A/N: Someone on SKM wanted Cicero/Eola so here they are. I love these two too, I'm not sure whether it's the insanity or the near total lack of morals with barely a scruple between them, but they're adorably cute to write so here goes. It is a sequel of sorts to Nightshade and Juniper so with a pre-established relationship between them, but I am posting a Story So Far section below to summarise everything you need to know, so you can read this without having read N&J. Warnings for murder, sex, cannibalism and arousal from murder and blood.
Spoilers for: Post Civil War, post Dark Brotherhood and main questlines, Forsworn Conspiracy/Cidhna Mine, Taste of Death, House of Horrors, some slight references to the Dawnguard questline.
Summary: Going out with an insane murderer in a jester's outfit is not for everyone, it's true. However, when you're a Daedra-worshipper with the need to feed on the dead, someone who leaves a trail of bodies in his wake is ideal.
THE STORY SO FAR: When dragons returned to Tamriel, the one chosen to fight them was an Altmer woman called Liriel, who went on to become Archmage of Winterhold, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Slayer of Alduin and adoptive mother to two little girls called Sissel and Lucia, who lived with her and her husband in Markarth. So far, so canon. However, said husband was no ordinary human, but Madanach the King in Rags, and thanks to Liriel, he and his Forsworn followers were instrumental in helping the Empire defeat Ulfric Stormcloak. As a reward for his assistance, Madanach got to keep the kingdom he'd worked for all this time and now rules from Markarth as Reach-King. Meanwhile thanks to several twists of fate, Eola, being Madanach's long-lost daughter, has ended up as heir to the throne, a role that doesn't sit easily with her other jobs as leader of Namira's faithful and Listener Liriel's right-hand woman in the Dark Brotherhood, but thanks to her relationship with Cicero Garra-Lann, or Laughing Dagger, the balancing act is not as hard as it could be. Now read on.
Markarth, the City of Stone. Dwemer ruin turned island of Nord rulership amidst a sea of Forsworn tribes, now turned Forsworn capital. Nearly a year free, thanks to the Dragonborn and her alliance with Madanach the King in Rags, an alliance that had turned into one of the Reach's great love stories.
But this is not that story. This is no tale of grand passion, no romance to echo down the centuries, no tale of two people overcoming cultural, age and indeed species differences to form a marriage of soul mates. This is the tale of two people brought together by fate, chance and mutual loyalty to said Dragonborn Reach-Queen... and kept together by a mutual love of blood and stabbing and fire.
Of course, right at the moment our tale begins, one of them was really not feeling the love.
"Sister, I'm bored!" Cicero whined. Eola closed her eyes and quietly prayed to Namira for strength. She loved Cicero, she really and truly did... but at times like this, she couldn't remember why. Honestly, he had to be the clingiest man she'd ever met. Was he completely incapable of entertaining himself? Five minutes peace, that was all she wanted. She'd crept off while the Dragonborn's children, Sissel and Lucia, had pounced on him and made him play with them, inviting him to a tea-party with them and their dolls, and while he'd been busy giggling as they'd tied ribbons in his hair and put home-made jewellery made of stones and feathers and leather strips on him, Eola had snuck off to bathe her feet in the Markarth Brook as it passed through Understone Keep. She liked this part of the Keep. It didn't feel like being indoors, it felt like being in a beautiful stone garden under a perpetual night sky and unlike a year ago, she didn't have to sneak out of the Hall of the Dead to enjoy it while the Keep slept. Now she could go where she wanted, when she wanted, and get saluted by the guards as she did so. Yes, this was not a bad life she'd ended up with.
Except when Cicero got bored.
"I thought you were playing with the girls?" she said wearily, feeling a headache coming on.
"Yes, and then it was time for Lucia's lute lesson with that pretty Nord bar- er, hideous and deformed crone of a bard who Cicero definitely doesn't find attractive, not at all," said Cicero, hastily correcting himself as he saw Eola glaring at him. "And then Sissel wanted to go practice her Destruction magic and last time Cicero was around for that, Cicero ended up with Ice Spikes in places you do not want Ice Spikes." He shivered at the memory and Eola bit back a laugh. Sissel's lessons were going very well – too well. She was picking up magic as well as any Breton child, and Cicero hadn't fully realised that when he'd volunteered as a test subject. At least it hadn't been fire magic.
