Cicero hit the ground with a sickening thud following the loud crack of being slapped by Elaninde, the High Elf Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. Elaninde stood proudly over the prone figure of the Keeper, her expression disdainful and disapproving, but not quite a full frown or scowl. Elaninde never allowed such gross expressions to mar her exquisite features—and no Altmer ever presented anything but their best face in front of others.
"Cicero, my darling Keeper, do you wish to explain what this is?" the Listener said softly. She held a finely cut dress in one hand that used to be white but was now obviously slightly pink. Her manicured fingers ran over the cloth accusingly before throwing it in Cicero's face.
Behind Elaninde and to her right Arnbjorn stood smiling wolfishly. Ever since Elaninde saved the werewolf's life during the burning of Falkreath Sanctuary, he had become even more of a sheepdog to her than he ever had to Astrid, his dead wife. The Nord looked like he would burst into barking laughter any moment and if he had a tail he would no doubt be wagging it as he watched the Listener berate Cicero. Arnbjorn had hated the jester since had laid eyes on the man and he reveled any time Elaninde punished him which seemed to be quite frequent since coming to Dawnstar Sanctuary.
Cicero slowly pulled the dress off his face before slowly sitting up. A trickle of blood ran down his lip where Elaninde had struck him, but he didn't bother to wipe it away. Cicero made a show of looking critically at the dress, examining every inch of the thick material, before stating, "Why, it is a dress, my dear Listener! Lovely Elaninde's dress, no doubt!" He laughed as he impishly looked at Elaninde's face which was sliding dangerously to a frown.
Behind him, Cicero could hear someone gasp at his arrogant tone. No doubt the initiates were taking in this display. After all, Elaninde had struck him down in front of the Night Mother's coffin as Cicero was attending to his Keeping duties. Positioned near the front entrance, the sarcophagus was in view of heavy traffic of initiates coming in and out of Sanctuary.
"I know it's my dress!" Elaninde barked loudly as she kicked Cicero's wrist hard enough to make it go numb. Cicero allowed the dress to fall from his grasp, but he didn't cry out in pain. He glared defiantly making his own anger evident, but he refused to cry out which only maddened Elaninde further. "It was white and now it is this garish stained pink and I wish to know why."
"Hmm, very interesting question," Cicero murmured as he placed his good hand under his chin in false contemplation. The other wrist throbbed dully, but at least nothing felt broken. "Maybe silly Cicero accidentally put the Listener's dress in with his own laundry when he was cleaning. Oh yes, that was it! Industrious Cicero was saving time by doing two people's laundry at once and Cicero's motley colored Elaninde's dress. Oops," Cicero said before bursting into self-deprecating laughter.
"You fool!" Elaninde screamed her voice as shrill as a fox's. She made as if to hit Cicero further, but paused to glance at the Night Mother. Suddenly her demeanor was calm and collected as she ran her hands down her side, smoothing her clothes. "I'll simply have to go to Solitude and buy more clothes to replace the ones you ruined. In the meantime, you are banished to your room as punishment. You will remain there until I return." The Altmer flipped her blood red hair over one shoulder disdainfully as she turned to leave.
"But Cicero has his Keeping duties!" Cicero protested. He crawled on his knees to Elaninde and prostrated himself before her. "Please, Cicero must attend Mother!" The Keeper mentally raged at the indignities he'd had to suffer at the hands of this elf since the Listener was the only member of the Brotherhood who had authority above his. But Mother was everything, and he would do whatever it took to protect her—even if it meant demeaning himself before the rest of his family. Cicero rained kisses on Elaninde's feet wishing they were vicious bites instead.
"Oh, very well," Elaninde conceded. She smiled viciously at getting what she wanted, making Cicero beg. "I'll allow you one hour a day to attend to Mother while I'm gone. That should be more than enough time for you." She turned smartly and walked away, barely missing kicking Cicero in the face as she left, but only because he had dodged at the last minute. Arnbjorn followed like a pup on her heels, his eyes sparkling in amusement.
"You should have let me beat him for you," Arnbjorn offered.
"Next time," Elaninde said. They knew there would be a next time too. Elaninde keep piling ridiculous chores on Cicero despite knowing he would intentionally foul them up because it amused her to humiliate the Keeper who would never retaliate. He Kept the Tenets always which had caused the rift between Listener and Keeper.
