"Stupid lizard!" he cursed through puffs of air as he ran, the snow crunching underneath his jester boots. "I almost had her if only that stupid lizard didn't get in Cicero's way!"
He heard an unnatural howl in the distance behind him and instantly knew the strumpet's mutt was chasing him. "First a lizard and now a sheepdog?" he laughed a little too hard and almost lost his footing, his foolishness only fueled his laughter. "Just a little bit farther Cicero old boy!" he told himself fighting back the giggles bubbling up in his chest. He hadn't chased or been chased in so long he could hardly contain himself.
He could see the entrance to the town of Dawnstar and thought about just cutting through the houses to get to the sanctuary faster but knew the sight of a near hysterical jester being hunted down by a werewolf would draw some unwanted attention to the brotherhoods abandoned hideout. Although it would be undoubtedly an amusing sight to behold he choose instead to go undetected. He was Mother's sweet Cicero after all. "You wouldn't like that now would you Mother?" he sighed as he neared the Dark Brotherhoods abandoned sanctuary. Even though Mother wasn't anywhere near him he knew she could still hear him and talking to her always calmed his nerves.
He pulled his jester glove off his right hand and laid it flat on the engraved sanctuary door. "Brrrr chilly," he mumbled and waited for the door to speak.
"What is life's greatest illusion?" the door asked.
If it wasn't for a hairy mutt on his heels Cicero would have joked with the door but decided he needed to gain access straight away.
"In-" before he could finish the phrase he heard the snow behind him crunch down under someone's weight and barely had enough time to dodge a pair of hairy clawed hands. Cicero rolled to the side away from the man beast, unsheathing his ebony dagger in the process. A tiny giggle escaping him. "Look! Look Cicero has a shiny sharp stick for you to fetch Arnbjorn!" He waved his dagger around in front of him and laughed. "Let's play."
"I've been waiting for this moment clown. You're dead," Arnbjorn growled. His muzzle curling up revealing hideously sharp canines.
He was such an ugly person to begin with, transforming into a sheepdog could only do so much for a man. Cicero made himself laugh and as if sensing his insulting thoughts Arnbjorn rushed at the jester with his claws.
Werewolves were strong he knew that but Cicero also knew that because of the brute strength they received through transformation that they were also incredibly slow. He dodged Arnbjorns swings one after another. He never understood why people allowed themselves to turn into such ugly beasts. The power given was only temporary and they were always hunted down once the town's people would find out. There was always a contract the Dark Brotherhood would receive dealing with a suspected werewolf or vampire.
"Stand still little man!" Arnbjorn roared.
"Where's the fun in that?" Cicero laughed. "And they call Cicero crazy."
The two of them circled each other taking swipes at one another when the opportunity provided itself. Cicero was growing annoyed, he needed to get inside the sanctuary before that strumpet Astrid sent more brothers and sisters to end his life. He could defend himself within the sanctuary but out here in the open? No. His blade had been sheathed far too long, he was rusty. Back when he was completing contracts he could finish off a werewolf with two stabs of his dagger but now. Now he was dancing around with a stupid sheepdog…
There! He had an opening and lunged forward. His blade piercing Arnbjorns side making him howl in pain and anger.
Cicero laughed menacingly but his joy was short lived when he realized his blade was stuck in the damned beast. Before he could let go he was hit backwards off his feet and into the air. He landed hard a few feet away, dagger still in hand. Arnbjorn was limping slowly towards him, holding his bloody side. Quickly Cicero got to his feet and sprinted for the sanctuary door. Dodging another swing from the injured werewolf. He murmured the password and the door opened for him. He could hear Arnbjorns steps quickening and a loud thud hit against the door as it closed behind him.
Cicero was breathing so hard he almost choked on his own laughter. He leaned against the door to catch his breath, "I made it Mother." His smile turned into a frown and he winced as his body began to relax. "But . . . Not completely unscathed," he hissed as he clutched his side. He could feel the warmth of his own blood on his hand growing cold as it dripped down onto his jester suit.
"Damn sheepdog," Cicero muttered to himself applying ample pressure to his bleeding wound and began making his way through the sanctuary trying desperately not to think about how much blood he was losing. He doubted the sheepdog would try clawing his way through the door to get at him again but just in case he was wrong he wiped his bloody hand every once in a while on a part of the sanctuary wall.
He had read about this place while transporting Mother to the only operating sanctuary left in Skyrim. This place had been abandoned for nearly a hundred years and he was fascinated with exploring the types of traps used to defend the building back when it was being used. He told Mother about it but knew of course that she already knew far more than what he had just learned about back then.
"Your Keeper is calling for aid brothers and sisters," he ranted. "The Night Mothers ways are being tainted. In the name of Sithis defend the old ways from the corruption of the new."
There was a shift in the air and guardians of the past began to emerge from every part of the sanctuary. Their ghostly blue transparent forms taking on a more solid appearance as time passed. Cicero smiled widely at the opportunity to summon the Dark Brotherhoods guardians, if only they had put more thought into such a defense at Cheydinhals sanctuary. They could have survived and he wouldn't have been left alone. It just showed how much they were slipping from the old ways even when the Night Mother had a listener back then.
Had this all been a test of loyalty? To weave out the weak from the strong?