"So Cicero left them to it and then he realised you'd gone and he got lonely. So now he has found you and isn't lonely any more!" He'd come to sit next to her, snuggling up to her with arms wrapped tightly around her waist and his head on her shoulder, sighing happily. "But Cicero is still bored. What shall we do, sister?"
Despite having been lovers for the best part of a year, he still called her sister, a hangover from when they'd first met as the newly reinstated Keeper of the Night Mother and Listener Liriel's first proper recruit to the Brotherhood she'd just claimed off Astrid. Eola had told him he should probably stop calling her that, but he still did.
"I don't know," Eola sighed, wondering for what must be the fifth time that day when Liriel was coming back. No Listener meant no contracts coming in, which meant no work for the Brotherhood and while Nazir had contacts all over the place and a steady flow of work for his Sanctuary, Eola wasn't so lucky with hers. Reachcliff Sanctuary had only just finished being outfitted and as far as recruits went, all Eola had was Sanyon and Nimphaneth from the coven of Namira, Festus Krex who'd found Dawnstar too cold for his liking, and Babette during the summer – she couldn't cope with the long summer days in Dawnstar but conversely loved the long winter nights. Oh, and Cicero. Clingy, needy Cicero, who tended to the Night Mother once a week and then shadowed her the other six days. Cicero with no attention span, in constant need of entertainment and without contracts to take up his time or a Listener to take charge of him, very easily bored. Eola didn't need telling that a bored Cicero was likely to start making his own entertainment, and even Madanach's tolerance had limits. Eola wondered if there were any bounties going in the Reach, before realising that of course there weren't, the Reach's main public order problem had been the Forsworn. Now they were running the show, the Reach was disgustingly peaceful and crime-free. While it had been amusing at first watching Nord mercenaries show up looking for work to be turned away with a shrug and a "sorry, we've got no bandits here," or "well, we've got a problem with some beasts – oh wait, no sorry, the ReachGuard took care of it last week" or a "work, is it? Well, we've got jobs going in Cidhna Mine, the Warrens Renovation Project and the Deepwood Vale Roadbuilding Project, any of those catch your eye? What, honest labour not good enough for you, is it? You Nords disgust me, get out of my keep" the fact remained all this prosperity meant there wasn't anything she could hand over to Cicero to keep him occupied either. At this rate she'd be sending Nimphaneth round Skyrim's inns and palaces collecting all the bounty notices and dishing those out instead.
Cicero huffed and whined, kicking his feet and starting to fidget.
"Sister, when is the Listener coming back?" he sighed. "Cicero misses her."
"I don't know," Eola sighed. "When she's found those other Elder Scrolls and dealt with that vampire lord, I suppose."
Cicero scowled at the very mention of the word 'vampire'.
"When the Listener joined that Dawnguard, Cicero was hoping it would mean lots of stabbing of vampires," Cicero growled. "Not the Listener sending Cicero home and disappearing for MONTHS with one!"
"It has not been months," Eola sighed. "Weeks if that. And Serana's OK, I don't know why you don't like her."
"She is annoying," Cicero muttered. "And she did not trust poor Cicero. She made Liriel send loyal, faithful Cicero away! She took the Listener off who knows where without him!"
Frankly, right now Eola understood exactly why Liriel might send Cicero home and go running off with someone else for once, and she couldn't really fault Serana for not wanting Cicero along either. In fact, right now the only thing stopping her pushing Cicero into the stream was the fact that she'd end up having to find another consort-to-be and frankly that was even more tedious than putting up with Cicero's whining.
Fortunately, fate was smiling on her that day. Footsteps behind her, a discreet cough and Eola turned around, beyond grateful for a distraction.
"Nepos!" she gasped. Her father's steward, Nepos the Nose, smart, cunning, resourceful and very very good at managing the unmanageable, as proved by the fact he'd been Madanach's right-hand man for forty years and not either killed Madanach or taken his own life.
"Eola," Nepos said with a smile, taking a seat on her free side. "Just the woman. How are you?"
"I have no work coming in, Cicero is bored and won't stop cuddling me, and thanks to my father, it is now illegal to use Destruction magic on one's intimate partners without their consent and the five hundred septim bounty for doing so is something I can live without so I can't Flame Cloak Cicero to get him to stop."
