A/N: BIG. BIG. BIG. DISCLAIMER.
The Cicero I have employed in order to tell this story is in no way true to canon. Canon Cicero is mean, sly and downright gross tbh. In fact he has very few redeeming features at all (if any) but I love him all the same. However- my skill lies in writing tragedy and I know most people enjoy seeing him as 'the victim' (~when he's totally not~) and so I've combined those points to make this fic. I enjoy this perspective of Cicero so much- but it's not him as he truly is.
I hope you enjoy my fractured version of Cicero regardless! Thank you for reading!

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I watch him quietly, a small smile playing on my lips against the cloth of my facemask. I suppose it'd be more polite to remove my hood now that I'm reclining by the fire inside Dawnstar's homely Inn but I'd rather avoid having my unnaturally large canines exposed should I fall drunk. I laugh quietly to myself; unnaturally large indeed!

There he goes, scribbling, pausing, scribbling again, a swig from his tankard and a cautionary glance towards the door. Is he waiting for someone? Is he hiding? The nervous glances he continually throws towards the heavy wooden door suggest the latter. I smile wider and cross my legs, weighing my options. I should approach him. Perhaps a charming lass such as myself would help lighten his mood. I doubt that very much in all honesty but I see no harm in trying.
Shakily, admittedly tipsy, I stand and walk around the roaring fire pit, the rowdy sounds of the Inn occupants long ago faded from my realm of narrowed attention. For just over an hour this silent gentleman has been the target of my every sense. Perhaps it's just me but against the raucous folks surrounding us he seems to stand out a great amount.

"Is this seat taken?" The man jumps and I note how the pointed, dangling tips of his cap sway with his dramatic motion. The almost fearful expression on his face is gone immediately when he sees me despite my rather intimidating attire.
"Oh, no, no- not at all!" I wasn't expecting a voice that shrill to belong to someone with such sharp features. Not that he could see, I grin and take a seat on the bench next to him, my eyes watching his small notebook keenly. I catch a few words off the opened page, my eyes having trouble focusing and he briskly shuts it before I can make any sense of it. He eyes me with obvious interest and I extend a gloved hand towards him.
"The name's Sachi! Pleasure to meet you!" His eyes widen and his mouth opens into the widest smile I've ever seen. I can hardly believe he appeared completely mortified only seconds before now.
"Oh, Sachi! A lovely name to suit a lovely voice! How can Cicero help the friendly stranger?" He graciously takes my extended hand with both of his and shakes with all the vigor you could expect from someone wearing a motley. I laugh at his compliment and decide to remove my hood. My face mask remains but at least now he'll be able to make eye contact with me. Definitely both a pro and a con of Nightingale armor.
"Cicero." I repeat his name and each syllable rolls off my tongue easily, as if I've spoken it a thousand times before. "You can help me by finishing this mead." I thrust my tankard at him and he takes it, bemused. When he doesn't drink it but instead puts it down on the table I pout and fold my arms.
"You know, it's rude to not accept such a generous offer, that cost me 5 whole septims." I laugh then; 5 septims is nothing to someone like me. I have well over 40 thousand just sitting at home in the Thieve's Guild Cistern. I'm still laughing when I look up to see Cicero laughing as well, not even slightly put out by my peculiar behavior. Interesting!
I look to his waist and find a thin belt adorned with buckles and apothecary satchels and- oh my! A dagger! A dagger indeed! Finely sharpened, expertly crafted and no doubt the taker of many a life-

