A/N: Back to Ula's POV
My heart was beating so fast.
I angrily shoved the door open, hinges creaking and old wood splintering as it cracked against the cold cobble wall. Gritting my teeth, I searched the room for signs of the jester. I froze when I saw him lying on the ground, hands clutching his stomach in a pool of blood.
For a split moment, I forgot my anger. I forgot all the words I had wanted to scream at him. He was hurt, he was going to die. The gravity of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks, and for that split second I almost ran to him.
Almost.
I shook myself, wholly committing to the path of vengeance I had been placed on. This man did not deserve my pity, he did not deserve my pause.
He wheezed, then, breath sounding wet and wrong.
"-Can't we talk a little about this? Be civil?" He asked, voice weak and alien. "Cicero knows Ula is angry, but-"
"No. I don't want to talk. You've talked enough for the two of us on my way through here." I answered. He pulled his knees in tighter, clutching his stomach desperately as he coughed several times. A spray of blood hit the floor, and it made my insides coil uncomfortably.
"...Mother wouldn't want us to fight." He responded. I advanced on him quickly, willing myself to just finish this - drawing my blade.
"-I don't care." I said, forcing my face and voice to be stone.
"Oh, sweet Ula can't lie to Cicero. You know it's wrong -! I see it in your expression. Astrid pit us against each other on purpose! You...Know that, don't you?" I felt myself tense considerably under the slight tone of condescension he hid so expertly in his ravaged voice.
"I do. I'm no fool." I answer. "You think I'm doing this for Astrid? No - I'm doing this for myself." He pulled himself up into a half-reclining position, red stains across his mouth.
"Even if you succeed here, she'll betray you-" He pressed.
"Like you did?" I made a fist around the hilt of my dagger. "Like you-?" My breath caught in my throat. No - no, I would not cry here. He would not get that satisfaction. He would not know how much he meant to me, or how this thing he had done hurt me so much. His face registered surprise for a moment, pale and gaunt as it was.
"I-"
"You ruined everything!" I continued, half shrieking: "I was so close - we were so close! They were coming to our side against Astrid. You let your passion get the best of you and you've put us back to square one!" My eyes began to water. I was so angry at myself. I gulped down air to try and soothe my urge to cry, to calm my burning throat.
Wasn't I doing the same thing? Wasn't I committing the same sin as him? Allowing my passions to get the best of me? I try to swallow this painful truth before it can take root in my conscience."You've proven you didn't trust me at all. You've proven - You've proven you never cared - "
"-I would do anything for The Night Mother! I would do it all again. She was disrespecting our Matron! And as for you-" No. I couldn't let him speak about me - about us -
Acidic bile rose but I forced that down, too.
"Astrid disrespecting The Night Mother - like she always has!? You let go of everything we had accomplished with the others for a moment of passionate rage. Tell me, Keeper, was it worth it?" His eyes searched my face, burning bright amber. His mouth opened and closed once, and I held up a hand. "No. I don't want to hear your excuses."
Silence reigned between us.
"...Will it change your mind if I beg?" He finally asked.
"No." I answered. He stifled a giggle, desperate and manic.
"Can't blame me for trying, can you!?" He gave himself over to it - laughing hoarsely, which gave way to a wince. I watched him squirm on the floor for a moment before making an executive decision.
"...I admit to being a bit curious, Keeper. What argument could you possibly have to convince me that I should spare you?" I asked, moving closer to him. He flinched as I stood above him, as if I would kick him while he was down. The expectation hurt me a bit, but I tried my best to remain nonchalant. "Give me your reason."
He looks at me warily, countenance pale and weak. His eyes flicker back and forth between my face and the floor, and the wall just over my shoulder.
"I...I actually didn't believe you'd ask or give me the chance. Hm. Give Cicero a moment." Before I could retort, he gasped. "Oh! How about: I'm The Keeper!? To Kill A Brother Is To Incur The Wrath of Sithis! It should be obvious, dear Ula."