"So use Lightning Cloak instead," Nepos said, shrugging. "Last time I saw it used on Cicero, he squealed like a girl, ran around the room three times waving his hands in the air and then sat at your father's feet staring at him adoringly for the next half hour, which Madanach informs me was actually more distracting than the cuddling."
Eola did have to smile at that. Bless Cicero, he never did quite know when to stop. It was a good thing Madanach liked him really. Next to her, Cicero squirmed, giggling at the memory as his face went pink.
"Did you need anything?" Eola asked, stroking Cicero's hair to keep him quiet while she talked with Nepos. "You don't usually drop by for a chat, not during court hours anyway."
"No, you're right," Nepos said, still calm as ever. "Eola, we have a bit of a delicate situation and your father and I think you might be best placed to handle it."
Delicate situation, eh? Eola's attention was caught. Now this could be just the thing to entertain her, especially if it involved sneaking and stabbing.
"Do tell," Eola purred. "You know me, Nepos, always eager to serve my country."
"Indeed," Nepos said, smiling. "Eola, you know the abandoned house down on the ground level near the Treasury House?"
Eola knew the one.
"What, the one that's abandoned and has always been abandoned, that even the Thieves Guild won't touch?"
"That's the one," Nepos confirmed. "Well, normally everyone ignores it completely, as well they should but, well, it appears someone's taking an interest."
No wonder he'd called it delicate. Eola had seen it on her return to Markarth and immediately had a sense of foreboding about the place, Namira's presence in her mind nudging her away from it, an instinct telling her that the Abandoned House That Had Always Been Abandoned was best left well alone. Someone poking around in it? That couldn't be good.
"What poor fool's decided heading in there is a good idea?" Eola asked, privately thinking that Madanach would be best off letting the idiot take his chances in there and the problem would likely resolve itself in short order.
"The Vigil of Stendarr think it's a good idea," Nepos said, and that explained a lot. Despite the destruction of their Hall in the Pale, there were still Vigilants around, poking around where they weren't wanted, trying to uncover Daedra worship and interfere with the lives of perfectly respectable cultists everywhere. Hogni had warned her there was one in town. This must be why.
"And?" Eola asked. "Let him poke around in there. He'll either find nothing or actually will find Daedra worship going on and will end up as a sacrifice on some altar or other. Either way, not our problem."
"It's not quite that simple," Nepos sighed. "As you know, Daedra worship is largely outlawed or at least condemned through most of the Empire. The fact that your father hasn't written a single law regarding banning it is giving rise to concern in some quarters."
"My father's very big on religious freedom, everyone knows that!" Eola said innocently. "Why, he only banned Talos worship because of the White-Gold Concordat." That last was a lie, a big fat lie, the Talos worship ban had never been signed into law so enthusiastically but neither Nepos or Eola were going to say that out loud.
"Yes, quite," Nepos sighed, "but the point is, everyone already believes we're all necromancers, cannibals and Daedra-worshippers. Now we have the Vigil of Stendarr investigating possible Daedra worship in this very city and insisting Madanach provide guards to assist with the investigation. If your father says no, General Rikke and Imperial Observer Legate Fasendil might just decide that's evidence the rumours are true and intervene."
"Legate Fasendil's just here to make sure the Nords of the Reach aren't being massacred or abused, not interfere with our religious practices," Eola said tersely although she also knew full well Madanach couldn't really be seen to be too openly sponsoring the less savoury aspects of traditional Forsworn culture, not where the Empire could see him anyway.
"You know full well that's not the only reason the Empire are watching us closely," Nepos said quietly. "Your father was in prison for treason and insurrection this time last year. Small wonder the Empire don't trust him not to do it again. So no, we can't just ignore this. However, if we do send in the ReachGuard alongside this Vigilant..."
"The Hags will collectively lose it and we get a rebellion on our hands all over the Reach," Eola sighed, seeing where this was going. "Yeah, delicate. I guess this is where I come in, hey?"
"Indeed," Nepos said, looking rather pleased. "Your father and I were thinking you could perhaps approach this Vigilant informally, offer your services off the books, so to speak. Madanach thinks that it'll look better if you go. He's of the opinion that the Matriarchs of the Reach all have the utmost respect for you and are quite willing to believe you would never side with the Vigil over them."
Eola carefully schooled her face into a picture of utmost innocence and guilelessness. She'd never told her father about her worship of Lady Namira or about the cult operating in his city, and she was very keen to keep it that way.
