"Mornin' Cicero, Listener" greets Nazir, mouth full of bread, as Cicero and I tiredly drag ourselves out of our rooms early in the morning. I slide my hand against the wall as I walk to the main section. The rocks are freezing and not a single area is smooth. Cold, jagged stone as always. What else would I expect from living in Skyrim? No matter where you go, it's going to be cold, and if something's not made of wood, you can count on it being stone. The closest place I've ever encounter to genuine warmth here is Riften.
Nazir takes his last bite of bread and stands up. "Are you two looking for those contracts I mentioned?" bread spilling out from the corners of his mouth. I nod and he begins. "I've got one on a bandit in an old fort north of Falkreath, an old wandering beggar in Markarth, a woman who lives in a small cabin just off Riften, and last but not least a lowly thief in Solitude. Think you can handle all that?"
I glance over to Cicero for confirmation. When I first joined the Dark Brotherhood, I was a lone ranger just like everyone else. An assassin is meant to walk with nobody on their side but the shadows on their walls and Sithis in their souls, but after sparing Cicero's life all those years ago... that changed. I found that his steps lined perfectly with mine and neither of us could be heard no matter how we moved. We could morph into any shadow together, no matter how small it seemed to be. After quite a while of traveling together I realized that I just enjoyed his company. Although he's a literal cutthroat, he'd never harm me. We also bonded over the fact we're both foreigners in this land, him an Imperial from Cyrodiil and me a dark elf from Morrowind. His unconditional loyalty is the best gift I've ever received in this harsh province.
"Yes, yesss! The more stabbing the better!" Cicero pipes up, jumping and clapping his hands. That was always an odd antic Cicero had when he was happy, dancing around.
I grab my ebony bow from the weapons rack and string it across my back. I always feel safer when it's with me. I put two steel daggers into my belt and turn around to see that Cicero has calmed down, and was now hanging his head. I was about about to ask what was wrong, but he seems to have read my thoughts.
"My dagger..." he groans "My poor dagger..."
"Cicero," Nazir cuts in "I heard about your dagger and sent a letter to one of my contacts down in the thieves guild. Brynjolf sent down one of his men to fetch it from the inn. Gotta admit, those guys are pretty quick on their feet. They're nothing if not fast workers." He pulls up a satchel from under the table and lays it down. After rummaging through it for a bit, he pulls something out and tosses it to Cicero.
"My dagger, my dagger! Oh, Cicero thanks you Nazir! Thank you!" he exclaims happily. "Now I can go back to stabbing and slashing and killing and slaying and slicing and dicing and chopping and-"
"We get it Cicero," I cut him off. I'll admit, his constant rambling can get annoying from time to time. "Now, come on, we've got some contracts to complete."
We leave the sanctuary and head towards our first contract near Falkreath. Both wearing light clothing, we run for a while before getting tired and finally slowing down. We continue down the winding roads until we finally see a carriage driver. We pay the fee for a ride to Falkreath and climbed aboard. Most people would assume assassins just threaten people into doing things, but that's not how I like to act around innocents. Just because assassins can be monsters (and arguably always are on the inside), doesn't mean I don't like to be human. We sit in silence with the occasion mutter or snicker from Cicero, no doubt remembering jokes Nazir told him that morning before we set off. Eventually we reach our destination and climb off.
The fort seems to already be relatively cleared. Either an adventurer was here before us, or a new, smaller group of bandits took out the previous inhabitants. I take out a few weaker bandits with my bow (after all these years, I still don't trust Cicero with one) and we creep into the depths of the fort. The shadows aren't on our side today. Every movement casts a dark figure onto the walls. Noticeable figures. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the sun shined into every window and crack in the fort.
We hurry through the fort as fast but as silently as we possibly can. When Nazir gave us the details earlier on, he said we were looking for a Nord man with red face paint, forming an X across his face. It didn't take long to find him. I ran in front of him for a distraction while Cicero crept up behind him and stabbed him in the back. One assassination done. Three to go.
We vacate the area and move onto our next target in Markarth. It doesn't take us long to get there and is an easy kill. One arrow to the head from one of the many convenient vantage points in Markarth was all it took for us to send the poor man's soul to Sithis.
It takes quite a while to get to the outskirts of Riften. Night had been upon us for hours by the time we'd gotten there. It made visibility nearly impossible. But being children of the night, we managed.
At last we find the shabby cabin Nazir had told us about. I was picking the lock when Cicero heard movement from inside. He grabs my mouth and with one swift movement pulls me back by the outer log wall of the home. We sit there for a while with his arm around me and his warm gloved hand over my mouth. He really doesn't need to keep his hand there. It's not like I was planning on announcing our presence. But still, we stay there for a minute, him holding me back, listening to the sounds inside the house. It doesn't sound like anyone is trying to escape, so I doubt they know we're here. The sound is faint, but it sounds as if somebody is pacing back and forth. After any sign of movement inside had stopped, I finish picking the lock (quite a complicated lock for such a small cabin, really) and push the door open slowly, trying to avoid any creaking it might make.
The door opens smoothly without a sound. We crawl into the cabin, Cicero close behind me. We stand up, ready to attack, but see something we didn't expect; a woman sitting upright on a bed, tears streaming down her sunken face.
