to sob, screaming to the gods in wordless anguish.
Tears poured down his pale face and dropped onto hers. He rocked back and forth, keening with the intensity of his grief. "Mother….," he whimpered softly. "Mother."