The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Fanfiction
Disclaimer:
I do not own Skyrim or any of the NPCs, Quests or game dialog. The rest of the characters are mine. Enjoy and please review!
A/N: Hello FanFiction world! Here is a multi-chapter challenge, again by Bajazzo. I'm convinced she'd be the first to join the Dark Brotherhood if the two of us ever ended up in Tamriel. Blessed by Mehrunes Dagon, I'd bet. Anyway, this is her challenge to me. I ended up deciding to follow the Dark Brotherhood questline, with the delicious extras I've been given. It's a 2 POV story, from a Nord OC Alysa, and Cicero, the Night Mother's Keeper. So, here we go, the first chapter is here. Chances are good that by the time I get around to posting this, I'll be busy with the third already. Onwards, Brothers and Sisters, and may the Night Mother wrap you in her cold, loving embrace. After you give a review, of course;):p
Chapter One: In Need of Assistance
My name is Alysa Ice-Wrath, born and bred right here in Helgen, Falkreath Hold, a Nord of Skyrim. I am a true child of the north, and its snow, born on 17th of Evening Star, 4E173. I am twenty-seven, and… young, I suppose, considering what I do, what I enjoy doing so much. I am an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, and nothing gives me more pleasure than taking the lives of others, watching them fade into the Void to join my Dread Father Sithis, and the fear on their faces as they realized their end and how I felt myself smile and grow euphoric as their warm, crimson blood flowed over my hands, soaked my clothes and pooled at my feet. They could be grateful I wasn't a vampire, or a werewolf. Oh, how I would kill then…. I would be unstoppable.
The Brotherhood found me when I was nineteen, after my 'incident' in Riften with the Aretino boy, who tried to summon them to kill an old woman who headed an orphanage. Too bad for them, I got there first. I killed her amidst the sleeping children, rejoicing in her screams as I sliced her apart, their shrieks of fear as the children woke up. I was still savoring the feel of her blood when the guards came, weapons aloft and speaking nonsense. They dragged me away, kicking and screaming, to the jail. To wait for the headsman's axe. I was in jail when she found me, the one who was closest to the forgotten Listener, and her name is Astrid. I do not know how she got me out, or how she had kept me under for so long, but I didn't wake up until we were in an abandoned shack, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. There she was, perched atop a bookshelf, looking so arrogant and nonchalant as she looked me over, red and black armor clinging to her skin, showing her form as a cowl and hood covered her head and mouth, leaving only her eyes visible. She had told me to choose one of the three guilty people before me, bound and a sack over each of their heads, unable to flee. She tossed me a daedric dagger, and watched.
I remember my moment of ecstasy, then all three lay dead before me, blood all around. I believe I saw a hint of fear in her grey eyes, behind the way they admired the work I had done. She offered me a place among the Family, and I followed willingly, passing into the Falkreath Sanctuary. I was surprised I hadn't found it before, in fact. I was given the armor of my Family, the Shrouded Armor, and I wore it with pride. I took as many contracts as I could, traveling throughout the Skyrim countryside, and whispers of a merciless Dark Brotherhood assassin spread like wildfire: everywhere I went, people looked over their shoulders, watching for one who would kill them. I took a liking to the dagger first, and the bow only for specific contracts. I stayed away from magic like any sensible Nord; but bought and used poisons I had never known existed. I had Babette teach me how to make my own if I needed to, and occasionally asked Festus for advice. I especially liked using Frost poisons, and often milked the Frostbite spider, Liz, Babette kept for its poison. I hadn't even thought of a life outside of murder and assassinations, and then only briefly, until I was on a return trip to the Sanctuary, on the Loreius Farm, a little bit north of Whiterun.