When Elaninde had decided she wanted Arnbjorn for her own, despite the fact he was already married to Astrid, she had proceeded to claim him because she felt it was her right as a superior race. Cicero had warned her to stop as she was breaking the Fourth Tenet: Never steal from a brother or sister. Maybe he had been too specific in that Elaninde was betraying the vow between Arnbjorn and Astrid, but the spirit had remained. Elaninde had ignored Cicero's counsel and he told her in no uncertain terms that he would alert Astrid of what was going on behind her back. Elaninde had merely laughed forcing Cicero to take action.
Astrid's devastation at the betrayal had led her to make her foolish deal with Commander Maro, which in turn had led to the destruction of Falkreath Sanctuary. With their home in ruins, Elaninde had led the survivors to Dawnstar after discovering its existence from Cicero.
As the Listener and her hound walked away, Cicero stayed on his hands and knees struggling to force his face to go from deadly frown to foolish laughter. He tried a few chuckles until they sounded natural enough to himself before standing. The jester smiled broadly at his siblings who were still standing around gawking. He laughed and danced a jig among them before bounding down the hall to the floor below where the bedrooms were.
None of the siblings would look at Cicero as he passed. All of them were too ashamed and most wore their cowl masks to hide their faces. Only one brother, an older Dunmer wearing robes of Mara, met Cicero's gaze. For one brief second, Cicero thought that seemed off for an assassin to be dressed as a follower of Mara, but the moment passed and Cicero forgot he had even noticed the dark elf.
As soon as he was out of sight of the rest, Cicero stopped his act and slumped against the cold stone wall. He clenched his fist and slammed it into the wall, wincing from the pain. He slowly continued his path to his room. Elaninde had said he had to go, but she had neglected to mention how quickly. Unfortunately, no matter how slowly Cicero walked, he was at the door of his room within moments.
The Keeper pushed the door open, entered, and then locked it behind him. No candles were lit and none would be. Elaninde had established early on that Cicero was to have no light and he could not leave until she gave permission. Even leaving to use the privy was not allowed which had caused severe discomfort and an unsavory mess the first time, but Cicero had quickly made sure to keep a chamber pot in his room afterwards.
Elaninde had originally not even allowed Cicero to leave his room to attend the Night Mother, but those times had been for overnight or two or three days at the most. No doubt she planned on making her trip to Solitude last and would be gone closer to a week, which was why she had granted Cicero permission to leave his room for an hour to attend to the Night Mother. That would be pushing the Keeper's limits of obedience, for his loyalty was to the Night Mother first and always. They both knew the only thing keeping Cicero locked away in solitude in his room was Cicero.
"Why do we stay here, brother?" the Jester whispered in his mind. "Why do we allow that bitch to punish us for not being her scullery maid instead of the Keeper? We could leave at any moment."
"She is this Listener," the Keeper responded. "She bears Sithis' favor and we must obey. The Tenets…"
"Damn the Tenets!" the Jester rallied. "Looks where they have gotten us!"
"Never question the Tenets, my friend," the Keeper hissed, outraged at his other half's audacity. "We are nothing without the Tenets."
Cicero lay on his bed with his arms crossed behind his head and his feet crossed at the ankles. He flinched at the war in his head, both sides wanting opposite things in the first time ever. The Jester wanted to rebel and make the Listener suffer for her arrogance, while the Keeper merely wished to serve and obey. The Assassin had long ago curled up and gone to sleep, probably to never be heard from again.
Terror was building in his chest. The memories of long years of loneliness and darkness were crowding in his mind again, mewling to be released, its bitter flavor tasted once again. Cicero tried to push the fear and pain away, but it was impossible. At least before he had Mother, but now there was only Cicero in the dark, alone, alone, alone.
Gods, this was why Elaninde delighted in this punishment. Cicero suspected she was trying to break him, but why he still was not certain. Amusement, maybe? Plain cruelty? Revenge for telling Astrid? Cicero served faithfully and still Elaninde found every reason to banish him to be alone in the dark.