"I'm very pleased to hear it, although I'm sure I don't know why the Hags would think I'd hate the Vigil of Stendarr," said Eola calmly, meeting Nepos' gaze without even flinching.
"I'm sure I don't know either," said Nepos, equally calm, equally unflinching and Eola had the unnerving feeling Nepos knew all about the Namira coven but was choosing to turn a blind eye. She'd have to be careful. She liked Nepos, loved him to bits, but all the same, he'd not got where he was by being an idiot.
"So, you'll take the job?" Nepos asked, knowing full well the answer was going to be yes.
"Anything for the Reach, Nepos," Eola told him cheerfully. Nepos grinned back, getting to his feet and telling her he needed to get back to the courtroom, it wasn't wise to let Madanach hold court unsupervised for long, anything could happen. As if on cue, a bolt of lightning flashed out in the Keep's central corridor, and the Reach-King himself could be heard shouting.
"Tell Maven that Reach jenever's a better drink than that rubbish the Nords call alcohol and that I'm marketing it to every tavern in Skyrim regardless of what she thinks! INCLUDING THE ONES IN THE RIFT."
In the distance, Hemming Black-Briar could be seen running for his life for the Keep's doors and Nepos sighed heavily.
"Oh dear. I'd better go find out just how badly he's savaged our trading relations with the Rift. Goodbye, Eola. I hope you can resolve our Vigilant problem for us."
"I will," Eola promised. Cicero, who had been quietly snuggled in her arms, watching the entire conversation with a look of faint bemusement, finally sat up, frowning.
"Sister," he said cautiously. "What did we just agree to? You hate the Vigil of Stendarr. You single them out more often than you do the Thalmor and Stormcloak resistance fighters. Why are we helping one?"
Eola ruffled his hair, feeling rather more patient and benevolent now she had a job to do. "Cicero, sweetie, Nepos doesn't want us to help this poor fool. Nepos wants the whole mess to go away. We're not hunting Daedra, my love. We've just been given a contract."
Cicero's eyes widened and the unholy grin she'd fallen in love with in the first place split his face. As Cicero's mad cackles echoed round Understone Keep, Eola hugged him tight, gleeful smile on her own. About time some work came up. She was getting hungry.
"So you don't know anything about this house?" Tyranus asked the Redguard jewellery vendor. Her stall was only down the street, she must see people going in and out surely?
"All I know is it's abandoned," Kerah said stiffly. "It's always been abandoned. No one goes in, no one goes out. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I can't tell you any more. Look, did you want to buy anything or not?"
"Hmm? Oh. No, no, it's fine, that's all I needed to know. Thank you for your time." Tyranus walked away, ignoring the grumbling as she muttered about fancy ass Altmer who wasted her time and didn't buy anything. He had more important things to think about. Such as that allegedly abandoned house that reeked of dark magic and had had strange lights and sounds coming from it, and he wasn't remotely reassured by the local authorities' reaction. He'd hardly even been able to see the King, and that steward of his was giving him the run-around, he just knew it. He had hoped that a city whose Breton rulers actually understood magic might be more helpful than Nord Jarls usually were, but it appeared that perhaps they understood the Daedra just a bit too well.
He returned to the door of the house, wondering if perhaps he should pluck up his courage and go in alone after all. It wasn't a good idea, he knew that, but he was getting nowhere and with the Hall's destruction, he didn't have the support he'd once have been able to get from his brothers and sisters in the Vigil. No, there was nothing for it, he'd have to investigate this one alone.
"Excuse me."
Tyranus nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd not heard any footsteps, been too lost in thought to see anyone approach, and the woman's voice had taken him completely by surprise.
She was young from the look of it, roughly equivalent to a 150-year old Altmer if Tyranus was any judge, one eye lost to a sword-stroke but not bad-looking for a human despite that. She was wearing very finely crafted and expensive looking scaled armour, a pair of red and black gloves and matching boots, and a Forsworn woman's traditional headdress. Around her neck was a white-gold rope-like necklace open at the front with two wolves' heads adorning the ends, in a similar style to the red-gold eagle-headed one he'd glimpsed King Madanach wearing. Expensive from the look of it, so clearly someone high-ranked in the Forsworn. Had the King decided to help after all? He could but hope.