I stop myself, my mind tends to wander. I continue snickering and drive my mind somewhere new, somewhere safer.
"What had you so worried a moment ago?" I throw a leg back over the bench and place my hands on either knee, leaning forward as if expecting a grand tale.
"Ah! An attentive stranger, indeed! Cicero is travelling you see, to Falkreath! I am taking my mother to her new home-"
"Where is she now?" I cut him off, suddenly eager to meet the woman that could be the parent to someone so profoundly interesting to me.
"Oh, Cicero's mother is quite dead, oh ho!" He laughs boisterously and I note how out of place it seems.
"Okay. So. You're transporting her? Why?" I realize my questions are rude and perhaps this topic is of a sensitive nature but the peculiar man is more than happy to oblige my curiosity.
"When Mother was alive she was quite the important person you see! Oh yes! But her tomb was- desecrated- so now I'm taking her to her new home!" He giggles inanely and I nod in understanding, my eyes still wandering without permission to the gleaming dagger halted by his hip. My weapon of course is equally impressive, if not more-so. I switch between several blades and maces depending on how useful I find their enchantments based on each new situation but today's pretty little number is none other than the simple Nightingale Blade. Simple and light weighted, it's useful little enchantment is helpful on any quest.
I feel him watching me and I fight to look back up at him- it's only polite. My odd behavior and questioning has had a rather odd effect on Cicero- and of course by odd effect I mean none at all. His pulse is regular, his eyes are focused and he seems genuinely... captivated by my company.
"That still doesn't answer why you looked worried," I say, grinning slyly as I remember my original reason for even introducing myself. He doesn't speak for a moment and I can see he's thinking hard about how to answer. He wrings his hands absentmindedly, the fine gold bands that encircle the cuffs of his well-worn gloves glint against the dancing firelight. I have a thousand questions but all seem to fall back to his dagger. I can understand a sword, a bow, a mace but-. A traveler with only a dagger? And one made of fine ebony no less! If my assumptions are correct then this man is no mere jester, oh, no. Certainly not.

Cicero mimics me and puts one leg back over the bench, now facing me properly.
"Cicero is worried about Mother..." His voice fades and the ghost of an expression graces his pointed features for a single instant.
"Where is she?"
"She's outside... Excuse Cicero, sweet Sachi but I must be on my way!" He stands and swipes the leather bound notebook from the table before exiting the Inn.
Ah hah... not so fast, dear jester! You have attracted the attention of a rather playful cat. A hungry cat, no less!
I take the tankard and down what's left in a single mouthful. Bitter, foul and just what I needed.
Food is rather tasteless for me, in fact it's quite revolting. There are but two things I can enjoy in my new and limitless form- mead and of course the all time number one delicacy!

The cold night air assaults me and I breathe in a sharp and sobering breath. Upon the ground I can see the deep prints of curled-tipped boots leading to my left. I follow them, my mind becoming clearer with each second that passes in this harsh weather.
I can see a cart leave the yard and head out of town and I know it must be him. I pull my hood over my head and dart off after him, the wind at my back.

~O~

Cicero doesn't push the horse too hard, for which I am thankful as I slink effortlessly through the trees a mere 50 meters off the road. Out of sight but not for long. Hours have passed, the weather is clear now and I can see the sun has begun to rise to my right. The eerie blackness dissipates and gives way to a suddenly violent shade of orange and the birds begin to call out above us in the snow covered canopy.
The jester seems unaware of my presence as he hums loudly a tune that seems well rehearsed and comfortable. My feet glide across the fresh snow and I decide it's now or never. As I go to move from my cover I hear him call out.
"Cicero can hear you, sneaky stalker! Come out, come out!"
I smile knowingly and leave the shadows before walking towards the road, eventually finding myself in front of Cicero who pulls up his horse.
I stand quiet for a moment and I almost hope he recognizes my armor. There is no trace of mistrust as he watches me with a bright smile before he speaks in a sing song voice that only encourages my building adrenaline.
"Has lovely, lonely Sachi followed Cicero all this way?" He trills and I pull back my hood. My white hair falls around my shoulders and I take a few steps towards the carriage.
"Lovely, lonely Sachi has come to play with sly Cicero," I return his infectious rhythm when I speak and this seems to delight him. He ties the reigns to the headboard of the cart and jumps down, his hands clasped as if begging for me to continue speaking.
"Oh and what game shall we be playing, what dance will we be dancing?" I step closer and I can feel the excitement rolling off of him from even here. Does he know what I plan to do? I see his hand twitch, now by his side- his dagger- and I am sure he knows exactly what I plan to do. He is ready to 'dance'.