The cruel irony was almost too much. Cicero had suffered in Cheydinhal because there had been no one else. Now he was surrounded by family again and still he was alone, forever alone. Tears, screams, sobs threatened to burst out of his chest and fill the room. Anything to kill the silence. But Cicero wouldn't allow that; he would never allow that. Instead, he forced himself to chuckle, to laugh, to keep away the terrible, maddening silence and darkness. A part of him knew the others must pass by and hear the desperate laughter, but it was acceptable that they wonder at that instead of pitying him for his screams.
Maybe he would go completely mad again. Lose the years like he did before when he had been reborn. He could float in the Void lost, lost, lost and he wouldn't care as long as he took care of Mother. There was a certain joy in that thought.
Hours passed with Cicero lying on his bed laughing, laughing, laughing. Evening passed into night which passed into the quiet hours between midnight and morning when only assassins walked Tamriel. A soft scratching at the door grabbed his attention immediately. "Who's there?" Cicero barked. He jumped to his feet immediately reaching for his dagger.
"A sister," came the soft reply. A pause. "Why were you locked away this time?"
"Don't you know?" Cicero said bitterly. "Everyone was there to see how poorly Cicero does laundry." He walked over to the door and knelt before it.
"I was out."
"Why are you here now?" Cicero asked suspiciously. The Listener had never explicitly said he was not to talk to anyone, but that had been implied with his banishment.
"I wanted to check on you," she said. The sister's voice was low and pleasant, almost hesitant in a virginal way. "I heard you laughing and it worried me. I hate how she treats you."
"Are you real?" Cicero blurted out. He hit himself on the side of the head for his foolishness.
"Last time I checked," she laughed softly. Cicero would easily imagine this sister daintily putting her hand in front of her mouth as she laughed. He smiled at the image.
"What's your name?" Cicero asked feeling shy.
There was a pause for the longest time and Cicero wondered if she had left. Then he heard the creak of the wood as the sister leaned against the door. They were only inches apart, but still worlds away. "I shouldn't tell you. What if she found out I had talked to you? She might get angry. I don't want her to punish you because of me."
"Fear not, Cicero will be punished because of Cicero," he laughed. "Please tell me your name so I know you're real and not my imagination."
"I cannot. She scares me. I'm not scared of anything and she terrifies me," the sister said. "I'm sorry."
Cicero could hear her stand and begin to leave. "Please come back?" he asked, feeling that he was hoping for too much.
Once again the long, terrible silence. "Okay, tomorrow night around the same time." Then soft pads as she walked away.
Cicero leaned against the door, a huge goofy grin on his face. He laughed, but this time it was of joy. A friend! A sister to help push away the silence. A secret just for Cicero!
"A friend like I was so long ago, brother?" the Jester asked cruelly.
"She said she was real!" Cicero protested.
"Just like me!" There should have been laughter to taunt poor Cicero, but there was only silence now because he had become the Laughter years ago and could no longer hear it. Cicero pressed his hands against his ears to block out the quiet and curled up on his side to wait the long hours until daylight when he could be by his Mother's side if only for a short time.
The days passed slowly and without much change. Cicero would wait in his room until he could spend one miserly hour with his Mother. Time that flew much too quickly. Then he would return to the darkness of his room to wait for the sister to arrive in the dead of night and speak a few minutes with him.
Every night he would ask her name and every night she refused. Cicero was getting more and more frantic with needing to know.
"Just make up a name and we'll pretend that it is mine," she offered one night. Cicero thought it was the fifth night he had been locked in his room, but he wasn't sure. He had developed a fine sense of time after living below ground in Cheydinhal, but the days still slipped by unaccounted.
"That's no good," Cicero scolded. He pressed harder against the door hoping if he got close enough somehow he would know anything or everything there was about this sister who visited him when no one else dared look at him. "Cicero's mind could be making it up. You must tell him something he wouldn't know on his own." He waited for her reply. She was always so hesitant to commit to anything he asked.
"Open the door," she suggested. "You could see me."
"Cicero cannot. It is not allowed," he replied cursing himself for his obedience. So many problems could be solved if he just opened the damn door. If only if he could forsake the Old Ways and abandon everything he had sacrificed for time and time again.
"Step back." Cicero moved away, but he could still hear the soft rattle of a lock being picked. The door swung open and Cicero would make out a feminine silhouette slip into the room before the door closed swiftly behind. Soft lips pressed against his ear and warm breath brushed against his hair as the sister whispered, "Is that better?"
