The Keeper's Lullaby

Chapter Six

"Siren," Astrid rounded the corner from above the staircase, and Severia slowly turned her head to face the nord woman in a daze. "I need to speak with you." The other woman's blue eyes smoldered with residual irritation, and it was almost enough to make Severia follow orders right then and there.

She hesitated, though. She whipped her head back to the still-humming jester, oblivious to the confusion he'd just caused.

"Now." Astrid's tone didn't leave room for any more hesitation.

With one final glance at the jester, Severia turned and ascended the stairs to speak with their leader. The younger imperial followed the nord through the initiate's quarter's and down into the dining room. Nazir had returned to cleaning the dishes from their last meal, and Severia watched as Astrid grabbed an unopened bottle of mead, popped the cork, and took a long swig before turning to speak.

"I have a job for you," she said, taking a seat at the large family-style table. "You've proved that you can handle the common rabble. Time to see if we can trust you to complete a job worth mentioning."

Severia's eyes narrowed, but Astrid was focused on taking another swig from her mead bottle. Nazir shot a look at their leader, curious yet hesitant. The nord woman saw that look, however, and threw a glare back that had Nazir quickly returning to his cleaning duties. With a groan, Astrid set her bottle down and looked back to Severia, gesturing for the younger girl to take a seat across from her. The young imperial did so slowly, training her face back into something that didn't scream "hostility".

Astrid took a deep breath before speaking.

"I need you to go to Markarth and speak to the apothecary's assistant. You'll probably find her in the Hag's Cure, when the shop is open." She twirled the cork of her mead bottle around in her hand. Severia could've sworn she saw the physical strain the older woman felt trying to reign back in her composure. "The girl's been running her mouth. Wants an ex-lover killed. She's apparently performed the Black Sacrament."

Severia took the information in. Markarth? She'd never been there before. But she knew it'd be a few day's journey on foot. She wondered what made this contract more important than the others she'd had. Up until now, it's just been "one person wants another dead". Not too complicated.

However, this would be her first time actually speaking to the client themselves. That was new. Severia wasn't sure she liked showing her face to civilians. Seemed risky.

"Her name's Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out."

The imperial bounced her knee under the table, thinking over the task she'd been given. No, she didn't like exposing herself as a killer to a random stranger. The Brotherhood was one thing, because they were all killers. But… an apothecary's assistant?

But this was a direct assignment from Astrid. And it was becoming increasingly clear that those who didn't follow her rules weren't to be tolerated. "Anything else I should know?"

Astrid sighed, pleased the momentary silence was met with nothing but obedience. "Just do whatever the contact wishes. Be professional, represent us well, and get the job done." The blonde nord picked up her mead bottle once more, offering it out for Severia to take. The younger woman politely held a hand up, declining. Astrid shrugged, taking another swig for herself before continuing. "Since it's your first real contract, I'll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She'll be generous, I'm sure." A wicked grin plastered itself over the Brotherhood leader's face. "They always are."


Severia was relieved to finally be alone with her thoughts.

She'd retreated to the initiate's quarters, leaving the odd little redhead to finish his maintenance on the metal casket instead of returning to interrogate him. She was already exhausted, and Cicero's exuberant presence was enough to drain her down to her reserves. Astrid's new assignment on top of all that didn't give her much time to approach the situation with a clear mind.

There were three possible explanations for how the jester knew that song.

The first and most probable reason was that he and the Night Mother truly had been living underneath the city of Cheydinhal for the past five years. And if that was the case, it was no wonder that he knew the song perfectly and even enunciated certain words the same way she herself did. The fact that the jester may have been hearing her sing all this time had her face heating up. Severia didn't much care for an audience to begin with, but singing every night for five years to someone she didn't know was there set her on edge.

The second way he'd heard the song could've been from that woman. Her Aunt Ali had sung the song to her as a child, but the woman had been presumed dead. No one had seen the older woman since the death of Severia's mother, Aunt Ali's sister.

The third could be that her Aunt had sung the song for someone else and it had simply traveled from there. But she was pretty sure that the older woman felt the song was just as sacred as Severia did.

She trudged up the stairs and into her bed, not bothering to remove her leather armor. Regardless, Severia needed to find out how Cicero had heard that song. It wasn't exactly a dire situation, and she hadn't lied about why she was here in the first place. But the song was precious to her… it was private.