"Archaic rules are not good enough." I raised the blade with the intent for it to come down against him, but at the last moment I could not bear to kill him. He shut his eyes to prepare for a blow that never came. Slowly, eyes opened again and he slumped against the floor.
"...Well, at least you hesitated." The jester wheezed. "Cicero's life means nothing to the others. They would have found me and killed me with no pause. For that, I'm glad she sent you."
"...Do not mistake my hesitation for mercy. I just - I...Do not revel in the thought of killing a brother. I am purging a traitor to be judged by Sithis."
"Traitor!? If I'm a traitor, then so are you."
The dagger lowered slowly. "...Am I, Keeper?" My voice was suddenly tight again. "Am I a traitor?"
"...My...Listener?" He spoke the last part mockingly, and it hurt more than I could categorize in that moment.
"...Talk to me." I pleaded, pulling myself down to his level.
"Now you wish me to talk. And what shall I speak of in these tense, final moments?" Final moments. My eyes worriedly glanced over his gloved hands, blood oozing between them. It was bad. Very bad. The wound looked angry and I feared if he moved his very insides would become 'outsides.'
"...Anything. Persuade me - you who has offered me the most council in these troubling times. Tell me what you're thinking." Convince me not to kill you.
"Ah. Last words then?" He let out a pained laugh. "You're too kind to Cicero. My last thoughts are not so admirable or witty. I'm afraid I have no riddles or jokes."
"Tell me anyways."
"...There is shame. I want to beg you to reconsider, and I have never been a man reduced to begging. But - I am the Keeper - You are the Listener! She pits us against each other to rid us both of our presence. Don't you see? You are a pawn to her. She hopes we will destroy one another. That way she doesn't have to deal with The Old Ways. So she doesn't have to answer to either of us."
"That may be so, but it doesn't excuse what happened with Veezara. An innocent brother - marred by your blade. That's...That's breaking a Tenant-"
"And Astrid? Has she not broken all of our Tenants?"
"You were to be the example. Not her."
"What a poor excuse, my sweet deathbell." He sighed again, cheek laying against the floor. I flinched against the affectionate name. It reminded me of being small again, with dirty feet and ripped clothes. "A poor excuse indeed. You want to kill me. I see it in your eyes." He frowned, pain etched across his face. "There is no convincing you otherwise. But allow me try, anyhow: to appeal to you by groveling:" He cleared his throat, preparing for one last performance. He pulled his hands into a prayer position and made a pleading face. "Lie! Tell her I am dead! That you strangled me with my own intestines! But don't kill me! If you spare me, you will gain a devoted servant!" It would have been a funny situation had it been literally any other time.
I bared my teeth at him in an angry snarl. "You face death as a joke?" He slumped against the floor again, having tired himself out.
"What more can I do?" He mumbled. "As a servant of Sithis, Death is life. Kill or be killed. Make others see the glory of The Void. If I do not beg, I will be a pawn too, and we will fight. And that is not a fight I would or could want to win. I cannot kill you. If there is no Listener - then there is no Brotherhood. It's All or Nothing I'm afraid." I sat beside him, sinking to my knees. "Sweet Ula, don't make me have to kill you. Don't make me hurt you. Cicero can't - He couldn't. And...Purification is needed, and you know it."
"The Rite of Purification is an arduous, complicated process passed and given by members whose positions no longer exist. No one authorized you to act in this way." I reminded him, voice distant. My mind was trying to escape the horrible situation, trying to fly far away. I realized that he was right. Today, these last few moments between us - would be final. I forced myself back into my body with great difficulty.
"There is no one to defer to, like you said, so it is my duty to take it upon myself -"
"Me? Mother. I rank higher. Mother would have said, maybe. She is quiet on the affairs of her children, but surely - Surely she would have..." We were quiet for a moment. "...You know what you did was wrong."
