A/N This is the story of Cicero, relying heavily on Cicero's journals you can find in the game. I highly recommend that you read them, you will pity Cicero like you have never done before. I hope you enjoy and please review!

Disclaimer: I do not own the beautifully psychotic Cicero or any of the amazing Elder Scrolls. I'm just a gal who plays it.

I fear that these words are my last. I know she is coming and I know she will kill me. I deserve it. But I die knowing I have served the Night Mother well. I have given everything to my Family, I can only hope that they will remember the days before my madness. I am Cicero, Fool of Hearts and Keeper of the Unholy Matron.

Listen to poor Cicero's tale, and forgive him.

I was seventeen again, sharpening my blade on a stone wheel. The ebony bounced and created tiny sparks as I ran the blade along the wheel. It was relaxing, I always had enjoyed this simple task. Chalan, an older Redguard woman, was also sharpening her weapon, though hers was the bow and arrow. Not my preference, but whatever fulfilled Sithis's wish was good enough. Most of the Bruma Sanctuary was relaxing that day, as business was slow.

I wiped the grit off from my blade, holding it in the dim light, a pleased smile running across my lips. Perfect. I sheathed it and stood, dusting my red and black armor off. Hopefully a contract would come so I could test the newly sharpened dagger. Cyrodiil was ripe with people just waiting to be killed, and I couldn't wait to get started.

"Cicero," called a young Breton man, Jeffre, was his name. He was a close friend of mine, accepting me before the others did when I joined the Brotherhood. I enjoyed his presence, even if he was slow and stupid at times. He killed well, though.

I faced him. "Yes?" I asked, crossing my well muscled arms in front of me.

He smiled, dancing on his toes as he usually did when he was excited. His light red hair flopped in his red eyes. Oh, I forgot to mention that Jeffre was a one-hundred year old vampire.

"We have a new contract! A visiting noblewoman and her lover in Castle Bruma," Jeffre said happily, fingering his spiked mace.

I grinned. "Let's go then!" I said eagerly, starting to walk off.

"I can't come, though," he said, a dark expression crossing his pale face. "This is all yours. Alessia wants me here."

My face fell. "Alright," I said slowly. "Well, you have fun sitting around!" I teased, dodging his clumsy attempt to cuff me around the ear. He laughed and walked off, throwing an apple at my head as he left. I snickered and took my leave of the Sanctuary, eager to begin my contract.

I burst out of the sewer where the Dark Brotherhood resided and into the pale sunlight, a rare thing for the often snowy and dark city of Bruma. Pulling my hood up, I made my way down the narrow streets, brushing by the simple-minded peasants. I casually snagged a carrot from a vendor, and munching on it, I approached the castle's gates, my green eyes scanning for the contract. Since she was visiting, she would be a new face, and she would stand out from among the locals. I knew every person in this city. I made a habit to never forget a face.

I my eyes fixed on a beautiful woman, a Wood-Elf by the looks of her, with browned skin and large, slanted red eyes. She was it. An Altmer man lingered by her side, nervously wringing his golden hands and his gold eyes flitting from face to face in the busy courtyard. Obviously her lover by the way he kept touching her hand and watching her face.

He whispered something in the Bosmer's ear, his eyes locked on mine. The young woman laughed and ignored whatever the Altmer had said. Her dark red eyes also met mine, sparkling with humor and life. Not for much longer. I smirked and walked slowly towards them, keeping to the thickest parts of the crowd and barely looking at the doomed couple. My feet made no sound on the stones. I was right behind the woman, my dagger soundlessly sliding from it's hiding spot on my hip and inches from her back. I drew my second ebony dagger and pointed it at the Altmer. So much for his paranoia. I took in a breath, letting Sithis guide my hand.

Black metal slid through green silk and bit into light brown skin. Blood spilled onto her robes, unfurling its red petals and blossoming across her rich robes. Her lover fell to the ground first. Stone dead. I could see his life descend into the Void. But the woman stood upright for a moment, her slender hands touching the deadly wound once before falling limp at her sides. Her face looked behind her, searching for me, her murderer, but my hood was up and I was already a good distance away from her. She collapsed silently, her dark gold hair mixing with her blood.