"Oh yes," Cicero sighed giddy with relief. "Much, much better." He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled the sister tight. She squeaked from the pressure, but Cicero didn't let up. He was enjoying how soft she felt under her leathers and how pleasantly she smelled.
"I should go," she whispered, "I've stayed too long."
"Too soon," Cicero said.
"I'm sorry," the sister said before she wiggled loose. The door opened to the dark hallway and only her shadow could be seen before she was gone.
"She still could be our imagination," the Jester suggested.
"We felt her, smelled her, we even saw her," Cicero protested.
"Maybe we thought we did," the Jester countered. "She still doesn't have a name or a face. We easily could have recalled what a woman felt like from before. You do remember what a warm and willing woman felt like, don't you dear brother?"
"Are we planning on stabbing someone?" the Assassin asked sleepily.
"No! Go back to sleep. There's no killing here," the Jester scowled. "We never kill any more, remember? It's not allooooowed."
"Okay," the Assassin yawned before rolling back over in his rest.
"What does any of this have to do with Mother?" the Keeper growled. "We are worrying about some sibling who may or may not be real because the Fool wishes to obsess about it instead of just accepting her as a fact."
"We've never had a female in our midst," the Jester mused. "Maybe our brother is having an identity crisis. Maybe he secretly wants to be a woman and created this sister."
"Shut up," Cicero snapped. "I'm sick of your mouth."
The constant loneliness and darkness were getting to Cicero. It was blinding to go out for his hour to take care of Mother. He felt like a mole poking its head up to the sun when walking the dim candlelit halls of Sanctuary. Thankfully, he had learned his duties by heart years ago and didn't need much light to do his job.
Elaninde had to be back soon. It had been six or maybe seven days since she had left for her shopping spree in Solitude. No doubt she was having the time of her life shopping at the Radiant Raiment having Taarie and Endarie fuss over her.
Cicero wished he could pass the time by sleeping, but he never could sleep well especially when it was so damn quiet. Back in Cheydinhal he passed the time with dozens of different projects – writing in his journal, writing songs, making new dances, painting, sewing, cleaning, but all of those needed light and that had been denied to him. It was even harder to try to rest with the voices in his head arguing. The Jester was being particularly obnoxious.
Cicero was so wound up that he almost fell out of his bed when the scratching on the door signaled the sister's return. Before he could call out, the door opened and a slim figure slipped into the room. Soft footsteps scurried across the floor and a weight settled next to Cicero on the mattress.
"I'm back," she whispered against his ear. Cicero could feel the cloth of her cowl instead of her lips tonight. He had to suppress a groan as she pressed the length of her body against his. It had been a long time since Cicero had been with anyone and this sister was so warm and soft.
Even in the dark, Cicero would tell the sister was about the same height as he. Her form was over all slim, but her hips were wider than one would expect. Cicero pulled away her cowl to feel long hair braided into a crown that circled her head. He quickly pulled off his gloves so he could run his fingers over her face.
"What are you doing?" she whispered amused.
"Trying to see your face with my hands," Cicero chuckled.
"Oh," she said quietly.
They both turned at the same time causing their lips to brush together. Cicero felt like he had been hit with a lightning spell from the jolt that ran through his body from that simple contact. He instinctively pressed harder against her enjoying the taste of her lips. There was a hint of snowberries that she must have eaten earlier. Cicero thought she would pull away and was pleasantly surprised when she didn't. Instead she leaned into the kiss and even nipped his lower lip playfully.
"This is new and interesting," the Jester mused.
"Shut up," Cicero thought back. "I'm busy."
When they pulled apart, Cicero sighed happily. He rarely made physical contact with anyone and had almost forgotten what it felt like. He used to pamper and oil the Listener before she had turned cold to him and before that there had only been Mother.
"Hecate," she whispered. "My name is Hecate."
"Hecate," Cicero repeated. He giggled at how right that name felt. He leaned forward to kiss Hecate again when the door to his room flew open.
Bright light flooded the room as several balls of magelight erupted into being. Cicero cried out from the sudden change. His eyes watered from the piercing light.
"What do we have here?" Elaninde purred evilly as she entered the room. Her blood red hair flowed down her back over the new expensive clothes she was wearing. "It looks like the Keeper is being naughty and while on punishment. Arnbjorn, my dear, I do believe I made a promise to you last time regarding Cicero's discipline."