I am now at arms length when I stop walking.
"Cat and mouse, my dear jester!" I reach for my face mask and pull on the fabric. It falls to my neck and I smile broadly. Instead of the fear or surprise I expect, he only gasps in joy. My fangs are certainly something to behold and I can see their true beauty isn't wasted on poor Cicero. Poor indeed!
"I must warn you sweet Sachi that Cicero has never lost this game!" He giggles childishly and for a moment I consider stepping down. Very few words have been exchanged but this fool has begun to dig his way beneath my skin. But I've wasted enough time on this commoner as it is and now I shall reap my prize.
"Then this will be fun, for neither have I!" I draw my blade and jump backward, eager to distance myself from his dagger. He draws it so quickly and is advancing on my position before my feet even hit the ground again. My smile matches his and we dance. He leaps at me with unexpected eagerness and I narrowly dodge his jab. He spins on his toes and brings the knife dangerously close to my spine. There's a fevered, focused look in his eyes despite the fact he's laughing and I manage to avoid each blow with pin point precision. A stab at my left and I dodge to the right, I swipe and he ducks, he lunges and I kick.
My foot collides with the bottom of his jaw but it doesn't seem to bother him. He's compensated the distance and he still manages to tackle me to the ground. I'm laughing while I struggle against him, the snow splaying my weathered armor as he pins down my right arm with his left. His free hand has brought his dagger against my throat and I still can't contain my excitement.

"Ah a veteran!" I shout despite our close proximity and we laugh in unison. My unpinned arm moves and sways and the familiar thrum of energy pulsates through my core as lightening hits him in the rib-cage. He is sent backward and lands near a tree as I get to my feet, the rough sting of chaffed skin claws at my neck. My blade rotates in my hands skillfully as I bare down on his position, and somehow he's recovered. He's standing again, hardly short of breath and I can see the humour is replaced by something akin to excitement. I expected his demeanor to be quite different by now but he seems to be enjoying this as much as I.
"You know what? You're not half bad," I offer, lowering my blade. I notice his horse hasn't moved from his spot in the middle of the road and I decide the poor thing must be used to conflict.
Cicero laughs and gives me a bow; rather daring, I note.
"Humble Cicero lives to serve," he huffs in response and I hardly know if it's sarcasm or genuine.
"You know, I was rather set on making you my breakfast but, wouldn't you know it," I shrug and sheathe my blade. "I'm not really hungry anymore." I step up to him and extend my hand again, wearing a sincere smile that bares my fangs.
With a thoughtful expression he takes my hand before saying, "Oh but Sachi, Cicero still is!" Before I could even think to protest he has me pinned again, both my arms above my head. I make no effort to struggle and instead I just lay there, his breath warm against my shivering skin. His amber eyes look down at me and I smile expectantly, waiting for him to do something.
"I'm at an unfair disadvantage," I fake a pout and try to look somewhere else. I can almost feel the blood rising to my cheeks under his intense glare. "My fangs tell you what I am hungry for, but I don't know what your hunger implies!" I wriggle my hips beneath him and I give him a ridiculous wink.
How odd! Most men would melt in this moment but oh, not Cicero. He remains focused, his dagger pressed ever so slightly against the still raw skin on my neck.
"Not anything that concerns you, nimble Sachi," he titters and leans back on his heels, inspecting his blade when he finally withdraws it.
"Oh you're a tease, jester," I prop myself up on my elbows, wondering why he decided to let me go. Or why I let him go for that matter. Perhaps he was returning the favour?
The melting snow is seeping into my armor and I can feel the profound cold against my skin.
"I have no idea who you are, what you want or if you're even transporting your Mother to Falkreath but. I think I like you." I grin and decide it's time to stand up, the cold snow beginning to soak my under clothes.
Cicero looks up from his blade but then his keen stare lingers on my throat.

