Our Hero, our Hero, claims a warrior's heart
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes
With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes
"There is one they fear. In their tongue, he is Dovahkiin, Dragonborn!"
There never could have been any doubt that the Dragonborn would be an Imperial. Talos may have been born a Nord, but he was best known as Tiber Septim, the father of the Empire. He was commonly considered the best Emperor of all time and it was his descendant Martin Septim who ended the Oblivion crisis by becoming a dragon. Truly only one of the Imperial line could bear the prestige of a dragon's soul like might Talos himself!
For one to be a Voice Master, then they must train with the Greybeards, but before that honor was given, the Dragonborn trained as a bard in the Bard's College in lonely Solitude. There he refined his voice to one that made women swoon and men weep.
The one of prophecy was the master bard Cicero – supreme singer, expert guitarist, and light footed dancer. In addition to his titles of bard and Dragonborn, Cicero also had a darker destiny. He was the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, the one who heard the words of the Night Mother, a dark entity who answered the prayers of the petitioners of the Black Sacrament.
Cicero stood enjoying the feel of the wind blowing back his long, red hair as he watched the sun set into the ocean east of Solitude. One foot was rested on the skeletal remains of a dragon that had been foolish enough to attack him and his companion as they traveled to return to Dawnstar Sanctuary. The rush of absorbing the dragon soul never got tired and he felt elated and undefeatable. Nothing could ruin this moment.
Unless his companion started talking.
"Ooooh, Listener! You were so strong and powerful!" the little, lithe figure in the jester's outfit bounced around like a hyper puppy just fed two pounds of sugar and given a new rubber ball for playing. Her black hair was in two fat braids that bounced up and down as she jumped, tumbled, and skipped next to her beloved leader. "You stabbed, stabbed, and stabbed that nasty dragon so very much. Hecate is so jealous of her mighty Listener."
Before he could stop her, Hecate launched herself into Cicero's arm and wrapped her legs around his waist. Cicero grunted, but he managed to keep his footing as the jester wiggled in his arms. Sometimes he wondered why he had spared the Imperial woman's life after she tried to kill Astrid, like right now when she was being much too exuberant. He couldn't help but laugh as Hecate rained fat, sloppy kisses all over his face.
"Behave you," he said sternly as he detached the insane Keeper's grasp and placed her on the ground.
"As you wish, my Listener!" she chirped, not bothered in the slightest by Cicero's rebuff. "Is there anything else? I'm always eager!" Her mad eyes twinkled mischievously at her not so subtle innuendo. Especially since she was rubbing her form against Cicero rather vigorously.
"Um, no, that's all for now! We should keep on heading home or we won't make it back before dark," Cicero stammered as his face flushed red. It seemed like Hecate was always trying to get him to sleep with her. He picked up his lute and rapidly headed east towards Sanctuary.
"Hecate doesn't mind if it gets dark and she must share a bedroll with her sweet Listener," the Keeper yelled as she ran after the Dragonborn. "Hecate promises to keep her Listener warm all night long! Ha, ha, ha!"
Cicero sighed. Sometimes he wished….
"What in Oblivion?" Vaermina swore.
The sleeping form of Hecate had started laughing out loud in what could only be described as unadulterated joy. There was no mania or fear from the vision of the nightmare he had given her. She seemed to be honestly amused by the scenario of her being the mad fool instead of the gifted child of destiny.
"I don't understand," the Daedra prince muttered. "What kind of maniac would want to be insane?"
"It seems you underestimated your victims," Erandur smirked. He didn't quite dare to laugh in the Daedra Lord's face, he had spent too many years terrified of the entity, but the Dark Elf was amused. He had never seen anyone actually rebuke the Nightmare Lord's visions before.
"Impossible," Vaermina shouted. "It was a fluke. The next vision will have her screaming for mercy!"
Hecate was so happy that she would barely breathe. She never had thought this day would come. The Imperial had been many things in her years – wanderer, bounty hunter, child of prophecy, the Dragonborn, and the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, but she never once thought she would one day be a bride.
