Author's Note:

Hey there, y'all.

So, I've just got a couple things to say before delving into the story here. I won't bother much with notes at the end of my chapters, so this is probably the most you'll hear from me until we reach near the end of the story. Which will probably be quite a while.

So right to it.

This story is writing itself, so a lot of this is just making it up as I go. I have some things planned, but overall, things are just happening. I'm currently a good ten chapters into writing this, and the more I write, the less I like it. However, I started it, so I wanna finish it. Cicero doesn't get enough love, and if I can contribute a story (however mediocre) to the fanbase, then I'll be happy.

I'd love to hear any feedback and opinions y'all might have so that I can use it to push myself to finish this little project of mine. Sharing theories is also encouraged!

I'll only say this once: reviews are every writer's lifeblood.

This will be a slow burn, so I'm sorry if things start off a little tedious. Obviously, some things won't be canon. I try to input some things from the game, but I'm doing my best not to make it a copy/paste with my OC.

There will be multiple references to a song that the main character sings, and you can find it here:

Crazy - Patsy Cline

watch?v=zmNFGtBQTYw&index=2&list=PLxpAhUhEhdCbBrAx0ngAJgdRmoQv6EKhn

If other songs are mentioned, I will put a link to it in the beginning of the chapter.

I just wanna thank anyone ahead of time who takes the time to read this or follow it.

I won't bore you guys any more with my chatter. On to the story!

The Keeper's Lullaby

prologue

For so long, there was silence.

In his first few years of solitude in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, there was nothing but the laughing of the Jester in Cicero's mind. The laughter – a gift from his beloved Night Mother – gave him the company he so longed for. The last soul that he had sent to Sithis had been sent back to him to push him through the long days and nights of waiting.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

And keeping.

But the laughter had gone. It wasn't there lingering in his head any longer.

It wasn't until he had opened his mouth to hear himself speak in what felt like a lifetime. His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears, but it was heavenly. It was a sound, and he didn't need to wait on the Jester in his mind to make it for him. Why, poor Cicero could create his own laughter now. Another blessing the Night Mother had sent to him, he was sure. The gift to alleviate the painful emptiness of these cold, stone halls.

He laughed and laughed. Until he couldn't.

He laughed until he hurt, and when his voice was too sore to laugh, he would whisper sweet nothing's to his beloved goddess's corpse. Oh, how Cicero had longed to hear his darling Mother speak to him. He may not be the Listener he so desired to be, but she could be his listener, oh yes. He knew his Matron heard him, even if she didn't want to speak back to poor Cicero. If he was the only one in the sanctuary there to give the Night Mother the reverence she deserved, then he would make sure to give her the adoration of a full, bustling Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary.

But at other times, he was tired of talking. He got tired of laughing. His own voice had become the only sound he knew other than the scrape of his leather-clad feet on stone. It was at this point when he began tapping, began dancing, began moving his feet to the rhythm in his head so hard that he couldn't hear the song anymore over the beating of his own heart.

And then he would stop. He would remove one of the gold-trimmed gloves and place a hand on his chest, enjoying the pleasant thump of blood rushing through his body. And sometimes he had to resist the urge to cry.

It was proof that he was alive.

Cicero wasn't a figment of his own imagination, and the thump beneath his slender fingers was the validation he needed to last another day. Or at the very least, to get him through another sleepless night.

The days and nights blended together in the dark sanctuary. After days of fighting his own mind, trying to find solace in something that wasn't really there, his vision would go black and Cicero would wake up somewhere on cold stone. He would wake up to silence, and when his mind realized this, he would laugh and cry out and force the adrenaline of false joy to revive his tired body.

There were times, however, when Cicero left his humble, underground sanctuary.

Cicero was a mortal, unlike his beloved Matron, and required sustenance. He would wait until light no longer shone through the trapdoor of his home, wait a few more hours, and then climb the ladder up into the city.

Silence was his enemy. But silence was also his friend.

