Turdas 23rd Midyear 206 4E 7:00PM

"The Empire will never take Markarth as long as the Silver-Bloods control it," Thongvor Silver-Blood bragged. He glanced over at his Imperial guest to see if she was offended by his statement only to find her smiling at him while offering her cup to a servant to refill. "The supposed Legion is comprised of little more than sellswords who wish to only placate their Thalmor masters for as much coin as possible. They do not love Skyrim like we do. They are not willing to bleed and die for this land like we Nords, the true children of Skyrim!"

A collective cheer rose from the rest of Thongvor's guests and someone, no doubt his housecarl Yngvar the Singer, started a slow clap. It grew into a full-fledged applause as Thongvor stood and accepted their praise. Most of it was standard sycophant ass kissing, but what really mattered was the story that would be shared later. The people of Markarth would hear of Thongvor's brave words, so similar to the late Ulfric Stormcloak, and rejoice.

It was Dancing Day and the Markarth jarl had thrown a feast to celebrate. People loved parties where food and alcohol were plentiful. It made them more receptive to suggestions on how to spend their own money, time, and resources for another's cause.

"And what about you, my thane?" Thongvor asked, gesturing to the Imperial woman, the only non-Nord at his table. "Don't you have anything to say on behalf of your countrymen?"

The woman shrugged nonchalantly. "What can I say, my jarl? I am a sellsword so it is hardly appropriate for me to look down on any who wishes to make a coin or two for their service. In fact, it is because of my use of my bow and blade that I own that lovely house you sold me. I must admit that I always wonder while trudging up that endless flight of stairs to reach it if that is the type of gift you bequeath people you like, what kind of torture you must keep on hand for those you don't."

Thongvor did not like the laughter that resulted from her jibe. It felt too much like they were laughing at him and not with her. He longed to wipe that smirking, half-lidded look off her face. For a moment, the jarl wondered if he had the right woman. The one he was looking for had a reputation for having a bad temper and if he was right she should have been fuming at Thongvor's speech. No matter. He would confirm his suspicion after dinner.

His gaze never quite left her during the rest of the meal as he studied her. Young looking, probably in her twenties, long black hair braided back, blue eyes, clear complexion, and a tiny thing since she was easily a hand shorter than most Nord women. She wasn't a beauty in the traditional sense, especially by Nordic standards, but there was something about the way she held herself that made her memorable.

"We need to talk," Thongvor said softly when the meal ended and he had said goodbye to most of his guests. She nodded and followed him obediently to his room.

The jarl's quarters were lushly furnished, befitting a Silver-Blood. Ulfric had known who his friends and allies were and had made sure to give them all positions of power as he reclaimed Skyrim for his own. Thongvor still remember when the Bear had taken Markarth over twenty years ago. The streets had run red with blood of the native Reachmen who would become the Forsworn. But that had always been the way of Markarth – blood and silver.

He was still uncertain about this new upstart who had succeeded Ulfric's throne when he died. Lydia Stormblade was loved as the Dragonborn, but was she really jarl material much less High Queen of Skyrim? Some said she claimed she was merely regent until Ulfric's rightful heir could claim his title, but that lead one to wonder who this mysterious heir was and why wasn't he the one leading the Stormcloaks? It felt too much like a plot to him. No matter, when the Moot met Thongvor could always make arrangements for the other jarls to support him instead of Lydia. It wasn't as if it was required for them to vote for the person who had led the armies. "Money talks and bullshit walks" was a standard motto for the Silver-Bloods.

"More wine, my dear?" Thongvor offered as he poured a cup for himself.

"No thank you," she said. "I have work to do and I'll need a clear head."

"Work?" Thongvor laughed. "This late tonight? What could you possibly be doing tonight that requires your line of work?"

"Oh, you know," she smiled, her eyes flickering to his bed and her body language practically screaming sex. "Stuff."

"I know who you are," he said as he circled her. He swirled his cup, enjoying the deep red liquid. "I've known for a while." And he was determined to have her admit it. Then once she had, he would break her and humiliate her before giving her over to the Stormblade.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. You're an Imperial. You're an archer who lends her bow to jarls for bounties. You travel everywhere, never staying in one place for very long." He paused behind her, drawing out the moment.

Her shoulders were stiff. She tried to make them relax, but failed. "Go on, say it," she whispered. "Say who I am."