The Temple of Mara in Riften was beyond beautiful. It was perfect. Maramal had outdone himself with decorating the place with white winter lilies and snowberries. The various swords and daggers were just the perfect touch too. Hecate didn't think her groom could ever be happy if he wasn't surrounded by sharp, sharp steel. There wasn't any blood, but she knew he would understand.
"Are you ready, Listener?" Babette asked. The little vampire had poked her head into the private room the bride used to get dressed. "Oh, you look lovely. Good enough to eat." She smiled a huge toothy smile that would have made even General Tullius scream in fear and run the other direction.
"I think so," Hecate swallowed hard. She could feel a blush race across her face at the thought of hundreds of eyes turning towards her when she entered the chamber in her off the shoulder Cyrodiil wedding gown.
It was time.
Babette nodded and ducked back out. A few moments later choral music started playing indicating Hecate's cue to join the wedding ceremony. She tightened her grip on her own perfect bouquet of lilies and turned to nod to Aventus. The Nord boy smiled happily as he grabbed her twenty foot long bridal train to keep it from dragging too much on the hard wooden floor. The ten-year-old had been thrilled when Hecate asked him to be her attendant.
When Hecate stepped out, she was temporarily overwhelmed by the sheer number of guests who had decided to attend her and Cicero's wedding. It seemed like all of Skyrim was here! Slimy Belethor, uppity Taarie and her bored sister Endarie, sweet Adrianne Avenicci and her husband Ulfberth War-Bear were in attendance. Hell, it seemed every merchant she had ever invested in had decided to come today!
The jarls were all in attendance from Jarl Balgruuf to Jarl Elisif. Even Ulfric was here today. The large Nord was weeping loudly into a handkerchief while leaning on his right hand man Galmar's shoulder. "She should have been mine, old friend," the Bear of East March sobbed. "The High King of Skyrim should be married to the Dragonborn."
"It will be okay, my friend," Galmar said gruffly and not just in his normal gravelly voice. He too was overcome with the emotion of the day. "She'll see the light someday."
Lydia sat nearby with her head in her hands shaking it sadly. "Where did I go wrong?" she muttered over and over. "I swore to carry her burdens. Wasn't that good enough?"
Even the Night Mother had come to this joyous occasion. She had the honor of her coffin placed in the seat reserved for the groom's mother and some thoughtful soul had draped nightshade all over her in a wreath. She had her own handkerchief crumpled in her rotted hand and if there was a trail of tears of happiness running down her withered face then everyone had the good grace to not say anything about it.
In reality, Hecate didn't see any of these people. Her eyes were only on her jester, her Fool of Hearts, her Keeper. Cicero looked so handsome wearing his trademark jester's motley. His foolish grin couldn't have been bigger than hers as she walked slowly towards her groom.
A Dark Elf wearing the priestly robes of Mara stepped forward so he was in front of the happy couple. He recited the words of the ceremony of binding, but Hecate didn't hear one word of it. She could only see the sparkling amber eyes of her best friend and lover who was going to become her husband forever and ever and ever. Life was going to be perfect!
The ceremony ended quickly, but not nearly quickly enough for Hecate. She casually tossed her bouquet behind her into the crowd. She vaguely heard Babette say, "Congratulations on catching the bouquet, Nazir," followed by the Redguard's cry of anguish.
"I love you," Cicero said as he swept his new bride into his arms.
"I love you," Hecate gushed back.
"No, I love you!" Cicero insisted.
"I love you more!" Hecate declared.
"No, I LOVE you more!" Cicero countered.
"NO, I LOVE YOU MORE!" Hecate almost Shouted.
The two Imperials started kissing each other without abandon. The crowd cheered happily for the happy couple. No one could be happier this day than this happy group. Surely happiness was defined by this display of happy love.
"Let's kill someone," Hecate whispered in her perfect husband's perfect ear.
"Oh, yes," Cicero sighed, "and then we could…."
The dream ended abruptly again when Hecate started screaming with laughter. This time she writhed on the ground kicking her legs as she guffawed loudly at the vision. Next to her, even Cicero had a faint smile on his lips.
"I don't understand!" Vaermina practically whined. "She was specifically terrified of marriage. What happened?"