The jester would throw his leg over the edge of the false well, the velvet of his motley sliding softly against his skin. He'd sneak into town, expertly avoiding the eyes of the Cheydinhal guards, and steal whatever food he found in the local markets. He'd never be gone longer than twenty minutes, and afterwards he'd descend back into his underground asylum for another week or two. He'd never be seen, oh no. Cicero was far too clever for that.

But sometimes his traitorous loneliness would urge him to be seen. To speak to another living soul.

But it wasn't the Keeper's place to socialize. Socializing meant getting attached, and getting attached meant keeping the Keeper from his duties. The Keeper kept, and would continue keeping until the Dark Lady brought their family to lonely Cicero once again.

This was how he survived. And this was how he'd stay until a Listener was found. It would happen, he knew. He just needed to wait.

Days turned into months, and months turned into years.

In time, everything became one thing and nothing changed. But he remembered the first time he heard the singing.

He heard it clearly, echoing off the walls of the Brotherhood sanctuary. At first he believed it to be foolish Cicero's mind playing tricks on him yet again, but it was too vivid, too clear, too different. There hadn't been a voice like this in Cicero's tired mind before. He rose from his seated position in front of the Night Mother's coffin and followed it. The cold stone walls reflected the voice, surrounding him and swimming into his eardrums more and more with every step. He followed it to the end of the ladder leading up into the false well and into the city.

He gazed up into the soft moonlight spilling through the metal grate, eyes locked open as the song washed over him.

"Crazy… I'm crazy for feeling so lonely.

I'm crazy…

Crazy for feeling so blue."

A woman's voice.

Cicero dropped slowly to his knees. He could feel it. He could feel the sorrow in this song sang especially for him. It had to be a gift. His Night Mother had heard him, and offered him solace in the form of a maiden's soft singing.

"I knew you'd love me as long as you wanted…

then someday, you'd leave me for somebody new."

The permanent grin that strained the red-haired jester's face melted away, leaving an ache in his cheeks and jaw. His creased brow relaxed into something almost painful, but he couldn't be bothered to feel it.

"Worry… Why do I let myself worry?

Wondering what in the world did I do?

Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you…"

His craned neck began to ache, but the ache in his chest chased away any physical pain that he was feeling. He slowly pulled a glove off of his hand and brought it to his face. The wetness on his finger surprised him, and he glanced away from the moonlight momentarily to make sure the tears were real.

"I'm crazy for trying… crazy for crying...

And I'm crazy for loving you."

As the mysterious voice finished up her tune, he heard the shuffling of clothing and a shadow cast off the moonlight bathing his face. His frame was shrouded in darkness yet again.

He was stunned out of his momentary paralysis when a drop of something wet fell to his face. He sat there, silent as the grave, and the droplet dribbled down his cheek and onto the corner of his mouth. His tongue slowly grazed his lips, and the tangy taste of salt felt like it belonged there.

He felt shattered and whole.

He felt tragic and elated.

And for the first time in years, Cicero didn't feel alone.

The youngest Vicharelli daughter left the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn without a word. It was nearing midnight, but the two sisters staying at the inn had an arrangement with each other that allowed for daytime sleeping. It was alright, though. The youngest never cared much for the hustle and bustle of the city in the mornings. The moonlight shone brightly tonight, and the cool chill of late Hearthfire had the young imperial girl pulling her thick cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Severia had hours to kill, and so she wandered the streets of Cheydinhal humming quietly to herself. She kept the hood of her cloak up, not wanting to draw too much attention to the fact that a girl barely into womanhood was walking around by herself in the dead of night. The guards never gave her any trouble, but she could tell they were unnerved by her.

There were plenty of nasty rumors floating around about the young woman, so she couldn't blame them too much. The Vicharelli's were once a famous and powerful family in the Imperial City, but everything changed after the birth of their youngest child. Mysterious deaths seemed to follow the child wherever she went, yet she always remained unperturbed by it. A couple years back, Severia was exiled from the family and the Imperial City after her father had stumbled upon a rather disturbing scene in the Vicharelli matron's bedroom. Only her elder sister had faith in Severia, and she fled with the child to whichever city had the most work for her. Nowadays, the two women spent their days in Cheydinhal doing whatever they could to get by. And at times, like tonight, it involved her caring older sister taking a stranger into her bed.