"You're Diana," he breathed into her ear. She had given him a different name the first time she had appeared in his court asking for work, but he had quickly known it was a fake one. The similarities to the description in the bounty were too many to be coincidence. "The one the Stormblade has put out a generous bounty for. Did you really think I wouldn't know?"

"Actually, I had bet on it." She swirled around faster than Thongvor could follow. Her open palm slammed into his chest, knocking him off balance. His cup flew out of his hand, leaving a spray of red across that wall that leave a stain.

Before Thongvor could regain his balance, she was on him slamming her fists into his face over and over. He fell onto the mattress, bouncing comically as the woman landed on his chest making it impossible to breathe.

"Before I forget," the Imperial smirked as she pulled out her dagger and twirled it in her hand, "Elisif says 'hi'." Then the blade slide across his throat and Thongvor knew nothing else.

The assassin reached to undo Thongvor's breastplate. There was the little business of the bonus. Elisif had asked for "his black heart for proof of its existence." Darker than anything she had expected from the frail jarl, but hadn't they all changed in the last five years?

Before she could touch the metal, a soundless crack of thunder filled the air and Thongvor's corpse started burning from within. The body immolated under her grasp without burning her as a golden energy tore out of it and into her. The assassin was slammed back from the force of power as it filled her, craving for more death and destruction as all dragon souls did.

"Dragonborn," Hecate whispered as she stared in shock at the skeleton, the only remains of the late and unlamented Thongvor Silver-Blood. "Oh gods, he was Dragonborn."


Turdas 30th Midyear 206 4E 12:00 AM

"The Listener has been pensive since her return," Cicero remarked. "What happened in Markarth?"

The two assassins were crouched on the top of western most wall of the Blue Palace. They had traveled to the Imperial controlled capital to claim their payment for the most recent contract from Elisif. Hecate had been quiet since her arrival at Dawnstar Sanctuary two days previous. Cicero felt that it was a poor omen. Killing always made his Listener elated; even if it was days later, she would greet Cicero with kisses and hugs, eager to tumble into her bed with him when she returned.

This time she had given him a chaste kiss on the lips before telling him that she would be traveling to Solitude and asked him to accompany her. It wasn't an unusual request, but something about the way she said it made Cicero wary.

"I'll tell you some of it after we deal with Elisif," she muttered as she pulled on her Tragedy mask. "Come, Comedy, let us visit our Lady Fair."

"As you wish, my Listener," he laughed as he tugged on his own red mask.

They ran in the shadows, unseen by the guards, as they traveled to the garden to meet Elisif. The beautiful Nord was there waiting for them. As far as Cicero could tell the jarl always waited here at midnight the night after she performed the Black Sacrament to summon the Dark Brotherhood. She would meet him and the Listener to tell them who she wanted dead.

Normally this was a task for the Speaker, but given the special nature of these contracts, Hecate bent the rules slightly. She would never admit it, but she was personally invested in the results of the Civil War. Ironic given that if Lydia had not used her Dragonborn reputation, Hecate would have stayed neutral in all ways.

But Cicero traveled with her when she came to Solitude as Diana and paraded in front of the courts to prove she was not the Stormblade. He had heard her whisper her request to Elisif to not kill Lydia. He had seen her take every contract involved with the leaders of the rebellion.

Diana the Dragonborn might not be leading any armies in the name of the Empire, but Hecate the Listener was the dagger in the dark striking precisely and without mercy each time.

"Greetings, Lady Elisif," Hecate called as they jumped down from the wall's walkway.

"Tragedy, Comedy," the Nord nodded stiffly. Even while perched on a stone bench in a flower garden, Elisif sat properly with her back straight. Cicero thought she was more of a ruler than the rest of the lot. He wondered when she would realize it for herself. "I hope you have what I asked for."

"Thongvor Silver-Blood is dead as by your command, my queen," Hecate said lightly as she bowed.

"And his heart?"

"The bonus is forfeit, my lady," Hecate admitted petulantly. Cicero was startled to hear that. The Listener always strove for the bonus. Even if she had been discovered killing the jarl she should have been able to pull his heart from his chest with little trouble. "His heart was lost."

Elisif snorted in disdain. "I expected better."

Hecate moved like lightning to grab the Nord by the front of her shift. "You forget yourself, my lady," she growled. "We're assassins, not some couriers! The only promise for a Black Sacrament is death. The bonus is always optional. If I choose to not accept it then I don't owe it to you."

