Only a few short years later, we met again.
The corsairs were attacking - and I had to get out of Cheydinal. One day I would return, but my sights were set on the Imperial City - at least, for a while. I knew of many safe spaces there, and a friend who could take me.
I blindly stumbled into my safe-house, and I almost screamed, had it not been for my amazing self-control. It was like a reoccurring nightmare that I often had since meeting that Dark Brother - equal parts fascination and horror. For two years, I had suffered random terror and panic as I slept, images of one man come to collect me either in soul or in oath. Sometimes I took it, sometimes I fought, but I was never any match when I did, even in my own dreams.
"You just moved here, running from the corsairs." He stated, rummaging through one of my chests. I felt anger immediately, but thought against irritating him. He looked a little frazzled, a little less calm than what I remember. Perhaps I had painted him with a frightened eye, but - "It's ironic, I think, but you really should leave, child."
"What -!?" I began, but my mouth was dry.
"It seems you are drawn to Death and Mother, finding a safe space here, above. I'm not sure what exactly that means, but - Oh." He stood, turned to me, and his eyes glowed the same way they did when we had met. He quickly assessed me, as if he had expected me to be someone else entirely. "You are very pretty." He blurts, then moves on to another one of my containers. What was he looking for?
"That is not something I wish to hear from a grown man who has broken into my space." I say, moving to watch him and search for a weapon if I must.
"No, no - I just - You look different. I didn't realize so much time had - I suppose two years would do that, hm? It has been two years, yes?"
"I think."
"You'll probably grow up to be very beautiful woman. That's strange, to be able to see into the future like that just by looking at someone, don't you think?"
"That's still inappropriate to say to a child, sir." I tell him, though not because I fear him, but because I wish to offend him as a means of shooing him away. He straightens, and it all seems too surreal to be reality. "Of course," I continue, feeling sorry for indirectly accusing him of such a sin, "Whether or not I am classified as such due to circumstance is up for debate, I am officially much younger than you. I do not appreciate such sentiments, and it puts me on edge." I warily move around him.
"I didn't mean -" His face distorted into a nauseous expression. "I was simply - I only meant that you - I don't know why I said it but - Look, I am no pervert." He stammered. "Beauty does not equate sexuality, especially not in children. That is a philosophy many understand, but do not verbalize, because it is common sense. I may be many awful things, little thief, but I am not a man who looks upon children with desire. You needn't fear that from me, and that is not why I am here. We all must have our limits, and I daresay that is one of mine." He pauses, as if something dawns on him. "Oh, what a terrible life you must lead if you know of the horrors of men who like little girls. That actually moves me to some emotion. I've stabbed many such pigs. Forgive me if I have made you uncomfortable. You see, I haven't been very well - " I answer him with a calm voice devoid of inflection.
"I am an urchin. Of course I would be privy to such horrors, though not first hand - thank whichever aedra or daedra prevented such nightmares. What sort of life do you think I lead? Do you think this is a choice?" I gesture to the bed roll on the floor, and my assorted affects. He shakes his head no. "And while I would love to hear all about your problems, sir, " I say as respectfully as possible, "I must ask first why you are going through my things in my hiding spot."
"No." He says, and he wrings his hands - gloved, now. Yes, he is quite disheveled. He was more collected and neat before. Perhaps the war takes its toll even on murderers. "It is my home you have broken into. Well, not quite, but above it. In truth, I did not realize it was you, but then I did not hear you come in this whole time, and I figured it must be a coincidence, it must be that one tip-toeing child of night - for who else could sneak up on me?" He pauses. "...Anyone alive, that is." He adds with a strained laugh.
"If not to assault me or rob me or...Kill me, what are you doing here?" I motion to my open boxes. "What have you been looking for?" He is quiet as he thinks, and I realize that none of these things are very important to me. I will likely leave here with a half-full pack and nothing more. Let the corsairs burn everything.
"I'm...I'm not sure." He confesses. "I just wanted to know. What you are, I mean. Why you are so..." He trails off, suddenly. I wait for him to continue, but he does not.
"And? Have you gained any meaning from my things?"
