A/N: Thank you for all of your awesome reviews! I promise you're still reading the story you think you are. This is mainly a DB/Cicero fic, but you'll see why I mentioned the other pairings later. Now, let's get on to the actual story, shall we?
Chapter Three: Big Bad Wolf
Fontina the Scythe would've been a relatively unknown name before the Dragonborn's battle with the World-Eater. Fontina alone might have been whispered among the Forsworn. But "the Scythe" came later, in the Dark Brotherhood, when the knowledge of Fontina's presence almost always signaled an imminent death. So when Fontina was acknowledged as the Listener, she made it clear to her family early on that she once lived by a different name, a name she didn't want tarnished by association with her in any way. Her family knew she was Dragonborn and her family knew of Miura Table Masher, but never associated her with Fontina. Even when in close company, if they had to refer to her, they treated the name as if it were a completely different person entirely. And, in a way, that was almost true.
When Fontina had to meet a contact she knew from the past, it was understandably hard to conceal her identity. The shroud of the Brotherhood's official armor could only hide so much. One's voice, stature and general frame could never truly be concealed in the light of day. Fontina often opted to send another member to meet the contact, but some of Miura's acquaintances were well known and needed to speak to the Listener directly. And most of them lived in Whiterun, where her legend practically began and where anyone in the entire Hold could tell you a thing or two about Miura.
So, when a contact explicitly given by the Night Mother called for Fontina to meet them at the Bannered Mare, it was obviously a bit of an issue.
"Well, you shouldn't go by yourself." Babbette sighed, placing a newly mixed potion in the cupboard beside her.
"It's a risk, I will admit that. But I've been through tougher situations. Perhaps I don't know this contact? Perhaps I can cast an illusion or something?" Fontina replied.
"It's more than likely that you do know them. Your armor cannot change your voice and anyone with skill could sense an illusion without much trouble. We do deal with a dangerous lot."
"Thank you very much, mistress of the total obvious. So, what do you propose I should do? They performed the Black Sacrament and the Night Mother specifically asked for me to go. I can't very well just not show up." She sighed, looking over at some of the initiates sharpen their weaponry in the other room.
Most of the business from Whiterun was from those seeking a contract without the sacrament and it was most peculiar for someone from there to go to such extremes to contact them. After all, it was a very small town and many would whisper about anything as suspicious as that. Whoever called upon them risked much to do so, she figured. The Night Mothers words echoed in Fontina's head. She must have known that she had taken the liberty to send others to Whiterun typically. Why was she so bent on having Fontina go this time? The whole set up seemed to leave a bitter taste in her mouth.
"And no one is asking you not to show up, my dear. You must have someone go with you is all. Might I suggest one of the initiates? You've neglected to take any of them in your travels thus far."
"I trust them well enough. I do. Really. Its just…"
"Your favorite travel partner. Why you even bothered to keep him alive is something I wonder every day."
"Ha, do you even have to guess? The Night Mother, Sithis, and gods know who else would be on my ass if he was killed." Fontina scoffed, choosing to leave out that Lucien also cautioned her against doing so.
"I suppose you're right. Still, this does leave the matter of who will travel with you to Whiterun."
And, as if on cue, Cicero hopped out from behind a wall and pranced over to where to two were speaking.
"Oh! Oh! Cicero will go! Cicero's blade hungers for a taste of blood and maybe a new one from the Skyforge!"
"You can't be serious. I wasn't even going to carry this out tonight. Whoever it is, I'd need careful planning and—" Fontina groaned and folded her arms, inwardly hoping that he hadn't been around to hear the most of their conversation.
"No offense to you, Cicero, but maybe that wouldn't be the best course of action." Babbette chimed in, taking the reigns.
She meant no disrespect to Fontina. Of course, she was right. Besides the fact that he'd been tugging on her last nerve for days now, he was quite possibly the most recognizable member of the Brotherhood by now. She'd brought him on a few kills and he wasn't one to change his eccentric attitude, even during an assassination It could even be considered a larger risk to bring him, which was always her case against him when he asked to accompany her, but he always assured that no sane man would ever think a jester was a member of the Dark Brotherhood. That it would be complete madness.
"Whatever the Listener wishes. Humble Cicero lives to serve." Cicero simply stated, obviously not in the mood to repeat his request. It had only been a few days since her little outburst and he wasn't quite sure she'd forgiven him.