And if she finds out that she'd been giving the eccentric jester a private show every night for the past five years…

Severia's face flushed hotly, uncomfortable with that thought. Severia had felt many things since her Enigma had unleashed the emotions she had hidden deep beneath herself. This… uncomfortable feeling had her wishing she could do it all differently.

Truly, she was not… embarrassed?

Shame was not a feeling Severia was accustomed to, for she did what she wanted without an inkling of remorse. And it wasn't often that she had regretted a choice, even if the outcome wasn't as favorable as it could've been. She made decisions easily, and didn't look back on them. And that stupid jester had her face flushing more than once.

But, for the first time, Severia wished she could crawl under a rock and hide from the result of her actions.

The only aspect of the situation that appealed to her was the fact that Cicero didn't recognize her. As long as she didn't sing around him, then her anonymity should remain.

Severia groaned aloud, plastering her gloved hands on her face.

This was all rather circumstantial. For all she knew, the Keeper could've heard the song once before from someone who knew her Aunt Ali. She didn't much want to approach the man and fling endless questions at him. Most of the siblings in the Brotherhood didn't mind questions, as long as you don't venture too far into their past. She hadn't seen her Aunt Ali since her mother had died, and that was almost nine years ago.

Severia kept her leather clad hands plastered to her face, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Ever since she'd left Cheydinhal, her emotions had been running more and more rampant. Without her Enigma to sing to, she was slowly going mad. Fucking the thief in Riften had been a temporary fix, but that had been weeks ago. Since she didn't have her entity here, and she couldn't even sing without risking the little madman overhearing, a good screw might just be what she needed to reign herself back in. It worked the first time. There was no reason it wouldn't work a second.

Ah, but Markarth. That was on the complete opposite end of Skyrim. Making a pit stop in Riften wouldn't be an option if she were to get her first official job done in decent time.

Severia peeled her shrouded armor from her body, leaving her clothed in nothing but a linen shirt and pants. She slipped into her claimed bed, wondering what time of day it was and if it was appropriate to sleep yet. Not that she really cared. Everyone in the sanctuary tended to sleep in varying schedules, as excessive traveling and working at night would do to one.

She pulled the furs of her bed up to her chin, letting her worries float away from her one at a time.

Feeling things was so draining. Severia didn't remember it being this exhausting back when she had her Enigma.

As her mind drifted away into sleep, she wished for just a moment that she could go back to the uncomplicated times of her apathy.


Cicero had many mixed feelings from his first day in his and his Mother's new sanctuary.

First and foremost was his obvious distaste for the vile nord woman, Astrid. If it weren't for the Tenets keeping the maniac in check, he would've cut out the impudent woman's tongue for even suggesting that her word came above the Night Mother's. That and the fact that the Night Mother wasn't exactly giving orders lately, so Cicero would simply have to wait for a Listener. His Matron surely didn't choose the pretender, so he would wait to act.

Once a Listener appeared, he could find a way to get rid of the fake leader.

The argonian, redguard, and dunmer woman didn't speak to Cicero. They simply watched his antics with mild distaste until their vile leader left. Her angry lapdog followed close behind. The un-child looked upon the jester with curious eyes and a smile, but said nothing to the Keeper and went along her way as well. It was only when he turned back to his Mother's wooden encasement that he saw her not far behind it.

There, hiding in the stairwell, was a tiny imperial woman. She watched him with chocolate, guarded eyes. Her petite, tanned face was framed with thick, brunette curls that stuck out haphazardly from her shrouded hood. The skin-tight armor of the Brotherhood showed that her breasts were modest, but her hips and thighs were anything but.

A pretty little thing, she was. Nothing extravagant, but beautiful in her plainness. And if the Keeper had time to fawn over fair young women, he would probably start with her.

She flinched when he called out to her, and she approached hesitantly, but confidently. Her steps were quiet and practiced, and if he hadn't watched her approach him, he wouldn't have even noticed her. Her gloved hand hovered near her blade naturally, as if she was consistently on high alert. It wasn't obvious, however, and Cicero was sure he could only tell because he was one of the best.

Cicero wouldn't think twice about this girl at a glance. Innocent, cute, and unassuming. But to the Keeper of the Dark Brotherhood, he could see the shadows that followed this creature of the night.

Yes, this girl would be a fine assassin. Dangerous, indeed. Sure to earn Mother's favor.