"...You're quite normal, actually, despite the odd book far above children's reading level." He suddenly titters, as if what he said was somehow a little funny, and then shakes his head. With a confused expression, his hand goes to his right ear and he covers it for a moment, then glances up at me, as if to gauge my reaction. We are silent for a moment, and finally I speak up.
"...Are you okay?" I ask.
"No." He answers. There is no emotion in the word, and his face is suddenly very serious. I shift uncomfortably. His hand drops.
"Well - You don't have to worry about me. I won't be any trouble. I thought this place was abandoned, so I apologize for trespassing, but I'm leaving soon anyways. It's too dangerous here, and everyone is leaving for other holds. I can't do what I do without people, so I'm headed for the Imperial City until things calm down. I got a friend there, and - "
'No! You can't go! Stay with me. Please? I can teach you how to - " He blurts, taking a step toward me. I move back, away from him. He blinks once, then twice. His face twists into confusion, then stony acceptance. He sighs. "That was - I tell you, I've been very ill. It's like a stranger has climbed into my mouth and taken residence in my head." That strikes me as something very odd to say, but he continues before I can dwell. "I'm sorry. You are a stranger to me, and I - I've just been - I haven't spoken to anyone in weeks, and - " He shut his eyes and turned from me. His whole body tensed, as if he were in pain. "I'm sorry." He repeated. Then he stared at his hands. "Child, do not keep to the main roads. Many are desperate, just as you are. I would not have something happen to you out of foolishness."
"...I did not survive for this long out of luck, sir." He glances at me.
"I wish you wouldn't call me sir." He says. "It's - It's an illusion of respect that I abhor. I'm hardly old enough to be called such things, though I carry the burden of responsibility of the title."
"Well, I wish you wouldn't call me child. I'm hardly one at all, except in age. I know more about the world than some adults." I say in response. He is silent, but nods in agreement. I think I'm terribly clever when I ask: "I speak such formality because I do not know your name. If I cannot call you that, what shall I call you then?" I really do want to know his name.
"No." He shakes his head violently, the dirty curls of his auburn hair swishing across his forehead. "No names." I frown at that. I was not very good at outsmarting men yet. "...When is it that you are leaving?"
I debate weather or not to tell him. After all, I can't trust this man. Something is clearly messing with his head, and I don't want him to follow me. I decide that it ultimately doesn't matter. "...As soon as the morning. As late as tomorrow night." I say. He nods absently.
"Good." He says, eyes suddenly glancing away, following an unseen insect or something like that. "May the Lucky Lady bless you." His amber eyes meet mine and I grip the front of my dress in an attempt to anchor myself. I know it's not a dream, but it still feels wrong somehow, like opening my eyes underwater -
"Thank you." I say, unsure of what else to reply with. "...Then I suppose, I should, uh - " He jerks suddenly as if someone has hit him. I get the impression that Sheogorath has touched him in his dreams.
"Did you hear that?" He asks, fear clear on his face and in his voice. I tense, listen - I hear nothing. "It's -" He covers one of his ears again, "It's like, laughing - " I shake my head in the negative, and he slowly eases himself back into calm. "No? No." He frowns. I strain to hear what he has heard, and again - nothing. Just the wind and - no, it's just the wind, sounding like a whisper. A lady, speaking - but no, I've been spooked, and it can't possibly be anything else. Perhaps I have been alone too long, as well. I'm going crazy, just like him.
"...So, what are you going to do?" I ask, forcing myself to move on.
"I...Have to look for something. For someone. I'm leaving, too. Soon. Not now. Too dangerous, not with what I must carry with me. It isn't certain yet, no. I must stay here until it is. I'm waiting. Three days, he says - that was almost a month ago. Maybe he's just stuck somewhere. In a cave, maybe. Or perhaps - " He shakes his head and closes his eyes tightly, a hand cupping over his ear. "Damn laughing." He curses.
"...Are you okay?" I ask again, always cautious.
"No." He answers. "No, I'm not, but I must be - I have responsibilites to attend to." I grimace.
"Like...Killing people?" He seems almost comically shocked that I would ask such a question.