Erandur noted that the two assassins were still holding hands despite how violently Hecate was rolling around on the ground and smiled. He thought he had an idea of what was giving the woman fortitude, but he didn't want to think about it too deeply in case Vaermina picked up the thought and turned it against the couple.
"There is one fear she still has," Vaermina snarled, "and it is the root of her past fear of marriage. The fear of being bound to one place, to one idea, to one identity. I will exploit that fear!"
When the door opened and light flooded into the room, Hecate cried out in pain. Even the dim candlelight hurt her eyes after hours (or was it days?) of sitting in complete darkness. She raised her shackled hands up to her face to block the light, but it didn't seem to help.
"Oh, Listener, is it too bright for you? Cicero is sorry!" the mad jester chirped as he bound into the room carrying a platter with bread, cheese, and meat. He placed the platter on the side table next to where Hecate had been sitting before skipping over to examine the Night Mother's coffin.
While Cicero's back was turned, Hecate grabbed the food greedily and crammed it into her mouth barely chewing it enough before swallowing. She couldn't remember food ever tasting so good.
"Listener, you are so hungry!" Cicero smiled broadly as he cleaned the Night Mother's coffin.
"What day is it?" she mumbled around a mouthful of cheese.
"Sundas," Cicero said simply. "Cicero has come to oil Mother."
"You left me here alone in the dark with Her for three days, Cicero," Hecate said sighing. "Of course, I'm going to be hungry."
"No, no, no," Cicero shook his head vehemently. "It cannot have been that long."
"It was," Hecate said gently. She didn't want to upset the Keeper so he stormed off. Maybe this time she could persuade him. "It would be easier if you let me go."
"Cicero cannot do that," he grinned evilly. "Not after the naughty Listener tried to run away again."
Hecate could feel large tears threatening to fall as she remembered the first time she had tried to run away. It had been right after the fall of Falkreath when the Penitus Oculatus had destroyed the Brotherhood.
The cave had burned from the gallons of oil the Oculatus had soaked into everything they could before setting it ablaze. Hecate hadn't been able to save anyone, not even Nazir who had been the last one to fall in front of her very eyes. She had never found Babette's body and part of her hoped that the eternal girl had used her small form to her advantage to escape, but without seeing her Hecate had to assume she was just as dead as the rest.
Cicero had dragged her and the Night Mother's coffin out of the little pool that formed at the base of the waterfall after the sarcophagus had been flung through the window from the blast of the heat of the flames that had ravaged the Sanctuary. Hecate had crawled into the madman's arms and wept over the loss of her family for what felt like hours.
"They're all dead," she rasped, barely able to speak after crying for so hard and long. "There's nothing left. We're done. The Brotherhood is destroyed. "
"Oh, no, no, no, sweet Listener," Cicero crooned comfortingly into her ear. "As long as there is the Night Mother and a Listener, then the Brotherhood will never truly be destroyed. We can rebuild and be stronger than ever."
"I cannot do this, Cicero. I've never been suited to be an assassin. It was a mistake to accept Astrid's offer," Hecate hiccupped sadly into her jester's lap. Turned facedown, she never saw how his grin slid into a dangerous frown. "The two of us could leave. Cyrodiil and Skyrim are too much in turmoil, but we could go to Hammerfell or Elsweyr. I'm sure you'd love the catkin."
"No." It wasn't so much a statement than a growl. "Cicero will never leave Mother." Amber eyes narrowed angrily. "And neither will you."
The short man jumped to his feet so fast that he was a blur. His grip on Hecate's arm was like iron as he hauled her up with him. "What are you doing?" Hecate cried. "You're hurting me. Let me go!" The next day she would gingerly rub the finger shape bruises left in her pale flesh wondering how she hadn't known Cicero would react the way he did.
"We're never leaving Mother, do you understand, you stupid twat?" Cicero screamed. His face was as red as a tomato and his eyes wild like a sabre cat's. "Cicero suffered away from Mother because Hecate promised that she would make everything better, but he won't leave her. I won't leave her! Do you hear me? I won't leave her ever again!" Each sentence was a violent shake and when Cicero finished his tirade, he threw Hecate to the ground.