I turned away, ignoring the gasps and screams, silently thinking. I did not know what was happening around me. I did not see the now red sky and the fires around me. I was blind to the riots around me. I simply blended with the crowd, something I was very good at. Then I felt a fist smash into my face. I reacted instantly, blindly drawing my dagger and slashing furiously. The common rioter before me fell, dozens of deep gashes all over his face and neck. He choked to death on his blood. I kicked him way, looking around. Bloodthirsty people mobbed everywhere, burning and killing everything in their path. I furrowed my brow, melting with the shadows and hurrying back to the Sanctuary. There had been riots before but none as bad as this. No matter, they couldn't find the Sanctuary, even if they tried.

I was confident as I ducked down an ally and slipped through the sewer grate, weaving my way down the familiar passageways. I stopped cold when I saw a group of dirty men setting fire to the Brotherhood's tapestries. I saw Jeffre standing bravely in front of the broken down Black Door. Chalan, Arabi the Khajit, Alessia—our leader, and a few others stood behind him. All had burns and were covered in blood. I stared. How could a group of bumbling rioters do this to the Dark Brotherhood? I yelled as loud as I could and charged the men who advanced towards my broken family.

A beefy, tattooed Nord met my blade with his war-axe first, his icy blue eyes narrowed at me. I met his gaze evenly, hitting his groin as hard as I could with my knee and bringing my dagger around to cut his arm. He roared and slammed my body against the slimy sewer wall, his strong, alcohol tinged breath making my head spin. I couldn't fight him with pure brawn; that was not my style. I had to use my wits. When he reached on arm back to swing his axe at me, I wrapped my arms around his neck, brining my feet up to slam him in his gut. He wheezed and fell back, swearing. I narrowed my eyes and quicker than he could recover, I plunged both of my daggers into his neck, decapitating him neatly.

My head snapped around to see a chuck of the roof fall down, nearly crushing my foot. I jumped away, running to my Dark Brothers and Sisters who fought desperately. My pulse beat loudly in my chest.

Alessia fought fiercely, as all Leaders of the Dark Brotherhood should do, but I could see a large burn on her side, leaching her energy and strength away. I reached towards her, trying to help, but another large stone was shaken free by the explosions outside and crushed her legs. The warrior she had fought sneered and cut her arm off, enjoying her screams. I felt fury course through my veins and I leapt at the man, a savage snarl ripping from my lips. I stabbed him in the back, twisting the daggers around as he shrieked and fell, the life spilling out with his blood. I knelt beside Alessia, cupping her pale face in my hand. The kind, older woman coughed, weakly moving her hand over to rest on mine, her grey eyes darkening. She tried to speak but a deep guttural moan escaped instead. My attention turned to where her arm had been attached. I could see splintered bone and burst veins, pumping blood onto the ground. I was covered in the stuff, feeling it stain my skin and fill my mouth.

She was already halfway gone.

I planted a kiss on her forehead and stood, hiding my anguish. Alessia weakly smiled at me and then the light left her eyes. She was with the Dread Father now. I didn't even feel one of the rioters stab my side, or Jeffre drag the man off of my back. I felt nothing.

Everything was muffled, quiet as I stumbled away from the dead woman. She had been like my mother, treating my wounds and teaching me how to wield a blade. She had been there when my blood family had wanted to put me to death. She had saved me, and I couldn't save her.

I distantly felt a sticky, hot hand wrap around my wrist and yank me away, a voice shouting in my ears. I didn't want to come back to reality. In reality, my home was gone, my family wounded or dead. Where would we go?

"Cicero! Go! Go!" I heard Jeffre scream at me, but I didn't hear his voice. I just read his lips, red with blood and his eyes urgently beckoning me to run. And I did. I stumbled over the dead bodies of my Brothers and Sisters, never wanting to stop. Stones crashed all around me and fire licked at my back. When I scrambled from the sewer, I lay on my back, staring up at the grey sky. I tried to stand, failing and falling to my knees, but I kept trying. I finally stood and started to run again, pushing blindly though the desperate crowds. I stumbled out of the city, feeling the ground grow stoney and rough as I put as much distance between me and Bruma as I could. I tripped over a large rock, watching as the ground collided my broken body. I stayed down this time, feeling my lungs burn and my stomach turn. I crawled off of the road and under a tree, feeling light, cold snowflakes brush my face.