The eldest Vicharelli, Vaudina, never allowed for Severia to sell her body the way she had, even though she had offered on numerous occasions. Vaudina always had the excuse that she didn't leave their luxurious life behind just to fail at protecting her little sister.

Severia didn't mind that her sister had to go thought that, though. In the end, it was ultimately Vaudina's choice. She didn't make her older sister leave the Imperial City.

Severia's eldest sister was a lot of things. She was beautiful and graceful. Emotionally strong and caring. But she took on the burden that was Severia with the duty of a knight protecting it's queen. It was annoying at times, but Severia admitted that it was nice to have at least one person who wanted her alive.

Severia's thoughts were interrupted when she bumped shoulders with another woman. The blonde imperial turned to apologize to the cloaked girl, but immediately tensed up and scuttled away upon seeing Severia under said cloak.

She merely continued on her walk, not paying mind to the nightly routine of someone running away from her. She hums and sings everywhere she goes, and normally the townsfolk hear her before they see her. It was her way of warning them she was coming, and avoiding the awkward interactions much like the one she'd just had.

Obviously, though, it didn't always work.

The townsfolk came to call her the Siren, and that made Severia roll her eyes. She was sure they thought they were super clever, and didn't think that she'd been called that since childhood. It was also likely that the moniker had traveled here from the Imperial City. When one sang as much as she did, and death followed her as much as it did, certain names seemed to stick.

It didn't bother her, though. Not much did. She adored her sister more than anything, but that didn't say a whole lot. Emotions didn't work the same way in Severia as they did most people, she'd noticed. She knew when she was supposed to feel certain things, but her body and heart couldn't catch up. Even when she was cast out of her family home, she had merely thought of it as inconvenient. Severia went through the days one at a time, hoping that maybe someday she would feel something like the feelings described in the tavern songs.

She continued humming the same tune, the same one she always did. Her Aunt Ali sang the song to her often as a child. It brought her peace to hear the melody, and got her as close to feeling as she felt was possible.
She walked along the outer walls of the city behind the local homes. Back here, she was less likely to run into people. She liked it better that way.

She crept quietly, lowering her humming to a soft whisper, not wanting to deal with the threat of trespassing. When she came upon the local abandoned house, she stopped walking. She looked at the old home curiously. She hadn't really put much thought into the place, and she was sure she'd never been behind it like this. Her eyes drifted to the old run-down well that sat in the grass behind the house, and she walked over to peer down. Severia distantly noticed that there was no glimmer of water through the metal grate that covered the well.

She leaned in a little closer, the smell of dirt and rock hitting her nose. Not the typical humid, mildewy smell that tended to linger around these old things.

As she pulled herself away from the well, something held her there.

Something clenched around her heart, and her breathing felt immediately labored as if she'd been punched in the gut.

There was a humming in her ear that wasn't hers, and it echoed off the walls of her skull, making her dizzy. She slumped down against the wall of the well, her now-sweaty hands plastered against the old, cold stone.

"Sing for me, my daughter."

Severia opened her mouth to gasp, but after the air filled her lungs, she poured everything she had out into her song. With each note that escaped her lips, something filled her up to take it's place. She felt cold and warm, and something in her chest poured out of her that she hadn't heard before.

Her lips trembled as she felt the cold embrace of something ethereal around her shoulders, lifting her up to settle on the edge of the well. She looked down into the darkness of the well as she sang, feeling the pull of something that made her whole body itch.

With the last word of her song, a tear slid down her face and fell into the shadows. The mysterious hold on her body lifted itself away, and suddenly Severia felt very heavy. The heavy brown curls of her hair plastered themselves to the side of her face and neck, the cold sweat there keeping it in place. She sat there in a daze wondering if she had just imaged everything that just transpired.

In a single moment, she felt everything.

Tears drifted down her face freely now, and she cried silently for the first time in her fifteen years.