"Why did you follow poor Cicero?" He asks, his eyes remaining stuck on my jugular. I can see there's a predatory glare in them, the excitement of battle seems to pierce him further than most. "Surely crafty Sachi could have her pick of anyone!" His eyes flash to meet mine and I take his comment as a heartfelt compliment. I decide it's my turn to take a bow. I dip down low and rise again with a grin back across my face.
"I only pick on those I think can keep up with my dance!" I chuckle darkly as I reach up to tug on my hair. My fingers move slowly, deftly as I plait the wild strands into a manageable braid, awaiting his response. I can see my answer intrigued him.
"Did Cicero displease you? After all, you stopped before we could finish!" He wipes his thumb along each side of the ebony dagger's blade and sheathes it again. I can see the burn mark left behind by my sorcery, a hole in his motley. I'd be inclined to feel guilty had it actually damaged him.
"Displease me? Oh not at all! You surpassed my expectations, fool," I keep from using his name and I'm not sure why. Perhaps I feel as though an air of professionalism is needed right now. "That little strike of lightening hardly effected you at all. Most impressive," I purred and he smiled, my eyes refusing to break contact with the flame burning in his.
"Once Cicero's blade is drawn, not just anyone gets to walk away, kind stranger." His voice is familiarly shrill but there's an undertone that suggests a blatant warning.
"Oh not to worry, my feisty friend! I shan't be drawing my sword on you again!" I flick my wrist for no reason other than flair and decide to count my blessings. He could have bested me then and there. I raise my hands and cover my face with my mask and hood and turn to leave. A brisk pat on the horse's lean shoulder and I'm off down the path I had spent 2 hours walking in the opposite direction. I still have unfinished business in Dawnstar.

"It's been a pleasure," I sing over my shoulder as I saunter away from him. Oh, how I will need to visit Falkreath some time soon.

xxx xxx

Sachi sat at the wooden table, her hands in her lap as Tairah gathered the aged silverware and spread it out neatly on the table in front of only her. Her eyes wandered around her home, her legs swaying back and forth over the edge of her chair.
"Tairah," she asked in a small voice, pulling the elderly man from his own thoughts. He turned towards her and placed a goat roast on the table, watching eagerly for her reaction. Her eyes grew wide and she smiled elatedly- it wasn't often that she could eat more than stale bread. Tairah laughed, her reaction being more than he'd hoped for.
"Oh thank you Tairah! Where did you get this?" Sachi eyed the slightly meager meal in front of her, beyond grateful that her carer had gone to so much trouble.
He smiles crookedly as he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's probably best if you don't know, dear," he replied simply. Sachi knew better than to pry further, all that mattered was that she wouldn't be hungry when she went to sleep tonight.

It wasn't long before Sachi could no longer fit even the smallest bit more. Tairah cleared the table and requested Sachi go clean herself up for bed, she obliged and went upstairs. It was draughty in her room, cracks in the walls and floors allowing for cold winds to rip through the creaking old house. With a shiver she walks to the water basin on the dresser, the water rippling as a slight wind skims the surface, making the hairs on her arms stand on end.
She sighs contentedly and dips a rag into the bowl, the cold water enveloping her small hands. She wrings out the water and folds the cloth neatly in her palms. The Bosmer child hears the cracking of twigs, a sound so close to being inaudible she doubts she even heard it. The wash cloth trails along her skin, the water running down her forearms and dripping to the floor in a slow but steady rhythm.

Drip..Drip..Drip..Drip..

And then a crash. Sachi turns to face the stair way, the sounds below her carrying feelings of familiarity.
"Not again." She drops the cloth with a shaking hand and she can hear grunting and the methodical thud of metal against wood. Finally she gathers herself and slowly begins to make small steps towards the stairs leading down to the kitchen. When she is half way down the wooden planks she stops and turns, crouching as her keen eyes glare at the source of the commotion from between the rotting stairs. Her heart pounds so loudly she can barely hear her own frantic thoughts as they whirl in her mind. From her secret vantage point she can see Tairah and an unknown assailant. He is dressed from head to foot in a deep black armor, his hair short and messy as it sticks out from below his hood. His face is mostly covered by cloth.