The man next to her in the jester's outfit with red hair, dark eyes that didn't blink nearly often enough for Tyranus' liking and the smile that never wavered once was another matter entirely, but the Forsworn woman was holding his weapon hand so Tyranus decided to leave him be.
"What can I do for you, young lady?" he asked. She patted the elven blade at her side, smiling sweetly.
"We heard you were looking into this house. We were wondering if you'd got anywhere?"
Assistance, Stendarr be praised. Someone in this wretched city that actually seemed to care about the possibility of Daedra in their midst. The King had clearly found someone capable to give him a hand after all.
"Nowhere," Tyranus sighed. "I've found all sorts of tales of strange noises and lights from this house but everyone I speak to says it's abandoned and always has been. No one goes in. No one goes out. It's like there's some sort of enchantment on it making people look the other way."
"Ah well," the woman said, sounding kind and understanding, the first person in this town who had done. "This city's used to looking the other way. A holdover from the Nord occupation when it was safer to keep your head down, see nothing, say nothing and drink to forget. But don't you worry, sir. King Madanach's determined to put all that behind him, and I'm sure he wouldn't want a source of potent dark magic in the city. You're with the Vigil, aren't you?"
"I am," Tyranus confirmed, warming to the young woman already. "Tyranus is the name. And you are?"
"Eola," the young woman told him, and he was sure he'd heard that name somewhere, some story about a noted Forsworn warrior who'd distinguished herself in the uprising somehow. She did look like she could handle a few Daedra worshippers. "And this here is Cicero. He's my devoted companion."
"Hello!" Cicero giggled, swaying in time to music only he could hear, still that demented grin on his face. "Cicero is very pleased to meet you, kind Vigilant. Cicero doesn't get to talk to members of the Vigil very often, you know."
From the look of him, Tyranus suspected he wasn't allowed out on his own often enough to talk to strangers. Very nice of Eola to take her poor afflicted friend for a walk in the city but he'd probably be a liability when hunting Daedra.
"Well, there's not so many of us as there were," Tyranus said gruffly. "Eola, I was thinking of taking a look inside to see what's actually going on in this house. Did you want to come with me? I could do with someone to watch my back while I'm here. Daedra are tricky creatures. You never know what you're going to find."
"I'd be glad to!" Eola laughed, lips parting to reveal gleaming white teeth that looked ever so slightly pointed, but Tyranus was sure that was his imagination. "What do you think, Cicero, fancy chasing some Daedra?"
"Oh yes, sweetling!" Cicero giggled, nodding enthusiastically and bouncing up and down as if she'd just suggested a fun afternoon out. "Cicero would love to!"
Tyranus wasn't at all sure bringing a demented jester along would be any benefit at all, in fact the man would probably end up getting killed. Still, Eola clearly wasn't going in without him and Tyranus didn't want to go in alone. If she wanted to risk her friend's life, so be it. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and went in.
Eola followed Tyranus in, smirking to herself. That had been easy, too easy. People could be so trusting. It did make things so very simple.
Cicero was skipping along behind her, humming quietly to himself, apparently carefree and happy. Good, people often dismissed him as harmless or stupid when he was like this. It was usually their last mistake.
Tyranus had gone on ahead, noting the presence of fresh food and a relative lack of dust. Someone had definitely been here recently. Eola glanced about her. She'd have to agree about that. She wondered who it was. Someone skilled in Illusion magic maybe. It definitely wasn't anyone in either the Brotherhood or her own coven, and the ReachGuard all avoided the place too. So a stranger then, hiding out in the city. Much as she had been after the Draugr rose from their tombs at Reachcliff. She wondered which Daedra they worshipped. Another Namira worshipper perhaps? No, no, she'd have noticed if there was anyone else feeding on the dead in this city.
Cicero was busy going through the chests and cupboards, helping himself to a few bits of loot and humming to himself. Up until he went very quiet and next thing Eola knew, dark magic was crackling in the air and Cicero was tugging at her arm.
"Sister..." he whispered nervously, and that wasn't good, Cicero wasn't usually scared of anything. Slowly, she turned to see where he was pointing.
One of the cauldrons in the corner was hovering in mid-air, unearthly glow around it, and the broom was doing likewise. Before her very eyes, one of the chairs rose up from the ground, slowly rising and settling on to the table.
"Oh now that is not good," Eola whispered. Telekinesis could do that, but three large objects at once for more than a few seconds? Took skill, focus and magicka. Lots of magicka.