"...The Fool of Hearts is tired. So...Very tired. Perhaps I am a traitor. Misguided Cicero must have truly lost his mind to betray the one thing he worked so hard to become a part of."
"Maybe." I held my face in my hands.
"Ula thinks so, and that's all that matters to me."
"...You were out of control."
"So you must put me down? Sounds to me you've already made up your mind. I am then, I suppose, resigned to my Death. Ula no longer wants me to live, so I will perish. What is life's greatest illusion?"
"Innocence." I answered automatically.
"Yes. If you think me unworthy of life, then I am already dead."
He was right about that.
"...Tell me something." I stood again, wanting to put space between us. "Our friendship?"
"What of it?" He picked himself up from the ground, half-reclining on his bottom once more. I winced as a new torrent of blood began to ooze between wet velvet.
"...Was it all...Was all of it-" He stared up at me, eyes blank and face devoid of expression.
"...What do you want me to tell you?"
"Irrelevant."
"Do you want me to tell you something that will make you feel better about executing me, or do you want me to convince you to leave and lie?"
"I was hoping for the truth." I answered.
"The truth...?" His stare broke as he shifted uncomfortably. "The truth is...Cicero is glad to have had someone to listen to him ramble. Someone who was just as devout to Sithis and The Night Mother. I enjoyed our long talks, the moments spent in silent camaraderie. I enjoyed your presence, My Listener. It may have started at my trying to get you to see things my way, but... It changed to...Something else." His voice leveled as he straightened. "Although, I have to say: Most of all Cicero is pleased to have been able to open you up like a rock, peeking and peering and prodding, finding gems and geodes inside." Then, a sigh. "Oh, but I've ruined that, haven't I? You've clammed right back up again, twice as hard on the exterior. I see it in the steel of your eyes when you look at me. That's the most painful part, I think."
I said nothing. I was disgusted with myself.
"That makes it worse for you, doesn't it? That I know you. That it was real."
"...You've hurt me. And you knew it would." I choked back a sob, rage etched on my face. "You still-"
"It makes me out to be wrong. Maybe it will help you kill me -? Sithis only knows. But...Does that make me a monster? Hoping for the best, hoping you'd see it my way? After blinding you to any other view left?"
"Yes." I answered. He laughed hollowly.
"I was doing what I believed was right. I don't regret it. Cicero only regrets that it hurt you, but it had to be done." Then he squinted at me. "What are you doing? Following your heart - or submitting to The Harlot's will?"
"I'm punishing you for wrongs committed."
"Punishing me? Or punishing yourself? After all, you're the one who-"
"Does it matter?" I muttered, averting my gaze from his countenance.
"No. I suppose it doesn't. Cicero will die either way." He mused. We sat in silence. "Though, I suppose it does. It's one thing to lie to others and another to lie to yourself."
"Hm."
"You owe no loyalty to Astrid." He reminded me. "Only to Mother. Do you not trust our Lady?" Lucien's words echoed back to me and I fought against acquiescence.
"I can't allow this. Even if it is wrong, even if there's a chance -The others would- "
"Home is where you make it, sweet Ula. I know why you hesitate. You want them to-" A rage exploded in my veins, hot and coursing. I spun around to face him, jabbing a finger towards him.
"You were my home!" He flinched as if I had slapped him with my words. "The others - they just make it more real. And now you've done something that forces me to choose between them and you. I do not and will not lie to the ones I love. Why risk such pain for the few I have? You've forced my hand, Keeper!" He shut his eyes against my words. I choked back another sob, this time the noise almost escaping. "...You've...Forced my hand. I can't lose their confidence. Maybe I can still salvage what we built. Maybe I can still rise against Astrid."
We are silent again.
"...I keep telling myself I shouldn't fight you. That you couldn't possibly be serious. " He muttered, drawing himself up. "But...I would never forgive myself if I died without trying. I told myself that if they chose you - and I knew Astrid would - I could convince you, out of all the others, not to be a pawn in her game. I thought you might understand."