When the woman cried out from landing heavily when her hips hit the ground, Cicero suddenly smiled and all signs of outrage were gone. "Oh, sweet Listener, are you okay? Cicero didn't mean to be so rough. It's just he worries so for Mother!" The jester offered a helping hand that Hecate only accepted because she feared refusing would bring the dark Cicero back out. "We can rebuild. It will be hard, but we can do it for our Mother." His eyes glittered dangerously. "For she's your mother too, yes?"
Hecate nodded meekly while keeping her eyes averted from Cicero's. If she directly looked at him, then he would know the lie that was in her heart. They spent the rest of the night trying to clean up as much of the rubble as possible, especially the rocks that barricaded the Sanctuary chapel where the Night Mother's coffin had rested. Part of Hecate did sincerely mourn the loss of the beautiful blood-red stained glass mural.
That night while Cicero was sleeping in his bed, Hecate crawled out of her own bed and skulked through the ruins of Sanctuary towards the exit. She didn't even bother to stop to grab anything to take with her. Almost everything had been destroyed in the fire and anything she needed she could either buy from a nearby town or make on her own when she found a forge. Money would not be a problem for she had several caches hidden throughout Skyrim and many of her personal residences had some pocket money. Hell, there was always the possibility of finding Lydia and asking for her help if she couldn't access any of her other resources.
As she ascended the stone steps to the Black Door, Hecate almost didn't see the lithe figure casually leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed in front of him. She gasped when she saw Cicero standing there without his jester's cap. Soft velvet boots tapped a tune impatiently.
"Cicero, what are you…?" she stuttered barely stopping from asking what the madman was doing there waiting for her.
"Trying to leave?" Cicero hissed. "Clever Hecate didn't notice that sleeping Cicero wasn't breathing?" Hecate stifled a groan when she realized he had made a stuffy man to trick her. The jester had known she would try to escape.
"No, my dear Keeper," she said, her voice sounding hollow and fake to her own ears. "I couldn't sleep and thought I would go look for Babette. See if she was okay or if some of the Penitus had escaped and were still roaming nearby."
"You promised you'd always be there for him," Cicero said lowly with his head turned aside. "Yet, you keep leaving me. First at Dawnstar and now here." He turned so he was looking directly at Hecate. "Don't bother trying to lie to me! I know you better than you do, so don't you dare lie to me!" The jester pulled off his right hand glove and slapped Hecate across the face as fast as lightning.
Hecate lost her balance as she fell to her knees from the impact of Cicero's strike. He hadn't held back at all in hitting her. The left half of her face felt numb and when she gingerly touched her cheek it already felt swollen. A pointy-toed boot quickly followed slamming into her stomach which sent her spiraling down the stairs. Sharp pain ran up her back when her spine crashed into the corner of the stairwell. Hecate wasn't able to keep track of the blows she suffered as Cicero hit her repeatedly. At some point, she blacked out and when she woke she was in her bed.
Her right eye wouldn't open and her left one barely could open halfway. Every part of her hurt, much worse than how she had felt after Cicero had discovered her in the Night Mother's coffin and almost beat her to death. Turning her head to the right had been excruciating, but she had managed and found Cicero faithfully sitting by her side with healing poultices and warm broth to eat.
The second time she ran away had been three weeks after her first attempt, as soon as she had been able to get out of her bed unaided. Hecate had made it all the way to Falkreath before Cicero caught her and dragged her back screaming and fighting on Shadowmere's back. The demon horse had not helped her in the slightest and the mare's expression could only be described as disappointed.
The third time Hecate had thought she was going to make it. She had made it all the way to Markarth and was waiting for a caravan to go into Hammerfell and join them as either a guard or a lady paying her way, whichever option looked safer. She felt tired and weak after weeks of Cicero hitting her and being confined to her room to recover, but the thought of being free of the mad Keeper and his dead Mother gave her strength to continue.