"You did," Arnbjorn growled. The large Nord threw himself towards the couple on the bed. They managed to scramble away before his huge body slammed into the frame causing it to crack. Cicero didn't try to retreat and Arnbjorn grabbed the much smaller Imperial by the neck.
Within seconds, Cicero saw stars as his vision darkened. He hoped if he passed out Arnbjorn would release him. It would be more inconvenient for Elaninde to have to try to train a new Keeper, right? Cicero had survived by appearing weak and helpless in the past, but Arnbjorn had a personal grudge against him and had ignored the Tenets for years making it all too possible for him to kill the Keeper now.
"Leave him alone!" Hecate screamed. She slammed her fists into Arnbjorn's side. One particularly wild swing slammed into the Nord's face causing him to howl in anger.
Arnbjorn casually threw Cicero to the side as he turned towards the other Imperial. There was no fear in Hecate's eyes as he advanced, even after Arnbjorn began his terrible werewolf transformation. Skin and nail were rent into fur and fang with sickening tearing, but Hecate did not flee or beg. She kept her brawler's stance and backed away slowly.
Elaninde's cruel laughter filled the room as Hecate backed away from the raging werewolf. Cicero was still sprawled on the ground trying to recover from Arnbjorn choking him. There was stars and darkness clouding his vision, but he clearly saw Arnbjorn, Hecate, Elaninde and the older Dunmer from many days ago still wearing his monk robes and Amulet of Mara. Elaninde paid the Dunmer no mind as she grabbed Hecate by her hair.
"Who do we have here?" the Listener asked amused. She pulled the mass of hair hard enough that it loosed into a braid that fell down Hecate's back. "A harlot for the Keeper? I thought he didn't care for such company."
Arnbjorn was in full werewolf mode and did not hesitate when Hecate was distracted by the Listener. He lunged forward and sunk his long, jagged fangs into her side. Hecate screamed in pain as blood gushed out of her side. Surely Arnbjorn had hit an artery for there to be so much blood. Hecate slumped to her knees. Her face was already too pale for Cicero's comfort.
"You always did seem happier to have a corpse to keep you company," Elaninde laughed. Arnbjorn howled his own form of laughter to join hers. "Why don't you stay here for three more days and get to know your friend a bit better? My gift to you, Keeper."
Hecate was in Cicero's arms even though he had not moved. He looked down at her face and saw the light fading from her eyes. A small trail of blood streaked down one side of her lips. She was quite dead despite the warm sticky blood pouring from her body. Cicero looked up at the Dunmer who was still quietly standing in the room. The Dark Elf's expression was one of sorrow even in the fading magelight.
"This is a nightmare!" Cicero screamed. "This is nightmare!"
Erandur looked down at the two Imperials who had ventured into Nightcaller Temple with him to try to help remove the influence of Vaermina, Daedric Lord of Nightmares. One was a young woman who looked in her twenties wearing leathers while the other was an older man in his fifties with red and silver hair wearing a jester's motley. He had been hesitant to bring them, but they had been very insistent on helping and no one else in Dawnstar seemed willing to try. They were prone on the ground and unconscious. Occasionally they twitched or whimpered reacting to some horrific scene in their minds.
"Your friends are surely doomed," Vaermina taunted. "There is no way they can resist my visions."
Erandur struggled against the psychic bonds Vaermina used to keep him hostage and forced him to watch his companions slowly die from the Daedric lord's psychological torture. She would take her time with them enjoying their suffering and making it last as long as their minds would hold. When she wearied or they could no longer find strength to resist, the two would die.
"I have faith in Mara that they will succeed," Erandur spat. "I will pray to my goddess and give my strength where I can."
"Your sad goddess has no power here," Vaermina said, "and I doubt she would want to help these two. Don't you know who your companions are?"
"No," Erandur admitted. "I only know they offered to help when no one else would."
"Fitting," Vaermina chuckled. "It's a shame I won't be able to claim them for the Quagmire, but their deaths will amuse me. You have thoughtfully brought me the Listener and Keeper of the Dark Brotherhood, Erandur, and their souls belong to Sithis when they die. Until that time, their misery will bring me great power. Excellent work, my old servant, excellent work indeed."