Cicero's mind was snapped back to reality when he heard the door to the sanctuary begin to slid open. "Stubborn sheepdog!" he muttered and made his way down towards the end of the sanctuary. Carefully activating traps along the way and only turned back around when he heard the clinking of metal against metal. It wasn't the fight that made him turn back to watch but the feminine battle cry that was mixed into it. It wasn't the sheepdog and even though he knew who it was he still hoped it was someone other than the listener.
"Listener! Is that you?" he watched her head perk up and her grey eyes dart around the room in search of him. "I knew you would come. Send the best to defeat the best," he joked. "Astrid knew her stupid wolf couldn't slay sly Cicero," he grunted the last part out as he pushed himself further into the sanctuary. He had to admit he was tired, so tired his head was beginning to ache as much as his side was. He didn't have to look to know he was still bleeding, if he didn't down a potion of healing soon he knew his time was going to come to a hazy end.
He should be afraid but he wasn't. He wasn't afraid to join his brethren in death, actually he was looking forward to it. To die in Mothers honor was what he lived for after all, why he was chosen as her Keeper. Finding another listener was just a bonus, a personal promise he had made to mother long ago when the last one perished in a blaze of fire. He did although regret stabbing Veezara, they were similar in their loyalty. He admired that in the Argonian. Too bad Veezara's loyalty was tied to that retched woman Astrid instead of where it belonged. To the Night Mother.
"All right! So Cicero attacked that harlot Astrid," he began. He needed to tell the listener. If she listened to Astrid then the Dark Brotherhood would be no more. They would become nothing more than hired swords who crept in the night. "But what's a fool to do when his Mother's slandered and mocked!? Surely the listener understands. If it's any comfort, I do feel slightly bad about Veezara. Stupid lizard got in my way," He laughed. He shouldn't have but he couldn't help it. Everything was spinning and he felt drunk. "But please tell me that hulking sheepdog bled to death!"
Of course there was no answer and that made him quite nervous, she had always been kind to him. Sought him out while everyone else went out of their way to avoid him. That was odd even to him and not many things made Cicero deem them odd but she was. She always tried to get his advice on whatever contract she was assigned even though he told her plenty of times that he hadn't a clue. His blade had been sheathed for fifteen years once he was chosen as Mothers Keeper. Not to mention he was new to Skyrim himself, he had explored DawnStar when he first arrived but nowhere else.
At first he was appalled that she didn't know much of the history behind the Dark Brotherhood, a little of their matron the Night Mother but little of everything else. Of Sithis, of the void. Where he wondered did she think her kills went? He tried his best to explain their traditions. Told her stories that had been passed down to him when he first joined. It made him laugh really, he never thought he'd survive to be as old as he was now. So many in the Dark Brotherhood either died during their contracts or were captured and killed not long after joining, only the skilled survived.
"Oh how time passes!" he laughed and pushed open the last door at the end of the sanctuary. There was nowhere left to run now, he laid on the stone floor carefully so that the hilt of his ebony dagger was still accessible. If he could get her only a foot away he had a chance. He could certainly kill her if she was that close. . . But did he truly want to?
For years his blade yearned to bathe in blood once more. For years he wanted to watch the life once again fade from someone's eyes but did he want that someone to be the Listener?
He could hear her fighting the guardians still and she was getting closer.
"You're still alive? Cicero respects the Listeners abilities of course but could you at least slow down a bit? I'm not what I use to be," he snorted. He was hoping the guardians would have taken care of her so he wouldn't have to.
"Oh this isn't what Mother would want. You kill the Keeper or I kill the Listener! Now that's madness," he groaned. You need her more than poor old Cicero right mother?
The door in front of him opened and the Listener stepped calmly into the room. Her ebony sword drawn and ready to kill.
He wanted to feel mad, betrayed like he had before when she came tumbling out of Mothers tomb but he couldn't hold this against her because he knew. Oh yes! He knew. They all whispered and laughed at the fool that was Cicero but he knew. Mother may not have chosen him as Listener but that never stopped him from listening to them all. It took all he had to just listen to that harlot Astrid spread her filth throughout what was left of the Dark Brotherhood. Weakening them and It was no surprise to see she had ordered the Listener to end his life for her. Astrid's leadership was threatened when he and the Night Mother first arrived, even more so when the Listener was chosen. If he killed the Listener now then Astrid wouldn't stop chasing him until he too was dead.
Maybe if he could convince the Listener then they would have a chance. "Well," he began. "You caught me. Cicero has no fight left."
She neither moved nor spoke and he laughed nervously. Maybe this would be harder than he thought.
"Oh! You prefer to listen ey? Of course, of course! The Listener listens. A joke, a funny joke!" he laughed until his wound on his side began to ache. "I get it." He needed to be serious now, "Then listen to this. Don't kill me, let poor Cicero live. I attacked that strumpet Astrid I did and I'd do it again! Anything for our Mother. Return to the pretender, tell her I'm dead. Tell her you strangled me with my own intestines." The very thought made him laugh, "but lie. Lie and let me live."
The Listener emerged from the sanctuary with her sword sheathed but her hands bloody. Slowly she made her way to Frost, her trusty steed. A handsome Palomino Clydesdale she had swindled during her first job in Riften. She lifted her pale hand to pet his mane but froze remembering the blood covering her hands.
The image of Cicero's smile flashed in her mind.
She knelt to the floor and scooped a handful of snow up from off the ground. Thoroughly using it to clean her hands and afterwards she quickly mounted her horse. Only glancing back at the sanctuary door for a moment wondering if she had made the right choice.
Either way his smile would haunt her.