"No - well, not officially, not that anymore, but -" He laughs a little, "No, thief. Unfortunately my blade has been stayed. And far too soon, too. Why is it that you ask of me such a question?" His clouded eyes become sharp again, fixed on my face.
"I'm just...Making sure you aren't here to kill me. You are a member of the Dark Brotherhood, are you not?"
"I would not answer that outright if I were, would I? You are always free to assume, however." He deflected. "And no, of course not." He shakes his head. "My lady, if I were here to kill you, I would not have made myself known to you, assassin or no. You would scarcely know your own death before you arrived in The Void." He wipes his hands anxiously on the front of his black shirt. "No. I would not kill you, nor would I think anyone would put a contract on someone as yourself. Who would want to kill such sweet corruption?"
"...Well, I've stolen from many nobles. Those that remain might be very cross if they figured out its been me all these years. I imagine they would assume a knick-knack or two is worth the life of a vagrant." I say. "So, there's that."
"Maybe." He shrugs. "Either way, I am not here to kill you, nor would it be me. Nor is there anyone to hear such a plea - but - shh, no. Nevermind." He shakes his head furiously again. "If I say more I might have to bring your death about. And we wouldn't want that, would we, little deathbell?" I shake my head no. He sighs. "No, we wouldn't. I suppose I should leave now. Perhaps we shall meet again."
"I should hope not." I say. "Forgive me."
"You wound me." He grins. "I still think you'd make a fair apprentice."
"Perhaps, but it does make one a bit giddy with nervousness, thinking about men stalking me in the night." My eye is drawn to his high cheekbones again, and how the shadows appear to make him look sharp and gaunt. Though he is disheveled, I still think him a bit pretty for a man.
"I would never." He says. "Rest easy. You see, I would approach you, not hunt you." Ah, yes. That makes me feel much better. I open my mouth to say this outloud to him, but instead I watch as he runs his hands through his hair and grimaces. "But I've already delayed too much. I will take my leave then." He makes a gesture of farewell that I return, then moves to the window and climbs up through it easily, small and lithe frame like a spider against the moon. I begin to relax only to have his pale face appear in the darkness once more. "May the Lucky Lady guide you." He says.
"...Hail Sithis and all that, right?" I glance up at him, and it is like a nightmare, almost - the way he looks, disembodied in the dark, only his grin and wild amber eyes against it. The red hair frames his alabastar skin, sprinkled with freckles - and it is like the visage of a skull in a blackened hood. I know that face.
"Yes, sweet Ulalume, that is right." He stays a moment longer to watch the horror twist my face, and then he is gone like smoke in the night.
I shiver violently, the realization that he knows me - has been watching me - And I feel stupid. Of course he has. Of course he knew my name. He probably found all he could about me when I had accidentally interfered with his work. I am terrified, if not a little irritated. I had been wary, careful - and yet, of course, the man was a professional. I could not have hoped to elude him for long.
That is the last I see of him, though I was positive for many years that he would leap out from the shadows and drag me to Oblivion. As time passes, he becomes nothing more than a distant memory.
I wake up sweating, the image of his pale face floating in the window moving me to panic. I gasp, throwing the covers off of me. It's silly, and I know it's silly because I'm The Listener and I've killed people and I'm probably the scariest thing in the dark, but something strikes me as so familiar and terrifying that I can't help but feel like running. It is an old fright, and I am moved to feel particularly idiotic, but the memory of the horror is so fresh that I get up to actually leave my tent. I make great strides, taking gulping breaths, and then I hear footfalls behind me. Panic wracks my being.
An arm slings around me, capturing me into an embrace as soothing words spill across my neck and I try to flee from it, I can't breathe and - It's the Keeper, his gloved hands rubbing soft circles into my back, and I calm down. He releases me from the prison of his arms. He knows nightmares, and his ability to soothe me is far better than one who does not. I anchor myself in time and space, understanding where I am at, who I am with.
My mind tries to add on the decade or so onto the face of the assassin, and I am sure it is him - but what did it matter? He was not here, and he did not remember. It would be a secret to keep in my chest, never to be uttered. It haunts me, as he haunts me even now. It is cruel irony that we are to be connected, a conjurer and her ward. Before: An assassin and a meddlesome thief. Always, two lonely souls reaching for each other.