I could see the sun, half covered by dark clouds, sinking into the horizon. The shadow of the Jerall Mountains swallowed me up in its chilling, dark embrace, hiding me from any passerby. I curled my legs under myself and wrapped my arms around them, shaking and staring into the darkness.

"I am the most unlucky boy on Nirn," I whispered hoarsely, not speaking to anyone in particular. I was utterly alone again. No family whatsoever. Complete, utterly alone.

No, child, you are not alone, a voice hissed from the darkness. It sent chills down my spine and make my blood freeze in my veins. I shuddered and drew my knife, waving it in front of me.

"Stay away or I'll rip your organs out and feed them to the wolves!" I threatened, but my regular confidence was not there. My voice cracked on the last word.

You cannot slay the darkness, the voice whispered. I am your Dread Father and you will do as I ask.

I bit down on a scream, feeling many emotions fill my heart, not all of them necessarily good. Once I controlled my terror, I managed to form a question. "What do you wish of me, Father?" I asked shakily, trying to control my voice.

Go, it hissed, a breeze colder than anything I have ever felt whipping at my face. Go to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Seek out the Listener there. She is expecting you.

I nodded, slowly uncurling my legs and using the tree for support as I stood. I felt the darkness grow more solid and pin me against the tree. I could feel the Dread Lord touch my heart, letting the darkness cover it. I could barely describe the feeling. It was colder than any ice or mortal substance. It was formless and infinite, sinking into my bones and escaping through my lips. It was horrifying yet it was an honor. I could feel my heart stop for a moment, the darkness stopping it.

You have many trials before you join me in the Void with your dead siblings, Sithis said cold, his voice deep and smooth. I flinched at the last part, feeling the heat of the flames and the blood on my hands all over again. The Night Mother has plans for you, little boy. Don't disappoint, Sithis warned before the darkness seeped away, giving way to pale grey shadows and white mist.

I stood for a moment, reining in my emotions and gathering my strength. I took a step, wincing as the fresh burns screamed in protest. I continued on, step by step, ignoring the darkness that descended and the icy air that nipped at the tips of my fingers. I didn't notice the bloody footprints behind me, or the drowsiness that fogged my brain. I had a purpose. I was given orders, and I must follow them.

I didn't know how long I stumbled in the darkness, but I saw a distant light in the horizon. A fire. I gritted my teeth and jogged towards it, feeling my wounds reopen. I didn't care, all I wanted was to fulfill my Father's will.

I stopped at the edge of a small campsite, a large tent set up and the opening closed. I could hear giggling and noises inside. I rolled my eyes and crept to where a few scraps of leftover venison and leek was sitting in a waste bucket. I licked my lips and snatched them up, tearing the cold flesh from the bone and feeling it hit my stomach. I threw the clean bone away, stuffing the leeks in my mouth and grabbing a white dress that lay near the dying fire on a log. I left as quickly as I had appeared, taking the occupants gold as I left.

I managed to drag myself a half mile before my body demanded that I stop. I complied and sat on a rotting log, ripping the linen dress into strips and taking most of my armor off to evaluate the wounds. I had not even realized I had so many; a large burn covered my ankle and bruises decorated my tanned skin on my back. More bruises were around my throat and everywhere I saw blood. I patted my sides, gasping as I touched the stab wound I had gotten earlier. It was still bleeding, the red standing out on the white snow. I carefully grasped a fistful of snow and pressed it to the wound, hissing sharply at the pain, but relaxing as the cold numbed the wound. I quickly wrapped one of the strips around it and tended to my other wounds, staining the snow all around me a deep crimson. I finally finished and put my bloody armor back on, planning to wash it tomorrow. I stripped the pines around me of their branches and lay them on a patch of earth, settling as best I could on them, my knives clenched in my fists. Sleep, mercifully, came quickly and I slept without dreams or nightmares.