Indeed, Fontina wasn't exactly sure if she even had decided to forgive him yet. Still, she figured that it did no good to keep her mind on it and the simplest thing to do would be to just let the poor guy go. She turned to face him and saw that his solemn expression broke with an exaggerated pout and a whine. She couldn't help but roll her eyes. There wasn't much harm in letting him go, she thought. What was the worst he could do? She didn't want to wonder.
"I suppose I could do worse. Come on, let's go."
The familiar sight of a burning flame, bubbling mead and bad music was a fitting welcome home to Fontina as she casually eyed the others in the room.
A lot of the patrons were wary. Even Hulda, who was busy dishing out the beverages managed to send a glare of warning towards the two. Though Fontina was careful to opt out of wearing her Shrouded Armor that practically screamed Dark Brotherhood, the full suit of Dwarven armor definitely was a sight to be seen. Cicero was, of course, wearing his usual jester garb, which confused everyone else all the more. In their minds, either the person who walked in was very important or very dangerous, and most took the safe bet to guess that both were true.
There were a few friendly faces that she wasn't very surprised to see. There was Jon Battle-Born and his wayward love for the arts, Sinmir complaining about the guards, and Mikael ironically blaring the song of the Dragonborn out of tune. Well, he was, until a shadow from the back seats where Uthgerd used to sit sent a tankard flying across the room, hitting him over the head and effectively ending the song.
"Show yourself, damn you! I don't have to take this from you!" Mikael growled, mead dripping from his blond tresses and heading over to where the disgruntled drunkard was sitting. Cicero giggled in delight, expecting a probable brawl and Fontina slapped his shoulder to silence him. Both were surprised to see him apologize and carefully back away to start playing "The Age of Aggression".
Said shadowy figure rose from his seat and slowly made his way to the back room where Amaund Motierre had once met with he so Fontina decided to follow suit. The small back room was just as it ever was, poorly lit and dank. The person sat down in the very seat her old client used to inhabit and leaned forward with his arms folded.
"You must be who I sent for. I've done that damned sacrament as you asked. There is no honor in doing it, but what I ask for is no honorable task."
Fontina blinked and started to tense. That voice was beyond familiar. Deciding it was best to keep her mouth shut for a while, she simply nodded.
"Not much for words, are you? Well, I suppose I should tell you who I want murdered." And with a sigh, the man placed his arm limply on the table. His eyes piereced the darkness and were the only part of him to be seen.
"This person won't be easy to find…if I knew where she was, I'd rip her throat out myself. I heard you killed the Emperor, which is the only reason I put this in your hands. She's a bit of a celebrity," He began. "You see, her name is Miura…Miura Table Masher, as she was once affectionately called. You may know her as the Dragonborn."
Fontina still said nothing, shocked at the mention of her own name. She should have noticed before but hearing such an old name gave her all the information she needed. 'Vilkas.' She seethed within her mind, her right hand balling into a fist. Cicero could only imagine the expression on her face behind the heavy helmet, so he decided to all the talking.
"And what a celebrity! The hero of us all! Slayer of the dreaded World-Eater Alduin! Yikes! That's one big fish to fry. Why, what would make a lowly, nameless, nobody like you want such a person dead? I mean, it's not every day some farmer wants the savior of Skyrim murdered." He chuckled circling around Vilkas' seat as he spoke.
"I am no farmer, clown! You would do well to watch your words at risk of your life. I am a member of the Companions, as she was once herself. She broke a promise to me. She only killed two of those damned witches! And she…she killed my brother." He growled.
"Oh ho ho! An eye for an eye! Tit for tat! How vengeful."
"I promise to give you 15,000 septims for her head on a platter. How I wish I could deliver the fatal blow myself, but it is not to be. When she is dead, meet me at Skyforge and bring me something to prove you've done the deed. I can't tell you much about where she is. She's a Breton and may already have gone to High Rock, but I would check with the Forsworn camps near Markarth."
"Consider it done." Fontina confirmed in a solid tone. If that was really what he wanted.
Vilkas' eyes narrowed, but he figured it was just his overactive imagination taunting him again. The night had grown older and the vicious ache in his veins only caused him to become that much more restless. That voice was familiar to him, but he chose not to pursue it. Instead offered his own confirmation as he quickly made his way to the door.
"Good. We have a deal then."