The Keeper knits his brow, and when I see him in the dark, I know it to be absolutely true - this is the same man - and it humbles me to know that I had pushed the thoughts so far that I did not recognize him at all, not in all these years. There was the once, when I had told him the story of my first run-in with the Brotherhood, but I had pushed that far from my mind as well. His death came soon after. And how many years had it been since we met again, he as the jester and I as the dragonborn? How many to this day? Three? No. Four? Perhaps Five.
"Sweet Ula has had a nightmare?" He cocks his head to one side. "What sorts of things make The Listener scared?" I wipe my face with the back of my hand, drawing my knees up to my chest. There is a sudden sobering in the idea that this man was nothing like he was, a twisted abomination, and it pains me to remember. A few years ago, I would have given anything to see that part of him. Now? It didn't matter.
"I wasn't scared." I say, defensively, "Not really. I was surprised, that's all." I tell him, and it's more than half the truth. I clear my throat. "I was...Uneasy in this dream."
"Uncanny." He mutters. "Like a doll that looks right, but it isn't at all? Or a door that's clearly a door, but whatever is behind it is something awful, and you don't know what it is, but you've certainly seen it before?" I nod. Now that I've seen it, I can't unsee it. The way he moved, the way he sounded - the voice would pitch up two or three levels, perhaps to fit the character he created to run from himself - and it was him.
"Exactly." I say. "Uncanny." I sink back down into my blankets, and he returns to his spot near the dying fire. "...Thank you."
"Of course, My Listener. Humble Cicero lives to serve." He mumbles, as if the response is automatic.
Something strikes me as peculiar. I raise my arm, squinting as I raise my thumb to size him up. "I have a question. It's of a personal nature."
"Ooh, Bashful Cicero will do his best to answer!"
"...How old was The Keeper in 4E 186?"
"Hmm? How...Old?" He jolted up straight, suddenly alert.
"Yes." I've obviously made him slightly uncomfortable, but he hides it with an exaggerated serious look, hand on chin. It's meant to be a bit humorous, but I'm too focused to find it silly.
"Hmmm..." He hummed. "Cicero became Our Lady's Keeper in 188, when he was...Twenty. That means Cicero was a barely a man in 186 at eighteen! Ah, but he had been a part of The Brotherhood for two years, then."
"...Do you remember anything from then?" His expression sobered a bit, grew darker somehow, before he plastered a cheerful expression on his face.
"...Mmmm nope! Can't say that I do!" He laughed. "It must not have been very important. Cicero became The Fool of Hearts - and the old one just...Died."
"Ah." I frowned, and he saw it and quickly mirrored my expression.
"What is it, My Listener? Did I not answer satisfactorily?"
"No, nothing." I shrugged it off. "You remind me of someone I met long ago, but I've decided you aren't the same at all."
"Oh? Another handsome red-headed Imperial in Ula's past? Do tell!" He waggled his eyebrows at me and I laughed for a good beat before calming down to tell my story. He listened, enraptured. When I was finished, we were quiet. We were silent for so long, I thought when he spoke again, it was to change the subject - so it came as a surprise when his voice was pitched a bit more normal than usual. It was almost...Soft.
"Cicero remembers that the Cheydinal Sanctuary was...Desecrated. It is why he is here. If this young man was a brother there, he would be quite dead now."
"That's a bit sobering." I responded, "He would have made a great Speaker - he picked me out before I had even killed anyone." I regarded my fellow Imperial again and decided that what he spoke was true - if they had ever been the same, he was most assuredly dead.
Even if it only meant symbolically.
"...I think it's time to sleep. The sun will be up soon." I glance up at the sky and see that the night is starting to wane.
"You're right." I mumble, rubbing my eyes. It was taking some getting used to, traveling in the daylight. This contract was best done during the afternoon - but I didn't need to think of plans and sacraments. I needed to sleep.
"...Rest, My Listener. Loyal Cicero will keep watch." It is a comfort to have someone to watch my back, though perhaps not so much the man himself. I am still trying to decide if he is trustworthy or not.
I close my eyes, but behind my lids all I can see is the grin in the dark.