I woke early, just before dawn and managed to hunt a rabbit for breakfast. I swiftly demolished my little camp and set out, always heading east, toward the city of Cheydinhal, that stood near the border of Morrowind. My wounds healed, but slowly, sometimes reopening wherever I ran too hard or stretched the skin too much. The stab wound I had gotten in Bruma wasn't healing, though, and I knew it needed to be stitched, but I had no needle and thread. I constantly prayed to the Dread Father and the Unholy Matron that I would make it to the city. But I heard nothing. I moved quickly, growing careless in my anticipation, my eyes set on the horizon, where my future lay.

I trudged under the hot sun, swearing as sweat dripped into my eyes and made them smart and burn. I shut my eyelids and rubbed them, blinking sweat out of them. When I looked up, I saw an old crone with shockingly white hair and dressed in loose, black robes that fell to her dirty, bare feet. Her eyes were creased with wrinkles and a warm brown color that seemed to look into my soul. I hunched my shoulders, ignoring the pain that stabbed my side and tried to hide my dirty armor and face. She, of course, noticed.

"Hello there!" she called in a pleasantly husky voice. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I replied as nonchalantly as I could. I attempted to brush by her, but a wizened, bony hand grabbed my wrist firmly.

"You need a bath and some good food. What are you? A beggar?" she asked, dragging me behind her. I tried to protest but she wouldn't let me, instead she chattered on. I considered killing her, but we were out on the road where passing guards would hear. No, better to let her drag me to her home and kill her there.

"What's your name, boy?" she said, leading me off of the public road and into the forest. I said nothing, but memorized our surroundings so I would know the way back to the road. The crone shook her head. "Well, no matter. Lets get some food in you." She led me to a dingy, but clean shack with a little garden filled with various mushrooms and flowers. Ancient oaks towered over, shading the home.

The woman approached the house and tapped the door frame with her twisted cane, the door swinging open to a massive…library? I could not hide my amazement. My mouth gaped as I took in the huge, arched windows, floor to ceiling bookshelves, curled staircases and marble busts. Paintings hung wherever a bookshelf didn't cover. I could see a small kitchen in one corner with a bed and a rocking chair.

I looked to see the old woman cackling at me, but not in an unkind way.

"Better shut your mouth or your going to catch a dragonfly!" she laughed, tapping the door frame again and ushering me into her room. I followed her, the wood floor creaking under my boots. She bustled around the makeshift kitchen, throwing different ingredients into a bowl. I sat in the chair, watching, too curious to think about killing her. She finished with a ladle full of broth over the ingredients and shoved the bowl onto my lap.

"Get off my chair and eat!" she ordered, whacking me sharply with her stick. I obeyed and sat on the floor, poking the mixture with my wooden spoon. I sniffed it, feeling saliva pour into my mouth at the smell. I shoved a spoonful into my mouth, taken by surprise at the taste.

It tasted like the strawberries I used to pick when I was younger, but with a hint of snowberries like the kind Alessia used to keep in a bowl on her desk. It made my heart ache with the all too fresh memories. I finished the bowl in a matter of seconds and had seconds. The woman watched me as I ate, her eyes unreadable.

"You can spend the night here. Stay as long as you want, actually. I could use some company," she said quietly, relaxing in her chair. "And let me get you some new clothes, alright?"

I swallowed the last spoonful, scraping the bowl clean. "That's fine," I consented, my voice rough from days of silence.

"Good," she said and we spent the rest of the day in silence. She showed me my bed, tucked behind a bookshelf, and a clean black shirt and black pants. I accepted them, but taking off the armor felt like I was taking a layer of my skin off. It was painful and it reopened my emotional wounds that I had tried to bury. I set the armor down, rebuckling the straps and smoothing any creases in the leather. I wandered the library, settling down on a long, red couch and watching the moon through the clouds. It bathed the forest in a bone-white light, making the shadows even deeper. But nothing was darker than my heart now, save but for the Dread Father's presence. I lay my hand, scarred, with blue veins just beneath the surface, on the glass, watching. I clenched my fist, my nails scratching the glass.