"Get your hands off me!" Elisif demanded, her voice quivering. "I'll call my guards."

"Do it," Hecate taunted. "Bring men to die for your arrogance. I promise if you do summon your men I'll kill them and it won't be fast or clean."

"You wouldn't dare!" Elisif protested. "You work for me!"

"We've complete our contract with you. Pay us and we'll be on our way," Hecate snapped as she released the jarl.

"Fine," Elisif spat. She reached into her robes and pulled out pouch before she tossed it to the Listener. "I should have known that's all you care about."

"No, we pay honor and homage to the Night Mother," Hecate hissed. "I do everything for my goddess. What do you kill for, Elisif? Maybe you should look at the type of person you're becoming and ask yourself if that's the type of person you want ruling Skyrim. If you're going to be High Queen, you'll be the face and heart of your country. If you honestly believe we're little more than mercenaries, what does it say about you?"

Despite the muffling of the mask, Cicero could tell that Hecate was on the verge of tears. If this conversation continued for much longer, her thu'um would invoke and then where would they be? He placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her away. "Come, my Listener, we should go," he whispered.

"I don't want…" she started.

"Now!" Cicero insisted. He would drag her out of here kicking and screaming if he had to. There was a time to act foolish and there was the possibility of risking the Brotherhood. Cicero was all for the first, but he would be damned before he stood silently by for the second.

"Until the next time, Elisif," Hecate said with a mock curtsy before turning with Cicero and scaling the garden walls to make their exit.

"What was all that about?" Cicero snapped once they were down by the shoreline. They never immediately went back to Proudspire Manor after meeting Elisif. It was unlikely that the jarl would betray them, but it was better to not take unnecessary risks that a guard may spot them as they left.

"She was disrespectful," Hecate snarled as she pulled off her mask. Even in just the light of the moons Cicero could see that her face was flushed. It was just a question whether it was from the mask or anger that colored her cheeks so.

"You agitated her!" Cicero snapped as he removed his own mask. "Cicero has never seen Hecate talk in such a tone to Elisif before. Never as Tragedy and never as Diana! Why attack our petitioner?"

"She thinks we're her pets to retrieve for her at her command," Hecate sniffed. She picked up a rock and tossed it into the ocean.

"Something happened on that trip to Markarth," Cicero said plainly. "What has Hecate's panties in such a bunch?"

"Cicero," she warned.

"It's true," he scoffed, "don't try to lie to Cicero. Cicero always knows, just not always why."

"It has to do with forfeiting the bonus," she admitted with a sigh. She flopped onto the stony shore and wrapped her arms around her knees. "It really shook me up."

"Too used to being perfect?" Cicero teased.

"Too used to being unique," Hecate mumbled. She looked up at her grinning jester. "Cicero, would you mind if we made a detour on the way home? I want to stop by a place called Skyborn Altar in Hjaalmarch. It's high up in the mountains so we'll have to hurry on Shadowmere to make it back to Sanctuary in time for Mother."

"Why, my Listener?" Cicero asked, curious.

"I want you to kill a dragon for me," she said. "Can you do that for me?"

"For the Listener, Cicero would kill a god," he promised with a laugh. Cicero offered his hand to Hecate so she could stand. "If the journey is far, we should get started as soon as possible."


Fredas 1 Sun's Height 206 4E 3:00 PM

They hadn't slept much the night before. Instead they had opted to ride most of the night to make it to the mountains that housed the Skyborn Altar. Hecate felt jittery as she settled into her crevice with her bow readied. She knew she was in no danger. Even if the dragon woke too soon at this distance she could shoot it down before it could even find her.

It was Cicero she was worried about. He was crawling with dagger in hand towards the slumbering beast. She couldn't hear him from this far away, but Hecate could all too easily imagine him chuckling or singing to himself as he closed the distance to the dragon.

She took a deep breath, trying to find the comfort of the Void as she always did before a battle. No fear, no pain, no anxiety. Just her, her weapon, and her target. That comforting chanted litany to fall into the Void.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Kill.

Only this time, she wouldn't be the one doing the killing. At least, hopefully. No, she was only there as a safety net.

She was impressed that he was almost able to touch the dragon when it finally woke. She knew from fighting the beasts alongside Lydia that they were very sensitive to the area around them and the slightest noise woke them.

It reared up on its hind legs immediately awake, wings flapping enough to make Cicero's cap's flaps flutter madly. It roared its displeasure at the tiny joor that dared to disturb its rest. Fire shot over the jester's shoulder as he ducked.