"There's something down here!" Tyranus shouted from the lower level. "Help me find it!"
"Come on," Eola said quietly, catching at Cicero's arm. "Let's stay with him – if it all goes Voidwards, we can throw him to the Daedra and buy time for us to run."
"We could run now and get out," Cicero muttered, but he followed her anyway. Eola was tempted to flee the house herself, but this was her father's capital now, not some Nord city for her to prey on. There was definitely something bad going on, and Madanach would want to know what it was. So she followed, Cicero behind her, both trying to ignore the various floating objects, the growing darkness in the room and the sound of something skittering in the walls.
Tyranus was downstairs, trying the cellar door.
"It won't open," he cried. "Here, see if you can try."
Eola pushed the door, even sent a bit of shock magic into it, but nothing happened and there didn't seem to be a lock to pick or even a handle. Cicero likewise tried, but nothing. Eola shrugged and turned to Tyranus.
"Sorry, nothing's happening. We should probably... Tyranus?" She saw where he was looking and realised he'd seen the floating domestic objects himself by this time.
"Stendarr's mercy, this is no ordinary Daedra! We need to get help!" he cried, running for the door. Oh gods, a hysterical Vigilant getting out into the city and shrieking at her father, that was all she needed.
"Wait!" she cried, chasing after him with Cicero. Then it happened.
"Weak... he's weak. You're strong! Crush him!"
Eola stopped dead, wondering if anyone else had heard that. Tyranus hadn't paused. Eola turned to Cicero, who had stopped in his tracks, looking around in awe.
"Did you hear that?" she whispered. Cicero nodded, grin curving across his face.
"It wants us to crush the Altmer Vigilant," Cicero whispered, looking a bit like a Daedra himself with that evil grin and his face shadowed. Eola shivered at the sight. By the Daedra, Cicero was a sexy, sexy man when he got like this. She stepped out of his way.
"Go on," she told him, feeling her mouth already start to water at the thought of Cicero's knives sinking into golden Altmer flesh. Cicero cackled and slipped past her, ebony dagger already clutched in his hand.
Tyranus had reached the entrance room already, shaking and hammering on the door.
"It won't open. Why won't it open?" he cried, hands at his head. "Dammit, Daedra, get out of my head!"
Clearly whatever entity had this house in its grip was speaking to him too. Maybe telling him to kill them? Eola didn't know, but if it was a kill or be killed situation... well, there was only ever going to be one outcome to that, and neither she nor Cicero were the type to waste time agonising over the decision.
Cicero had already crept up on Tyranus, dagger at the ready and delighted grin on his face. The Daedra's voice rang out again.
"Kill him! Crush him! Tear at his flesh! You will kill. You will kill or you will die!"
Eola bit back a whimper at the thought of tearing at the Altmer's flesh, and Cicero's mind was clearly working along similar lines. Eola watched, feeling arousal pooling in her loins as Cicero glided out of the shadows, dagger raised as his arm slid round Tyranus and the ebony knife sank into the Altmer's chest, blood spurting everywhere. A few more knife-thrusts and Tyranus was dead, sinking to the floor. Cicero stood there, gasping for breath and wiping the blood spatter from his face. He looked up, eyes meeting hers, faint smile quirking at his mouth and Eola heard a little keening noise escaping her lips. Cicero growled and then he'd covered the distance between them, pushing her back against the wall, dagger clattering forgotten to the floor as he claimed her lips, erection hard against her own loins as he writhed against her and Eola moaned into him, pulling him closer as she groped his backside.
"You're so sexy when you kill things," she whispered in his ear as he paused for breath. Cicero grinned back at her, dark eyes sparkling with delight.
"Cicero shall have to stab more things for you then, won't he sweetling?" He glanced up, recalling that they were still in a haunted house. "Do you think the Daedra is watching us? Should we stop or give him a show?"
While carrying on was very tempting and Namira knew Eola had never been uptight about that sort of thing even by Forsworn standards, Eola decided she should probably know what sort of entity they were actually dealing with before having rampant and passionate sex in its house. Then the voice rang out again.
"Yes. Yesss. Your reward is waiting for you, mortal. Further down."
"Reward!" Cicero gasped. "Sister, there's a reward!" He paused only to grab his dagger again before running back into the house's depths before Eola could stop him.