I could see my reflection in the glass, my sunken brown eyes staring back at me. I raised my hand to touch my square, prominent jaw with a hint of red stubble coming up. The person in the glass copied me. I could see darkness and anger in those greens eyes; hunger and pain in the painfully visible bones and taunt, lean muscle. My dark red hair was limp and dirty, more of a brown than red. I ran my fingers through it, annoyed at how long it was. I saw a boy, not the dark and loyal servant Sithis. I was a useless boy; expendable.

I turned away, placing my hand over my face in the reflection. I saw the old woman standing behind me, her eyes sad. I faced her, my eyes flashing.

"What do you want, woman?" I snapped, approaching her fiercely. She didn't flinch but stood strong, and she did the strangest thing. She opened her arms, the towel she had held fell to the ground. I hesitated, but in one jerky step, I walked into her tiny, frail arms. I knew I should remain stoic, but I couldn't hold on to my fragile control. I buried my head in her shoulder like a child, feeling deep sobs well up from my deepest soul and escape into the air. And she just held me, not saying anything by cradling my head and stroking my hair.

I had never known love like this. My own mother had hated me with every inch of her life, shunning and hurting me in every possible way. My father and brothers watched, sneering and goading her on, their cruel faces happy at my pain. Alessia had treated me kindly, but I was an assassin. Assassin's don't receive love. But this, this was pure, unadulterated love I felt radiating from her. And she barely knew me. We finally pulled away, and I struggled to pull myself together. Her eyes were rimmed with red and watery as she picked the towel up and offered it to me.

"Now," she said as sternly as she could. "Go take a bath—you smell."

I smiled weakly and gave her a feather light kiss on her wrinkled cheek. She pointed me towards a large bathtub, filled with freshly drawn hot water. I could see dozens of buckets scattered all around and I noticed how painfully and slowly the woman walked. She had singlehandedly made a hot bath for a stranger. A stranger who had wanted to kill her before. I clenched my jaw so hard, I heard it groan in protest. I quickly turned away, back to my bed where I donned my filthy armor and grabbed my knapsack. Striding to the door, I tried to forget the woman. I was becoming weak. Sithis roots out the weak, and I am his servant.

"Wait!" the old woman cried, standing there in the moonlight with a faded white shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders.

I stopped, pressing my lips to together and staring at the floor.

"I'm never going to see you again, aren't I?" She asked softly. Sadly.

I shook my head, taking a step to the door.

"Here," she whispered, placing a small leather-bound journal. It was old but looked as if it had never been used. The leather was dyed a deep red. "Write in it, ok?" she said. "Promise!" she frowned when I stayed silent, whacking my shin with her stick, her jaw set.

I nodded and tucked it in my bag, turning away and leaving. The sound of the door shutting was loud in the still night. I clenched my fist tighter and shouldered my bag, plunging into the darkness towards my destiny.

I sat by the side of the road, in the shade of the pines, my quill hovering above the paper. I had contemplated for days on what to write, and I had finally settled on my first words. This was a new page in my life, I was the lowly servant of Sithis, and just a simple assassin. I owed everything to the Dread Father. Best not to mention my past, best to forget. But not entirely. I would never forget the woman on the road. Never.

I sighed and dipped my quill, brushing the black ink across the page.

18th of Evening Star, 4E 186. As I begin this new phase of my life, I have decided to finally keep a journal. So much has happened to me thus far, both within the Brotherhood and without when I think there is no record of what has transpired, it almost seems an affront to Sithis himself. So I am determined to make amends. Yes, the Dark Brotherhood has its own scribes and chroniclers, but it is their solemn task to record those events deemed important to the organization as a whole. Let this volume serve as the personal record of one man, a lowly assassin who has pledged his blade and his life for the Dark Brotherhood.

My eyes flitted up to gaze at the beautiful city of Cheydinhal, taking in the graceful willows that bent their green heads over the river and the grey skinned people who walked the streets. So many lives, all ripe for taking.

My life had begun.