Hecate had made the mistake of sleeping the night before she was going to leave. She should have had a healthy fear of Cicero by then, but she had hoped he would look for her eastward towards Elsweyr. She woke to a heavy weight on her chest, a gold swirled glove over her mouth, and a mad, grinning face of a jester assassin leering at her. She tried to scream or even Shout, but the muffling made her helpless.
"Shush, shush, sweet Listener," Cicero had whispered in her ear like a lover, "Poor Cicero would never kill you. He only disciplines you so you can be the leader Mother needs. Loyal Cicero follows the Tenets always. Always."
When they returned to Falkreath, Cicero had shackled her for the first time. When Hecate complained, he had looked at her dead in the eye and said, "It is either the shackles or I permanently hobble you. Maybe lop off a foot, or maybe just the heel. Cicero hasn't decided yet." Hecate wasn't sure what was worse: the cold way Cicero said the threat, or the carefree smile he wore while saying it.
After that, he left her in the chapel with the Night Mother. The old window had been boarded over with heavy boards and the iron doors firmly locked leaving no escape. Hecate would spend hours alone with the corpse who was silent, always so damn silent. She prayed that she would go mad so the situation would finally make sense, but honestly who would answer her? She had disrespected her goddess by trying to flee instead of making the family her Matron craved.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. This just won't do. Won't do at all!" Cicero scolded bringing Hecate back to the present.
"What? What did I do wrong?" Hecate practically screamed. She didn't want to anger Cicero. Never anger Cicero. Gods, keep Cicero happy!
"You're filthy, Listener," Cicero said sternly. He played with her stringy hair. "Cicero cannot allow that. Mother cannot be touched by the corruption of the living. How will she speak to you otherwise? You must bathe before Cicero oils Mother. Come." The jester pulled out a collar and chain that he deftly attached to Hecate's neck.
The only time Hecate was allowed out of the chapel was when she bathed or used the privy. Cicero didn't trust for her to not to try escape so he had devised the leash to keep a hold of her even then. It was humiliating that she couldn't do anything privately for she was not supposed to even relieve herself when she was in the chapel. As far as Hecate was concerned what Cicero didn't know didn't hurt him and did rarely use the bucket left in the chapel, but only when she absolutely couldn't wait any longer.
The Keeper led the Listener down to the waterfall in the main room. She meekly followed with her head down and her hands close to her chest. Hecate had tried several times to overpower Cicero while she bathed. The first time she had thought she could catch the man off guard. Maybe even use her nudity to her advantage by startling him, but Cicero had never worried about the social niceties of modesty and it had afforded her nothing but almost being drowned as the redhead held her under the current for what felt like hours.
When they got to the water's edge, Hecate didn't bother to ask Cicero to turn away when she disrobed. He would just laugh. Not that she blamed him at this point. The jester did carefully unlock each shackle so Hecate could remove her clothes instead of just cutting them off her as he would do if he thought she was being especially naughty. "Thank you," she whispered hating how shamed she felt. How fucking helpless.
"Anything for my Listener," Cicero said so kindly that Hecate thought she would start crying again. It seemed like she cried all the time ever since Astrid's betrayal.
She kept her back to Cicero as she entered the pool. Just because he watched her didn't mean she had to make it easy for him. The pressure of the water falling on her shoulders felt good and it made Hecate realize how stiff she felt from sitting for so long in the chapel. She groaned in pleasure before dunking under the churning water to soak her hair.
When Hecate reemerged, she felt a presence behind her. Cicero's hands clamped down on her shoulders massaging the muscles. "You're moving stiffly. Do you want my help? I could help clean you. I'm always eager," he offered; his voice deep with desire. At some point, Cicero had removed his jester's outfit and wore nothing but his loincloth which did nothing to hide his erection as he pressed against her.
Hecate shuddered in fear. She had wondered when this was going to happen. Cicero's eyes were always on her when they were in the same room, but they were always more…attentive when she bathed. The two of them had been in an awkward dance of sexual desire before everything came crashing down and Hecate doubted Cicero's mad mind would understand that had changed when he had taken her captive.
"Are you going to rape me?" she asked quietly. Although her head was bowed meekly, she silently swore that she would still fight him even if he permanently harmed her in the struggle. Hecate would never submit to a man forcing himself on her.