"Cicero, wait!" Eola cried. "You don't know what's down there!"
"Yes," the voice crooned as Cicero ran through the now open cellar doors. "Further down. Into the bowels."
Cicero was practically squealing as he ran on into the house, Eola chasing after him. Dear gods, did the man have no common sense at all? He was going to get himself killed!
Into the cellar, then a tunnel dug out behind some shelves, into Markarth's Dwemer ruins and then a cave containing an altar that looked familiar and then Eola realised which Daedra had claimed this house for their own.
"CICERO NO, GET OUT OF THERE!" she screamed as Cicero scampered up to the altar, reaching up for the spiked rusted mace sitting above it. As his fingers closed on the handle, spikes shot up from it, trapping him neatly in a cage.
"CICERO!" Eola cried, horrified. In the cage, Cicero had drawn his arm back and was now darting frantically about the interior, turning this way and that, scrabbling at the bars for a way out.
"Sister!" he wailed. "Sister, sister, heeeelp!"
"Cicero," Eola gasped, racing up to the cage and trying to shift the bars, but nothing happened. Cicero was trapped.
"Let him go!" Eola cried. "Please, let him go!" Cicero was also starting to panic, trying in vain to rattle the bars.
"LET ME OUT OF HERE!" he howled. "LET POOR CICERO OUT!"
"FOOL!" the Daedra laughed. "Did you think Molag Bal, the Lord of Domination, would so easily reward you?"
Cicero's eyes went very wide as he realised who'd trapped him. "That is not one of the nice ones, is it sister?" he whispered, looking even paler than usual.
"He's a Daedra, what were you expecting!" Eola snapped at him. Really, she knew Cicero was a bit simple but even so, he usually had a bit more sense than this! Cicero just whimpered, turning around and dropping to his knees.
"Please let poor Cicero out," he whined. "Cicero is a harmless little fool just minding his own business, and quite prepared to leave and forget he saw anything in here."
"We're good with the Daedra, we really are!" Eola added, looking hopefully at the altar. "Say, is there anything you need doing? Anyone needing sacrificing to you? We'll happily track them down and bring them here!"
Laughter and then Molag Bal was speaking again.
"Ah yes, I know you now. Namira's priestess and the Night Mother's Keeper. Yes, you'll do. You'll do perfectly. Tell me, foolish Cicero, what do you see from that little cage?"
Cicero glanced helplessly back at Eola, who just shrugged.
"Just answer him," she told him. Namira had never really been an enemy of Molag Bal, she'd just made sure to stay out of his way and not look like a threat. All Namira worshippers were adept at staying in the shadows, out of sight, and acting harmless and submissive when stronger individuals were around. Eola had the feeling Molag Bal regarded Namira as beneath his notice, and that was the way Namira liked it. She had no idea how he felt about the Night Mother, however.
"It's a mace, sir," Cicero whispered, curled up in a little ball on the floor of the cage. "All spiky and rusty."
"A mace," Molag Bal snarled. "Yes. My once mighty mace, once dripping with the blood of my enemies, now rusted and desecrated."
Cicero tutted, shaking his head. "That is awful, sir, very very bad indeed. Who did this to it? Who has ruined dear swee- er, sadistic and ruthless Molag Bal's lovely mace? Tell Cicero and he and pretty Eola shall happily go and stab them and eat them for you."
More laughter, and Eola got the impression he was actually pleased.
"Now that's what I like to hear. However, I don't want him dead. He's a priest of Boethiah, my rival in Oblivion. His name is Logrolf. He has been here, visiting my shrine, performing Boethiah's insulting rites here, desecrating my altar. He must be stopped, but as I said, I don't want him dead." He paused, and Cicero was looking up, tilting his head and looking very confused.
"Why wouldn't you want him dead?" Cicero asked, puzzled as to why someone wouldn't respond to an altar desecration by stabbing the miscreant.
"I want him humiliated," Molag Bal hissed, and Eola nodded in understanding, as did Cicero, who had started to grin. "I want him humbled, broken, forced into submission for me. When he next comes here, I want him punished."
Now Cicero was actually giggling, rubbing his hands in delight. "Ohhh. Punishment. Lord Molag Bal wishes to carry out the stabbing personally. Cicero understands. What does mighty and domineering Molag Bal need humble Cicero and sweet Eola to do?"