"You're thinking of killing me? While I'm trying to tell you how I feel - ?"
"You're making the wrong choice! Cicero will fight you because you are wrong, wrong, wrong!" He stood with shaky legs, clutching his stomach. "I get it. The Fool of Hearts gets it, okay? Ula is mad at stupid, foolish Cicero because he chose Mother over you-"
It felt like my stomach dropped to my feet.
"-It isn't like that at all." I shut down, then, I think, numbing myself against anything else he might say. It was too far - too deep into things we never spoke about. The moment his blade sunk into Veezara's belly was the moment it was too late. "...Maybe it was, but it isn't anymore. I've decided." He studied my face, brow creased.
"..Anymore?"
"You...Aren't...You're sick. You're ill. I...I felt that if-" Realization smoothed out his features, all the lines of expression in his face. It made me feel nauseous. "I felt that if I said something, anything about how I - How I felt about you, that it would be wrong." He said nothing, amber eyes like lanterns in the dim room.
He was trying to figure out what I meant. I felt foolish, confessing to him like this, felt dirty and wrong and so awful and sick -
"...Why did Ula never-?"
"What for? There was never exactly...The time." I confessed. "And you're...You. You're...How you are." His shoulders, tense before, slumped out of shape. "This isn't the point I was trying to make." I became shy of his gaze suddenly, eyes forced to the floor. "It was wrong. I was wrong. And it never mattered. It wouldn't change anything here between us today. Maybe it would have made it worse."
"To you it was wrong, maybe." He answered. I forced myself to look at him again, trying to understand what he was trying to say. "Cicero-" He made a face that was akin to wincing, " -I think that...If I had known-...It would have mattered to me. It does matter." I felt myself turn to stone against his softly-spoken words.
"No. It doesn't. Not now. Maybe not even before. It's pathetic. I suppose I should thank you for showing me that caring too much gets me into trouble. I'll be sure never to make the same mistake again."
"I'm - I was different. Before, I mean. Cicero - I would have- We could have -"
"It doesn't matter!" I screeched, squeezing my eyes shut. "-It can't matter, because -!" I felt my voice crack. "No matter how much you or I want it to, it doesn't change what's happened.. You're sick. Things happened to you. Now you're this way. I've only known you this way. It's how you are. Thinking about what could have been, what might have- It was foolish, a simple diversion - a want for something I never had. A place for me to rest. I don't need it. I don't want it. It shouldn't even be discussed. It's too late." I felt myself give into the grief. "It's too late." My voice cracked again, and with that simple distortion I felt the knot my insides had made come undone. He stood, squaring his shoulders again.
"...Yes. I suppose you're right. Task at hand and whatnot." He reached for the dagger at his hip. It felt like my heart was ripping in half. "I don't suppose you'll go easy on me, will you? I'm not - I'm not what I used to be." He gave me a weak smile. "The years - they've left me a little rusty. And I do have a rather grotesque gash in my side. That overgrown sheepdog grazed me quite good - the only hit he ever got."
"...I can't say I'm surprised-" I said, drawing my blade to mirror him. "He's always been a bit slow."
"Oh, you mean physically as well as mentally?" The jester let out a laugh, ending with a wet cough that made him grip his side in pain. "-Yes, I suppose you're right."
Then he lunged at me.
It was a whirl of blades. Jabbing, lunging, missing strike after strike, dancing just out of reach. Despite injuries both of us had sustained, the fight was one of the best I'd had. Tragedy formed a stone in my throat, always threatening to dislodge. Tears would only make me dead. Tears would cloud my vision, and I wanted to see his face as he died.
I wanted to see if there was an apology somewhere in there.