When she gave her name in the broodiest of fashions, albeit a name he was positive was fake, he couldn't help but mock her. And instead of brushing him off like the fool he was, she blushed furiously and sputtered over herself. Oh, how this new sister was already so much fun.

And the new sister had even offered poor Cicero her help in unboxing Mother. That was something none of the others had done, and it went a long way for the jester. A wonderful daughter to his beloved Mother, for sure.

And yet she lingered, wanting to know about the Night Mother. The curlicue-haired sister didn't seem to know much about the Night Mother if she was asking that with her coffin right next to them. The pretender was obviously not training their new initiates properly, though that didn't surprise Cicero. He reminded himself to educate her thoroughly once a better opportunity arose.

Cicero's new silent sister certainly didn't talk much. And her face had been scrunched up for most of the time she lingered by the Keeper. Her eyes strayed to anywhere but his face, and Cicero vowed to himself that he would have much more fun with this sister in the future. But for now, it was time to tend to mother.

When Cicero turned back to his duties and the tiny sister had walked away without a word, he allowed his working tune to erupt from his lips. It always brought out his best work in caring for Mother, and it was only appropriate. She had given him the song. It was a beautifully intimate song, and he would give anything to hear it again from the source.

Cicero wondered, not for the first time since he left Cyrodiil, how his little bird was doing.

The words stopped flowing from the jester's lips when he saw the curlicue sister watching him intently from the stairwell. She stared so intensely that Cicero almost regretted allowing his song to be heard by the new sister.

He had trouble reading her scrunched up face then.

The pretender had whisked the new sister away, leaving Cicero to his duties. Choosing not to think too much on the strange reaction, the Keeper set upon moving his Mother to the unkempt chapel up the stairwell. It was hard work for only one person, and he secretly hoped one of the siblings would've offered more assistance. It was alright, though. Upon realizing that the sanctuary was filled with brainwashed siblings following a harlot, Cicero wasn't sure he wanted anyone else to touch his beloved Matron. He was used to it anyway. A Keeper that couldn't properly keep wasn't a very good Keeper. So he'd taken it upon himself to keep himself fit and in shape so that he could move his Mother at a moment's notice.

The chapel was a mess. It was dusty and smelled of mold. The bedroom attached to the chapel, meant to be his, was equally as awful. His ire grew for the vile woman Astrid, and he set about cleaning up the impossible mess.

Cicero wished for only a moment that he was alone again. It almost seemed better than what he'd gotten himself into.

Ah, but it wasn't about what poor Cicero wanted. It was about Mother. It always was.

The hours trickled by as the Keeper swept, dusted, and washed the chapel and altar for his Mother. As terrible as the people who lived here were, it was nice to give his Mother a proper chamber. The stained glass depicting the Dread Father made for a positively sinister backdrop for the Night Mother's casket. It illuminated her in an ethereal sanguine light, and the candles he'd set up around her had the dark ebony metal gleaming in the darkness. Once he became satisfied with the new old chapel's appearance, he'd sat on one of the newly repaired pews directly in front of the altar.

It was silent again.

The jester fought it's way to the forefront of his mind, laughing and praising him for a job well done. Mother was surely proud of him, oh yes. Foolish Cicero was a foolish man, but an oh so wonderful Keeper. It was only a matter of time before his Mother chose a new Listener. It had to be soon. There just had to be one here. If there wasn't then- then-

Everything you've done has been for nothing.

The gleeful voice of the jester taunted him. It ripped at his brain and heart from the inside, and it laughed and laughed until finally the noise erupted from the Keeper's own throat.

No, that was ridiculous. Mother would choose eventually. It was okay.

"Cicero?"

The red haired jester whipped his head around to stare at the open doorway, the tiny, curlicue-haired sister staring at him warily.

By Sithis, she moved quietly.

It only took a moment for the Keeper to compose himself and plaster his signature grin back into place. Mother had saved him from the silence once again.

"Something I can help you with, tiny sister?" he asked, watching as she hesitated at the door. She seemed conflicted about something, and he wondered if she was just going to turn and walk away without a word like last time. After a moment of consideration, she took a deep breath and walked into the chapel, eyes glued to the Night Mother's casket. She only took a few steps in before coming to a halt.