A wagon carrying a rectangular wooden box stood beside the road, a jester pacing, singing and dancing beside it, when he wasn't fretting over something. He seemed to speak to himself, often. I smirked, thinking to investigate what exactly was the matter, and what was in the box. As I got closer, the jester suddenly shouted, kicking at a broken wheel. "Agh! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here! STUCK!" he finished, shrieking. I raised a brow, listening. "My mother, my poor mother! Unmoving! At rest, but too still!" he wailed. Then he spotted me.
"Something wrong?" I asked, stepping closer.
The jester nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Poor Cicero is stuck! Can't you see?" he waved at the wagon, running towards it, stroking the box. "I was transporting my dear, sweet mother. Well, not her. Her corpse! She's quite dead," he grinned at me. "I'm taking mother to a new home. A new crypt. But... aggh! Wagon wheel! Damnedest wagon wheel! It broke! Don't you see?" he flung himself at the wheel, showing me. I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I drawled listlessly. The jester jumped up, clapping his hands and dancing. "Oh. Oh yes! Yes, the kindly stranger can certainly help! Go to the farm – the Loreius Farm. Just over there, off the road," he swept his arms towards the buildings, his eyes wide and a broad smile on his face. It was a little more than slightly disturbing, but strangely infectious. "Talk to Loreius. He has tools! He can help me! But he won't! He refuses! Convince Loreius to fix my wheel! Do that, and poor Cicero will reward you. With coin! Gleamy, shiny coin!" he sang, and as I walked away I heard him sing. "The farmer is at his farm! Where else would he be? Loreius is his name. Talk to him. Convince him to help poor CICERO!" I vaguely heard maniacal, shrieking laughter as I entered the farmhouse and saw the farmer there. He looked up, glaring at me.
I pulled my cowl away from my hooded face. "You need to help that fool on the road."
Loreius grunted. "That Cicero feller? Hmph. Tell me something I don't know. Crazy fool's already asked me about five times. Seems he's not satisfied with my answer. Why can't he just leave us alone?" Just then, his wife walked in. "Help him, and he will. He would even pay you," I said, sounding a little more like I was threatening him. I suppose I was, and I enjoyed it.
"'Pay me'?" he spat. "You think this is about money? Have you seen the man? He's completely out of his head. A jester? Here, in Skyrim? Ain't been a merryman in these parts for a hundred years. And he's transporting some giant box. Says it's a coffin, and he's going to bury his mother. Mother my eye. He could have anything in there. War contraband. Weapons. Skooma. Ain't no way I'm getting involved in any of that."
I sighed through my nose. "Help him," I hissed through clenched teeth.
The farmer seemed taken aback, and his wife gasped in fear. "What? And just who in Mara's name are you, anyway? Hmm? Come here, telling me my business. And for what? To help a... a... a fool!"
"Just do it."
"Look, I... I... You're right. You're right. Feller might be nutters, might not. But fact is, he needs help. I turn him away, what kind of man am I, hmm? Look, um... Thanks. And I'm sorry for my unneighborly reaction. If you talk to Cicero, you be sure and tell him I'll be down to help soon."
I nodded, and left. When I returned to Cicero, he muttered to himself even more. "Poor mother…. Her new home seems so very far…."
"Loreius will be up to help you soon," I said, standing close enough to the wagon and… coffin, but far enough to not be a part of it.
The jester – Cicero – jumped up and down, clapping and dancing. "Oh stranger! You have made Cicero so happy! So jubilant and ecstatic! But more! Even more! My mother thanks you!" he grabbed my shoulders, embracing me, and pushed a large coin purse into my hands. "Here, here. For your troubles! Shiny, clinky gold! A few coins for a kind deed! And thank you! Thank you again!" he finished with a flourish. I walked on my way. "I will wait for Loreius! Oh yes, mother and I will wait right here, right here until he fixes our wheel!" he called after me, and I was a little sad to leave the jester behind. He was… attractive in more than just his act.