"What? No! No, Cicero would never take from Hecate what should be freely given," Cicero protested. She turned at the hurt tone in his voice and saw how pained his facial expression was to match. Amber eyes were wide with sincerity. Weeks, maybe months of physical abuse and being held prisoner, and Cicero acted as if it was completely unreasonable for her to fear rape from him. She couldn't help but laugh at his outrage.
Clearly confused, Cicero laughed with her. He seemed happy that she was laughing again since she hadn't done so since the fall of Falkreath. "Humble Cicero lives to serve," he said lowly and just a tad bit suggestively.
"You obey the Tenets," Hecate said making it neither a statement nor a question. A realization was slowly coming over her and she didn't understand how she hadn't accepted it sooner.
"Always," Cicero said firmly.
"The Third Tenet is 'Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis,'" Hecate said gaining confidence.
"Yes," Cicero agreed slowly meeting her gaze challengingly, "that is true. And the only person who is superior to the Keeper is the Listener."
"Unlock me," Hecate commanded as she held her shackles out to Cicero. It wasn't a request or begging like before. "Release my chains, Keeper."
Cicero stared at her defiantly and for a second Hecate's confidence waivered, but she didn't dare allow it to show on her face. She was the Dragonborn, dammit! A mortal with a soul of a dragon and dragons were made to dominate. It was in her blood just like it was in Paarthurnax and Odahviing's blood. She was the one in control. She always had been, but only if she was willing to take responsibility.
"As you wish, my Listener!" Cicero said joyfully. He splashed through the water to his clothes and retrieved the key to Hecate's chains. Within moments, the hateful chains and leash were removed. Hecate sighed in relief as she rubbed her wrists and neck. "Is there anything else? I'm always eager!"
"Yes, there is," Hecate said calmly before throwing her arms around Cicero and pulled him close kissing him deeply. The jester comically flailed his arms from the sudden affection before returning it with wrapping his arms around his Listener.
The Dragonborn moaned with desire as she pushed Cicero to the edge of the pool until he fell backwards. She quickly climbed on top of the Keeper and pinned his arms above his head. A voice in her head protested, "What are you doing? He held you captive! He beat you and kept you prisoner and you reward him with sex?" Oddly enough, it didn't sound like her normal internal worrying voice, but someone else completely.
"Listener," Cicero murmured happily, "command Cicero and it will be done." He arched hungrily against her and the feel of his flesh pressing against hers made her groan with desire. It had been too long, much too long.
"I need you," Hecate confessed as she ran her hand over Cicero's cheek. "I've always needed you and as long as we're together I can face anything." She leaned forward to kiss her Keeper, but before she could do so the dream faded away.
"I see," Vaermina growled. "The secret of her strength given away thoughtlessly at the very end." She turned her attention to her formed worshipper. "I suppose you had already figured it out, oh child of Mara, goddess of love?" The disdain was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Erandur nodded. No sense hiding the truth now after the Nightmare Lord had figured it out. "The first set of dreams had them torn apart. Only when they were together, regardless of the circumstances, was the woman unfazed. The lord of Nightmares defeated by a pair of assassin lovers. It's almost enough to make you laugh."
"It's ridiculous!" Vaermina snarled. The Miasma was thick as fog now coating everything. In her frustration, Vaermina had almost taken a physical form. Her mage robes swirled in the cloying essence that had encased this tower for decades. "Assassins should be dark, broody loners who cannot connect with anyone, not a jester or a former hero. I have half a mind to go to the Void and lobby a complaint! No matter. Now that I know the truth, I can truly destroy them. Send their pathetic souls screaming to Sithis. Maybe after an Era in the Quagmire to teach them proper respect for fear.
"One final dream," Vaermina promised. "One final terror before the dawn."
A/N: This took forever to write. Mostly the last dream. I felt a bit uncomfortable with the message of "Let a guy beat you and it's okay to stay with him", but realistically Hecate and Cicero have a very unhealthy relationship and the message should be what Hecate eventually realized. "You have the power, but you have to be willing to use it."
Or as Suckerpunch put it, "You have all the weapons you need. Now fight!