She looked different out of her shrouded armor. The black and brown leather ensemble she wore was just as figure enhancing, but it made her seem even more ordinary. If it weren't for the dagger strapped to her hip and the one he was sure she had hidden in her boot, he would've thought she was just your average citizen. Her hair was slightly tamed and pulled into a side braid, but a few stray curls still managed to escape her leather hair strap. Her hood was down, but the little light they had in the chapel still hid her dark facial features somewhat.

Cicero watched her watch the Night Mother for what seemed like a lifetime before she inclined her head slightly towards the Keeper. "Did you… do all of this? Overnight?" she inquired quietly, eyes never leaving the giant metal coffin.

Siren was a suitable moniker for this tiny sister. Even if her appearance was ordinary, her voice was something sweet and light and womanly. He wondered if the Siren sang just as beautifully as she spoke.

"Cicero couldn't possibly rest while his Mother was cooped up in some confining wooden box." he stood gracefully, clapping his hands and giggling tiredly. "Only the best for Mother."

Only then did she drag her eyes away from the Night Mother, eyeing him up and down in the span of a second. "You're exhausted." The observation threw Cicero for a loop. Or two. "You should take better care of yourself. I'm sure she'd want that."

Ignoring the sentiment for what Cicero was sure it was, he instead chuckled nervously, laying a hand on the hilt of his ebony dagger. "And you… presume to know what it is the Night Mother wants? Do you speak for our Matron? Hmm?"

The tiny sister was taken aback, and her face reverted to its irritated, scrunched up expression. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead only shook her head and walked out of the room, closing the door surprisingly softly behind her.

Only when he was sure she was gone did Cicero relax his tense posture and allow his hand to fall from the hilt of his dagger. He descended to the floor, allowing himself to wrap his arms around his knees. The laughter came then, soothing him until he fell into a fitful sleep right there on the swept stone floor.

Oh, how he missed the days of sending countless souls to the Void.


Severia stepped out of the dark Sanctuary and into the fresh air of the surrounding forest. Her feet took her the fifteen minute trek to the shops in Falkreath to stock up before her journey to Markarth.

She had no idea what had compelled her to speak to the loony jester. For a split second, she thought she had felt her Enigma. It had been so brief, but undeniable. Her feet had taken her through the double doors into the old chapel before she could stop them. The feeling was gone as fast as it had come, but it had left her staring into the eyes of a very distressed, very tired Keeper.

Well. This was awkward.

It didn't take a genius to realize he'd been up all night cleaning the musty old room for the Night Mother after a long journey. His disheveled hair and dark circles gave away his exhaustion, so she did what she assumed any decent person would in a moment like that. This unbalanced man was technically one of them now, so being nice couldn't hurt.

Or so she thought. When he'd spit her concern right back in her face, she'd been too angry to speak. So much for that.

Severia decided she wouldn't waste any more energy on the loon. He was obviously disturbed in more ways than one, and she didn't have much to gain from him that was worth the inconvenience of speaking with him.

She'd felt her Enigma. Even if it was only for a second. But it was there, in the Sanctuary.

And a strong feeling in her gut told her the answer lied with the Night Mother.

But that would have to wait. Severia had a contract to complete, and the sooner that was done, the sooner she could discover the truth.

The five day trek to Markarth was uneventful for the most part. The weather stayed moderate and somewhat warm for Skyrim, and the trail through the mountains was beautiful in its own right. Being alone for the few days had eased Severia into a rather content state. With nothing around to rouse her into an emotional fit, her journey was almost enjoyable. It wasn't until she was closer to the city that she felt eyes on her.

She didn't give away that she knew she was being followed. From her years as a thief, she knew that looking suspicious only put the ones watching you on high alert. The less they knew that she knew, the better. Only when she'd walked between a cluster of trees did she act. Deciding she was properly hidden, she jumped up the side of the nearest tree, only stopping to rest on one of the lower, thicker branches. She only had to wait a moment before two figures appeared at the base of the tree, confused and searching for her. A grin split her face and she dropped down from her branch, slitting the throat of the first before the second even noticed she was there. It only took a single moment before the other figure turned to face their attacker, and by then it was too late. Severia plunged her steel dagger into the man's suprasternal notch, twisted violently, and retrieved her blade before her enemy could blink.

The two, bandits she assumed, fell lifelessly to her feet. They were dressed oddly, with barely concealing furs and deer bones adorning their clothes. She didn't think too much on it, and pulled her hood farther down her face to conceal her identity from any possible onlookers.

There. Now it was a pleasant trip.