"When will you people leave me alone?" Tairah growls as he pushes the other man so hard he falls backward over the table. He lands in a heap on the other side, a dagger still clasped firmly in his hand. His hood is now pulled back and the cloth mask has fallen around his neck and she can see his face now, but only just. An imperial, no older than 15. He grasps his dagger tightly around the hilt, his eyes dangerously focused as Tairah rounds the table, his hands now carrying a knife rather than an impromptu chopping board shield.
A laugh escapes the man, his smile doesn't touch his eyes.
"The dark brotherhood will not rest, Tairah. Our courteous client is after you and we will not stop," his words are laced with laughter, like a pot of honeyed poison.
His grip on his knife is still fierce as Tairah bends in front of him, taking him by the throat. He smiles, revealing a lovely set of fangs. Sachi feels herself flooding with relief when she decides Tairah has gained the upper hand. Still, the assassin smiles, unnerved by his seemingly imminent death.

It had been a while since anyone from the Brotherhood had come after us, and she didn't understand why they would send this child who is obviously still an initiate. Does this mean they're giving up on us after all these years? Sachi smiles at the thought of living in peace. But it is short lived.
Tairah's back is to her now and she can no longer see the assassins face, but a loud groan and the swaying of her carer tells her something is seriously wrong. He stumbles from his crouched position and the assassin stands, his hood and mask back in place.

Blood. So much blood. Tiarah is on his knees now, the knife still in his hands. The assassin glares from above him; his eyes cold. Calculating. With genuine mirth he snickers.
"Prepare for judgement in the Void, old man."
Tairah is bleeding, his stomach split viciously from one side to the other, his hand holding pressure to the gushing wound while the other, with whatever swiftness he has left, raises and sends the knife deep into the assassins rib cage. Tairah falls, defeated. Sachi descends the stairs, tears running down her face as she approaches her father figure. The assassin is on the floor now, his eyes filling with bitter tears of pain.

"Why couldn't you just leave us alone?!" Sachi choked back the need to throw up, her eyes blurring.
The man pulls the knife from his lower rib cage and curses angrily, blood shimmering on his armor, soaking through the fine leather. He looks up at the child, her golden eyes accusing. He smirks, entertained. This is why he joined the brotherhood. This is what he's made for.
"Why?" He leans forward and grabs her arm with a painful grip, twisting her in such a way that she is on her back, his eyes staring down at her as she squirms. "I'm just following orders kid. I can't help that I happen to love it." He released her after staring for a moment too long, his other hand covering his wounded torso, trying to hold all the blood that he can inside. Without another word he left the house, leaving the Bosmer child to weep in silence.

xxx xxx

Nightingale. Dragonborn. Daedric Champion to more Deadra gods than I'd like to count. How did I get here? I walk as if on a tightrope, my feet placed carefully one in front of the other as I make my way towards home. Slowly, methodically, my mind wandering all over the place as I admire the soft flakes of fresh snow that have begun to fall around me. The winds are gone, the trees still and slumberous. I smile and yawn, content but exhausted.

The path is worn and familiar and I can feel the slight nip of cold beginning to bite at my pointed ears even through my thick Nightingale hood. I like this place.
I've slain a dragon god and I have served both the light and the dark sides of many Divines; I have friends in high places and yet the one thing I left my family for still eludes me.
"Not to worry, not to worry..." I mumble to myself assuredly.