She's a young woman, no older than 20. The tears cascade down her thin cheeks and past her full lips. She has a slim figure but the tunic she's wearing fits her well. Her eyes were big and full of fear. Even while crying she was quite beautiful. After exchanging stares for a while, she speaks.
"Please, please... I know why you're here. You're the Dark Brotherhood. I know that much. And I know why you've been sent. I don't know exactly who sent you, but I have a lot of debt with a lot of people. Debt that I can't pay off yet, but I will. Please, don't do this! I don't deserve to die!" she chokes out. Her hands clutch at her face and her shoulders shake tremendously.
We let her sit there for a while to cry. I never feel genuinely bad about assassinations but there are some cases, like this one, where I do feel a bit of pity. Not that I feel bad about doing it, but feeling pity for someone who doesn't want to die but has to anyway. It doesn't even make sense for me to be torn at all though, because I don't have a choice. I'm an assassin, and once a contract is given, feelings are gone. My Mother appointed me this kill, and I can't fail her. Our mother could tell me to kill my closest friend and I would need to do it. My devotion to the Night Mother and Sithis are stronger than my need for a clear conscience . If I felt the need for a clear conscience, I wouldn't be in all this dirty business. Yet still, the pity still lurks in my mind.
"Cicero, you take this one." I say, but as he steps forward with excitement in his eyes, plotting all the ways he could slay this girl, I add "but make it quick. This girl should not suffer."
He steps up to her bed, took her by the left wrist she had holding her face to move it out of the dagger's path, and with one motion, stabs the wailing girl in the heart. A fitting place for a sad kill.
…...
We leave the cabin, heading towards out next designated location. This kill should be another easier one to carry out. It definitely can't be any harder than the last.
At this late, Cicero is becoming tired. One thing I've learned about Cicero when he's tired is that he tends to complain a lot. He scuffs his feet while trekking to the target and scoffs at things he doesn't like, like the annoying hum of nirnroot as he passes it. It gets under my skin too. Another thing I've noticed is that he tends to get more... what's a good way to describe it? Affectionate, perhaps. Not necessarily in a lovey dovey way, just that he wants more attention than usual. Like when you get so tired you get a little ditzy. He lingers a little closer while walking and complains when I don't talk to him enough. He's gone as far as tackling me when I won't talk to him, since I get quiet when I'm tired. It can get frustrating, but I've gotten used to just about everything he does now.
The trek turned out to be longer than I thought it would be. After circling the same looking tree a few times, I decided that we were lost. We were both nearly dropping from exhaustion, but some light in the distance gives us hope.
I nudge Cicero awake "Do you think that's Solitude up there?'
"No, Solitude has a gate, Listener. There's no gate around that city, silly," he pokes.
"What do you think it is then?"
"Morthal, possibly... maybe... probably... hopefully," he sighs. "Weary travelers like us may as well find out."
The walk towards the lights seems to stretch on forever, and I start to worry the city is some kind of mirage. I realize that it's not just an illusion when we get close to the city and feel our boots soak through with water, drenching our feet. This is without a doubt Morthal. The only city that's nearly impossible to get to without getting your boots wet.
Cicero and I have been to Morthal before, so finding the inn isn't a problem. We drag our tired, wet feet through the door and request two rooms. When I reach for my coin purse, it feels much... lighter. I take it off my belt and look at it. Located at the bottom right hand part of the bag is a small hole, just big enough for Septims to fall out off. All that remained was enough gold for one room. I should have gotten a new coin purse yesterday as soon as I noticed this one was falling apart.
"Sorry, with the amount of coin you have I can only give you one room," explained the inn keeper, who's name has slipped my mind in my tired state.
Not being able to afford to be picky (no pun intended), we take it. I'd take sharing a room over sleeping with the frost trolls and wolves any day. We enter the room, drop the equipment that seems to have gotten heavier since this morning, and look around. Then it strikes us. One room, one bed.
"What are we going to do about this?" I asked, slightly concerned. Cicero and I have been traveling together for a very long time, but one thing we've never done is share a bed.
"Well... I don't know Listener... I could sleep on the floor, if you'd like." he says earnestly.
I couldn't let him do that. Sleeping on the floor is for dogs. Cicero is worth more to me than an old dog. The ground is far too cold for him to sleep on, and the same goes for me.
"No, no Cicero, you don't need to do that. Would you be okay with..." I look at the ground, already embarrassed of what I'm about to say.
"Yes, Listener?" he says innocently.
"Would you be okay with sharing the bed?"
"You mean, sleep beside the Listener?"
"Yes, Cicero. It'll be fine. There's plenty of room."
"O-oh okay." he laughs nervously. "Alright, Listener. Anything for you."
I motion for him to get into bed first. My face felt warm and I was shaky. Why? It's not like this is the first time I've shared a bed with a man. Is this because the situation... no, the circumstances, are different? Because I care about Cicero and not the other men? I mean... it's not like I'm actually DOING anything with him. It's like best friends at a sleepover. Just sharing a bed because there's nowhere else to sleep. That's all.
I shake the thoughts out of my head and glance at Cicero. He's already in bed with his hat off, drifting to sleep. I take off my hood and put my weapons on the table and crawl in with him. He faces one way, and I face the other. Definitely the least awkward way to lay. The bed is much smaller than I had anticipated, so my back presses up against his, and every muscle that moves I feel against me.
"Sleep well, Cicero" I whisper.
"I will," he mumbles back.
Before I knew it, I fell asleep.