Cicero watched her walk away, her hips swinging and swaying… oh-so-much like a dancer. A deadly dancer. She was one of us, oh yes she was! She was! A pretty Nord, by her bearing… so pretty. But Cicero can't forsake Mother! No! He is Keeper! His duty is to Mother first! "How is Mother? Oh, I am so sorry we are late! Oh Mother!" Poor Cicero falls to his knees, "Oh Mother, we shall hurry to our new home! We shall!" He stands again, pacing, and talking to keep Mother company. His love goes to Mother, not this Nord woman, this beautiful, deadly Nord woman, his sister through the Family! "Forgive me, Mother," Cicero whimpers, and watches Loreius come to help. Oh, what a horrid, horrid mean man! He shall know the meaning of ugly. Bless my blade, Oh sweet Night Mother….
I arrived back at the Sanctuary almost a month later, choosing to stick to the roads. I had been saving for a horse, but apparently they were more expensive than I had previously believed. There was commotion in the common room, and I followed the voices. One I recognized immediately. "But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely... punishment?" Was the jester a Family member?
"Keep talking, little man, and we'll see who gets 'punished.'" Arnbjorn's deep voice growled.
"Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog," Festus' sharp, intelligent voice commanded. "The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil. Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition."
Cicero launched himself at Festus, wrapping him in a tight embrace as I took in the sights before me. "Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are! Sure to earn our Lady's favor!"
"You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero. And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper. Understood... husband?" Astrid finished, glaring at Arnbjorn, who grunted and walked away.
Cicero released Festus, who looked more than a little miffed. I smirked. It would do the wizard good. "Oh, yes yes yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Cicero moved to embrace Astrid, but she stepped back, a hand on her dagger. She looked so regal in threat: I might not have liked her all that much, but I respected my leader for who she was, what she had done for all of us. I almost smirked when Cicero paused at her next words. "But make no mistake. I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?"
"Oh yes, mistress. Perfectly! You're the boss," the jester bowed deeply, then turned back to the coffin. The Night Mother… I thought, deciding to investigate further. Sithis I knew well, but the Night Mother was an entirely different story. She was a part of the Brotherhood's history that had been buried when the last Listener had died. My Family dispersed, and I found myself drawn to Cicero and the Night Mother. Perhaps I would hear her voice one day.
Astrid stopped me before I could go further. As much respect as I had for her in keeping the Brotherhood alive, she had destroyed any traditions we had, and she had a knack for picking the worst time to talk to me. "Ah, there you are. Good, I was done speaking with that muttering fool anyway. We've got some business to discuss," she grinned lazily.
"So you have a contract."
"I do indeed, Alysa. You must go to the city of Markarth, and speak with the apothecary's assistant. You'll probably find her in The Hag's Cure, when the shop is open. The girl's been running her mouth, wants an ex-lover killed. She's apparently performed the Black Sacrament. Her name is Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out."
I nodded. "Anything else I should do?"
"Just do whatever the contract wishes. Be professional, represent us well, and get the job done. Since it's your first major contract in a city, I'll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She'll be generous, I'm sure. They always are…" Astrid trailed off, looking at her husband before turning back to me. "Leave when you're ready."
I nodded, watching her walk away before I sauntered over to Cicero. Now that I was paying more attention, I recognized him as an Imperial. He was muttering to himself, or to the Night Mother, as I got closer. "Another member of the Family! Hello, hello. So very good to meet you!" he exclaimed, only turning his head slightly to acknowledge me. Then he froze, and turned slowly on his heels to look directly at me. "Wait, oh wait! I know you! Yes, yes; from the road! Cicero never forgets a face!"
I gave a half-smile, just stopping myself from grinning outright. I had hoped he would remember me, and a feeling I couldn't place bloomed in my chest. "So, you were the man transporting his mother…."