My hands lay still behind my back, my boots crunching the thinning snow as the wild trees give way to the vast fields just North of Whiterun.
I was 'born' and raised in the darkest crypt in all of Cryodiil, so my new life in the light is something I've come to appreciate on an unexpected level. I smile beneath my facecloth as Dragonsreach looms in the distance, proud and stark against the grey clouds that hover so low today. The falling snow begins to wane and I all but mourn their loss. Such pretty, delicate things.
I can hear the distant sounds of a grazing mammoth and the giants kindly pay me no mind as they huddle around their impressive fire. I observe the tall blades of Loreius's windmill and I think briefly on the man himself. Loreius is a peculiar fellow- blunt and often I've found him to be quite hasty in his poorly considered views on the civil war. What a mess that is. I chuckle to myself, still persistent in placing my feet as if walking a tightrope. I'm not sure why I do this, or actually, many of the queer things I find myself prone to doing when no one is watching. Perhaps it's simply a mindless game I play to pass the time.
I'm certainly very experienced in wasting time.

I pass a heavy gathering of aged rocks on a slight bend and find, to my surprise, a cart on the road at the base of the hill that bares Loreius's farm house. The cart is lopsided and I can see a man flailing his arms angrily. His distant grunts begin to fall on my ears as I walk closer, now finally stopping my imaginary balancing act so I can focus on him better. It couldn't possibly be him. I bark a laugh in disbelief and break into a jog.
"Gah! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here! Stuck! My mother, my poor mother... Unmoving, at rest. But too still!" Cicero shouts in despair and I bite my tongue to keep from laughing. I can see his wagon wheel has busted and he seems quite content to ignore me. I know for a fact he can hear me. Surprising sense for some mere Imperial!
"Well, this is a turn up isn't it?" I snigger behind my mask as I approach him, now walking. He turns to face me and I can see his eyes light up. "Is there a problem?" Rhetorical but he answers anyway.
"Yes! Yes there is! Poor Cicero is stuck!" he finally says, his expression returning to one of defeat. "Sweet, kind Sachi- you should do Cicero a favour, oh yes! An apology for your wretched behavior yesterday, hmm?"
"What's there to apologize for? You seemed to enjoy it," I pull back my hood and smirk when he can find no immediate rebuttal.
"Ah! But you burnt a hole in my favourite shirt!" He folds his arms and steps up closer to me.
"Oh what a pity," I giggle and decide I should probably try to rectify my mistake somehow. "Alright, alright what do you want from me?" Immediately I regret not phrasing my words differently as he gives me a look that suggests something quite lewd.
"Shove off!" I say in weak protest, not entirely against his playful charm. I consider slapping him but the idea loses it's appeal rather quickly. His cheek bones are so defined I'm sure I could cut myself slapping that face.
"Go to the farm, the Loreius farm, just over there off the road. Talk to Loreius, he has tools, he can help me, but he won't. He refuses!" He takes off his ridiculous cap and twists it in his hands with obvious annoyance.
"Loreius is definitely wrong to dare cross someone like you," I laugh and look past him at the almost shattered wheel. A definite mess. He needs an entirely new wheel. "But truth be told, the man's a fool on any day," I sigh and notice Cicero look at me with an almost alarming inflection when I say the word 'fool'. Perhaps I should stay from using his apparent occupation as a term of depreciation.

If Loreius doesn't change his mind, which I am almost certain he won't, I'll just have to take a wheel from his windmill and repair Cicero's cart myself.
"Alright, you've got yourself a deal. But this will make us even, alright?" I raise an eyebrow at him and he looks at me as if I've insulted him.
"Oh no, silly Sachi crossed Cicero only once, this is true! But do not forget he let you go!" he laughs and presses a single leather-clad index finger against his lips. I consider his proposal, but I keep to myself how free I truly was. One could not wish to contain me without a gag. This charming gentleman, skilled as he was, would be no match for The Voice.
I step up to him, the tip of my boots touching his curled ones and I push a finger to his nose.
"I won't - and haven't- forgotten." He smiles at me, seemingly pleased.
"Oh Cicero likes you, oh yes. We are going to be fast friends!" His eyes glint and I step back, now looking to walk towards the farm house.

One way or another, I'll get that stubborn farmer to help me.