He had stumbled, wincing at the gash in his ribs, and it was when my dagger first bit into flesh. He gasped out in pain, and my walls broke down. The first tear slid down my cheek as he pulled away, squaring his stance with some effort. Hot itchy tears stung my eyes, blurred the vision so that I saw only his shape for a moment. I didn't care if I died, at that moment. I was - I was going to kill him - the only person who had been my friend in a very long time. Why? What for? I lost all my rationalizations. Nothing could possibly be worth losing him.
"Ah-ha, look at that. I'm bleeding." He wheezed out a laugh. "Very good. Your form has improved."
"Don't." I muttered, voice thick with grief.
"You still don't have to do this." He said, then threw himself into a coughing fit. Blood speckled the side of his mouth as he breathed heavily, a wet rattle in his chest. "But I suppose the point is moot. I'll still die."
"I must do this." I replied. "I must. If I want to save us, I have to make difficult decisions-" His eyes snapped to meet mine.
"She will never let you have her position as leader."
"I don't need to be leader to make changes."
"You should be." My hands lowered slightly, and I backed away a little."It's the way it's always been."
"Maybe we don't need the Old Ways anymore. Maybe Mother-"
"We will always need the Old Ways. We will always need The Tenants." Another wet cough. Then he peered into my face, and his expression changed. The shift was so subtle it caught me off guard. He seemed almost at peace, as if he had made a decision - as if he was no longer in pain.
"Oh, The Dread Lord will not want this at all. May Sithis judge us both!" With a quick lunge he tried to slice at me while my guard was down. He nicked my arm and nothing more. In my surprise I retaliated without thinking, burying the dagger deep into the space between his ribs. He let out a breathless laugh as he slumped against me, face buried in my neck in a grotesque mock of an embrace.
Horror wracked every fibre of my being as he dropped his dagger, steel chiming against the stone. I screamed. He shuddered once, struggling to breathe against the blood that flooded his mouth. He drew back, smiling with red-stained teeth. His skin was so white it was nearly translucent. "Oh, good hit." He mouthed. Warmth spilled onto my fingers, and in shock I let go of the knife in his torso. He stumbled backwards a little, hand grabbing the handle. "To the hilt, even." He noted. "I'll die and bleed out as soon as you take the blade out. What are -" He spit out a gob of red and wiped his mouth, smearing a stain across his chin. "What are you waiting for? Complete your vengeance."
"No. No no." I panicked. My stomach fell to the floor and dread swept over me. "I-"
"Can't you do it? Or do you want me to -" He tugged on the hilt and I shrieked in horror. He stumbled backwards onto his bottom, hissing in pain. I could still save him. I could do something. He couldn't die. I didn't want him to die. I had to save him - did I have a healing potion? I think I did. I could get my pack - "I'm dying." He pressed, as if reading my mind. "...And...Painfully. Just...Kill me already. Or is this your true punishment?" I couldn't leave to get my pack. He would bleed out and die alone if I -
"I-" I rushed to his side, catching him as he dizzily fell backwards. I rested his head in my lap. "I'm sorry, so sorry - I-"
"No. No no no, sweet Ula..." A bloody glove briefly touched my cheek, and I flinched against the tender caress. "Ula shouldn't be...Sorry. Never." He mumbled, words slurring. Languidly, he pulled the gloves off, pale fingers finally revealed to me after so many months of being hidden behind velvet. One hand went up to touch my face and he sighed. "Maybe this is how it's supposed to be. Mother didn't say anything to you - she doesn't get into our business. Maybe we have to go through total Purification before things are set right again. Maybe that includes me. I have faith in The Dark Brotherhood. It will get through this unfortunate chapter, with or without me. Now please, take the blade. I...I am in pain."
After brief consideration...I wrenched it free of his flesh, and it made the most sickening noise.