"He's been taken prisoner, taken into custody by one of your Matriarchs," Molag Bal growled, clearly annoyed by this. "Keirine at Hag's End has him. Go there. Rescue him. And when he comes back here to perform his rites again, we will be waiting."
Molag Bal's voice faded and the spikes of the cage retracted into the floor. Cicero sat up, looking around, blinking in the half light.
"Cicero," Eola gasped, shaking with relief that he was all right, neither of them had died or been hurt, thank Sithis and Namira. "Oh gods Cicero, are you all right?"
Cicero nodded, getting up and staggering over, clinging on to her, clearly a bit shaken by the whole experience. Eola led him away from the altar and held him tight, stroking his hair, just glad to have him in her arms again.
"And this," she whispered, "is why we do not go poking around strange altars when we don't know who they're dedicated to, do you understand me? Sithis, Cicero, that could have been the end of you!"
Cicero nodded silently, snuggling into her, nuzzling at her neck and dear gods, was he still horny? Apparently so if the erection nudging at her groin was anything to go by.
"Don't tell me," she murmured in his ear. "You've got a crush on Molag Bal."
Cicero nodded enthusiastically, nipping at her jawline.
"He has a very sexy voice, sister," Cicero breathed. "All deep and commanding. I bet he has a cock to match."
"It probably has spikes on the end and would rip you apart from the inside," Eola muttered and Cicero just moaned louder.
"Sister," he growled. "Do you think – do you think Molag Bal would be very angry if we had sex on his altar?"
"He's the King of Rape, having consensual sex on his altar would probably count as desecration, and it's been desecrated enough, don't you think?" Eola hissed. Then her hand slid lower to Cicero's arse, giving it a squeeze. "But there's a bed upstairs."
Cicero cackled, scooping her up in his arms and racing upstairs with her, not stopping until he'd reached the single bed and flung her down on it, one hand under her armour as he sliced her underwear off and rolled her legs back. Eola, still wet from having seen him stab that Vigilant earlier, just lay back, removing her torc and placing it to one side then smiling as he unfastened the laces at his groin and entered her in one stroke.
"Yessss," Cicero hissed as he slid inside her. "Oh yes, yes Eola, yes!"
In the darkness, half-crazed, horny and laughing as he moved inside her, Cicero looked like the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen and Eola remembered what she saw in him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, angling her hips so he could go deeper, moaning his name as he fucked her.
"You're a bad man," Eola breathed in his ear. Cicero laughed and growled, pinning her shoulders down, hair falling down around his face.
"I know, I know!" he giggled and then he'd pulled her to him, teeth sinking into her shoulder as he thrusted inside her and Eola cried out, holding on to him for all she was worth. Her eyes flicked open, glancing to her left where a trickle of blood from Tyranus' body was still visible and that reminded her Cicero had just stabbed a man in front of her not half an hour ago. Eola closed her eyes, reliving the moment when Cicero's dagger had claimed the Vigilant's life, moaning Cicero's name as orgasm found her and she came, crying out a litany of gods and yes and Cicero, yes. He came not long after, collapsing in her arms and lying there, unmoving.
For a while neither of them spoke, just lying there on a bed that belonged to neither, with a Daedric altar in the cellar and a body in the next room. Then Cicero started giggling and rolled over, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
"There are not many women who would watch Cicero stab someone and then enter into a pact with Molag Bal, and respond with arousal," Cicero gasped, grinning at her. Eola stroked his face, feeling content – mostly.
"There's not many men who'd find out about Lady Namira and respond by finding meat for me," she told him. "Speaking of which..." She nodded meaningfully in the direction of Tyranus' corpse and Cicero glanced over and giggled.
"Oh! Oh yes. Of course. Do not worry, my lovely. Cicero shall feed you." Tucking himself back in to his trousers and lacing up, Cicero retrieved his knife and ran off to start butchering Tyranus, some to eat now and some for Eola to cast frost runes on and smuggle out to Hogni for the rest of the coven. No sense wasting a kill like this one.
Eola retrieved her torc and headdress, tidying herself up before heading out to join Cicero and mentally composing a report for her father, something to both cover Tyranus' absence and explain why she felt the urgent need to go visit Auntie Keirine in a hurry. Doable, very doable – her father was by this point quite used to not inquiring too deeply into her affairs and more than willing to take anything she said at face value as long as there was no actual evidence. But before that... time to feast.