Cicero clapped, grinning and laughing. "I am! I was! But not just my mother. Our mother, hmm? The Night Mother! Oh yes! And you helped me! You helped poor Cicero! You talked to Loreius, got him to fix the wheel! Oh, you may have pleased Cicero, but you have surely pleased the Night Mother. And our Mother, she will never forget!" I smirked, and looked to the side. "Oooh…. So silent. So menacing. A true assassin of the old way. Cicero likes you. Oh yes, Cicero likes you, indeed…" the jester purred, and looking into his eyes again, I saw a glimmer of sanity behind the madness. In that sanity, I saw an assassin blessed by the Night Mother and Sithis himself. It was unnerving. But it was gone as quickly as it came. "So, Cicero, what exactly do you do for our Family?"
The jester's eyes widened as he pointed at himself. "Me? Oh, Cicero is just the Keeper! I… keep! Cicero looks after our matron, you see. The Night Mother. I keep her clean, and protected, and happy…. But he is not the Listener. Oh no. There is no Listener. Not yet!" he grabbed my shoulders briefly. "But some day, some day, SOME DAY I pray, that one will come to hear her say… The Words…."
"Ah…" I said, raising both eyebrows. Cicero nodded, his eyes glinting, looking over me for some reason. I found myself wondering why.
Oh, oh, oh! So beautiful! So menacing! Surely so like the Listeners of Old! Oh how Cicero wishes she would be the Listener! Yes! Oh, how Cicero loves hearing her speak; soft like the winter breeze, cold like Skyrim's winter storms. Never have I so enjoyed another's voice, and perhaps company. Or maybe he once did…. Cicero can't remember. Or he doesn't want to remember. NO! Cicero lives for the Night Mother, and she is the one whose company he enjoys, whose voice he longs to hear…. But wait! She speaks again! Cicero must know her name…. "Why did you move our Mother from her crypt in Bravil?"
She is versed in our history, Mother! Oh, she knows where you were! "The Night Mother's crypt in Bravil was… desecrated. The Imperial Province is ravaged by strife. Nowhere is safe, at present. So Cicero brought our Lady to her new home. Here! This is the only Sanctuary left in all of Skyrim, you see. Such was my… honor. As Keeper."
She frowned, oh she glared at Cicero! "What exactly does a 'Keeper' do?"
Cicero shuffles his feet, and glances down. "Oh, Cicero takes care of our Lady's body. Oils it, preserves it, keeps it safe. Makes sure nobody disrespects our Matron's coffin," he glares at the horrid wolf-man.
"Hm. I must go," the she-assassin of old said, straightening and turning.
"Wait! Oh, wait!" Cicero takes her arm, but quickly lets go. "What name do you go by, Sister? You know Cicero's name, but Cicero doesn't know yours!"
She glared at where Cicero had touched her, and then at me. "Ice-Wrath. Alysa Ice-Wrath."
Dear Cicero watched her turn her back and walk away. Oh, sweet Mother, help your poor Cicero….
I walked away feeling shaken to the bone. I swallowed hard and dry, never glancing back and using all of my training as an assassin to keep from touching my arm where Cicero had reached for me. I passed Veezara, half-grinning, half-smirking at the Argonian as he sat cross-legged on the ground. He grinned back, with the sharp, toothy grin only an Argonian can give. I jogged up the stairs, and down the passage to where the beds were, stepping behind a screen and taking my armor off, replacing it with a warm, dark tunic and leggings. I strapped my daggers on again once I finished, putting my armor in a chest at the foot of my bed. I strolled into the dining hall to eat, and enjoyed a volley of sarcastic remarks and puns from the Redguard Nazir. Babette appeared a little while later, and stalked around the room, wrinkling her nose at the smell of food and drink, then wandered off again. She was a delightful – albeit ancient – addition to the Brotherhood, with her childish charm and deadly speed, never minding her sadistic nature. Few others seemed able to be near her, and I think she rather liked it, often. Festus came a time after that, and his grumblings about spells and potions and poisons were barely audible. Nazir left, and I stayed, drinking mead until I wasn't quite sure which way was straight, and finally stumbled to my bed, removing my daggers and putting them under my pillow, lying on my stomach as I hugged it to my chest, a hand wrapped around each hilt.