I sobbed openly, the end was coming to pass so suddenly. I had hoped against hope that perhaps he would best me, and then I wouldn't have had to make a choice - that maybe I would die - I was so tired. Like him, I was tired too. Tired of living this way, tired of being alone. I was tired of struggling, of killing -
"-Forgive me for my outburst." He pleaded. "Please say you do, before I-"
"I...I forgive you, though I still harbour anger."
"That's okay." He winced as he moved his torso, twisting to see me better. I pulled the stupid jester's cap off of his head. "I can take it as is." I held him in my lap.
"...Cicero?"
"Yes, My Listener?" He whispered, voice hoarse. There was no mocking or condescension.
"...Why?" I wasn't sure what I was referring to. Maybe everything. Maybe nothing. He seemed to understand because he smiled, teeth stained red with blood.
"I don't think we'll ever find out, now." He felt light against my skin, fragile. "Ula."
"Hmm?"
"...I'm sorry."
"For what?" I ran a hand over his tangled red hair, smoothing it away from his face.
"That you couldn't tell me. That I'm...Me. I don't want to dwell, but that's all I can think about."
"Don't waste your last moments on thoughts about me." I frowned.
"It isn't a waste." He said. His hand fell from my cheek. "...No. Not a waste at all." His breathing slowed. "I'm sorry."
"It's...It's okay."
"No. It isn't." He answered slowly, little more than a slur of vowels. "I failed you, somehow. For you to choose this. I deserve it." His eyes fluttered shut. "Sweet Ula..." He breathed. "I care for you more than all the blooming deathbells in the world. Please know that, before I - " Then a shudder, much like a shiver. "Mother? Is that your voice I hear?" A faint crease appeared in his brow as he tried to listen. "Coming...Mother..." He sighed, and his weight slackened.
The room was silent. The stench of blood invaded my senses.
My heart no longer had a home.
I would not let this sacrifice go unheeded. Astrid would make The Dark Brotherhood great again, if we just worked hard enough. This tragedy would not be in vain. My choice would not be slandered.
I don't remember much of what happened next. I know that I filled the awful silence with sobs, screams of agony and loss and anger.
'Ulalume.' He had said rapturously, upon hearing my name for the first time. 'Sounds like a cry - a wail from The Void.'
His voice sounded so strange in my head. So wrong.
After there was nothing left to exorcise from within, I became stone. I felt nothing. Numb. Even the anger had left me, after a few hours. His body was cold by the time I gathered enough strength to leave the room. It was wrong. He had always been so alive. Shuffling from one foot to the other, singing, dancing. On the rare moment he was still, his voice still carried - strong and shrill and lively as if it had its own will.
Had I made the right choice?
I stared off into space for a few hours after I had told Astrid what I had done. The others were overjoyed that the traitor was dead. I mourned him.
"It must have been very difficult." A small voice startled me. It was Babette. "I know you two were very close." She sounded almost sad.
"...Yes." I confessed. "It was very hard." She gave me a pitying look.
"He was charming. He lost my sympathy after he stabbed Veezara, however I understand why things happened the way they did. It is altogether unfortunate."
"Yes."
"Take my advice. Do not show Astrid that you mourn him. Throw yourself into work, if you have to. Mourn in quiet."
"Okay." I answered. She patted my hand.
"I will listen, if you need to talk."
"I don't need to. Thanks." She stood then, and walked out of the room silently. The rage surged in my chest again - as it had hundreds of times on my ride back to Falkreath - and as it had been, sorrow quickly replaced it.
I would not allow anyone to have this power over me again. And Astrid would pay.
Such grief, such distractions. I would steel myself against the world. I would not allow what-ifs to destroy me. I had made my choice and could only move forward. I only had to fulfill my responsibilities here, and then I'd leave. Too many memories. Maybe I could search for treasure in ruins, next. It was why I had wanted to come to Skyrim, anyhow. I would need to find someone to come with me, but that didn't matter.
I had things to do. Emperors to kill.
Jesters to forget about.
A/N: Sweet Cicero is not gone forever. Stay tuned!