Hecate pulled her bow, ready to fire if the dragon took to the air. Cicero would have no chance once it was off the ground. But until then, the show was his. If only if her heart didn't feel like it was in her throat.

Cicero screamed with laughter in response to the dragon's roar. Fearless, he dove at it, thrusting his dagger into the hard chest. Hecate had tried to tell him about the few weak points in a dragon's scales, but the Keeper didn't seem to be finding them. His blade skittered along the rough surface, creating sparks as it skidded along.

"Take the shot!" her brain screamed. She easily saw at least three spots that would slow the dragon down if not outright kill it, but she held her hand. She had to know. And she couldn't take the chance that the person who dealt the killing blow earned the dragon's soul over whoever was closest.

The dragon brought down its wing trying to buffet Cicero to the ground, but the small Imperial jumped back, looking like a child at play. He danced for a few steps falling back, beckoning and teasing the dragon. He must have been at his most infuriating because the dragon did not take wing. Instead it fell to a crouching position and stomped towards the Keeper, snapping at him with its triangular head.

Cicero timed the dragon's attack perfectly. Once its jaw was snapped closed, he pushed both of his hands on top of its snout and used it as a vault to flip onto its head. He spun gracefully and did a two-handed stab downward into its eye with his dagger. The creature screamed with pain and lashed backwards, trying to dislodge Cicero, but he held fast. Hecate could hear his mad laughter echoing through the hills.

The jester stabbed again and again in the soft eye. The dragon thrashed one last time before gong still. Never one to assume an enemy was dead, Cicero swung down and slid his dagger along the dragon's throat, spilling hot steamy blood onto the snowy ground. The dragon didn't move.

And neither did its soul.

"Cicero did it! Cicero did it! Ha, ha, ha! Mighty dragonslayer as well as Keeper, so mighty is he!" Cicero sang and danced cheerfully. "Come, Listener! Come and see how well Cicero did!"

Hecate waited a minute more, hoping against hope, that maybe it was only taking longer than usual since this was his first dragon. But no, the dragon's corpse stayed whole and bloody. "Coming, my Keeper," she called, her heart heavy.

"Cicero is the best assassin that ever lived!" the jester crowed as he whirled on one toe. "Who needs a Dragonborn when the Keeper is around?" His laughter echoed in the afternoon air as he danced.

"Well done, Cicero. I knew you could do it," Hecate called.

Cicero paused in his celebration when he heard her. She could tell that he knew her smile was too tight, a little too fake, because he asked, "What's wrong? Cicero thought the Listener would be pleased?"

Then the crackling of flesh burning from within drew his attention. Cicero whirled around, drawing his dagger, instantly ready for danger as soundless thunder cracked through the air. Fire burst along the dragon's frame, burning from within as flesh and scale turned into ash to blow away in the wind. Golden light burst from the corpse and slammed into Hecate's body.

She threw her arms open as if to embrace the soul as she devoured it. She felt full of life. Everything was heightened. The sun was brighter, the call of the birds singing, the rustle of the wind. Even Cicero's faded motley looked redder than usual.

"What was that?" Cicero whispered in awe. "Oh, Listener, that was an amusing trick. Tell Cicero how you did it!"

"Not a trick," she murmured. "A dragon's soul. I devoured it because I am Dragonborn." She paused before going to him and wrapping her arms around her Keeper and burying her head against his chest. "I had hoped you were one too."

Cicero laughed as he held her tight. "Now why would dear, sweet Hecate want that? Didn't she once tell Cicero that she didn't want him to learn how to breathe fire? What if poor Cicero were to get sad or upset and Shouted like Hecate did? Cicero would have to worry about hurting poor Mother! No, no, it is better that we only have one Dragonborn in our Sanctuary, eh?"

Hecate chuckled as she wiped away her tears. "I suppose you're right," she sighed. Only Cicero didn't know that she wasn't getting older because of dragon souls while he was. She had never found a good time to tell him.

"Why in the world did Hecate think she wasn't the only Dragonborn?" Cicero asked.

"Because Thongvor Silver-Blood was one," she said, still not really believing the words despite what she had seen. "His body crumbled just like this dragon's and I stole his soul."

"Ho, ho, ho," Cicero cackled. "No wonder the Listener was so cranky. To have something so foul as a Silver-Blood's soul in you would make any reasonable person mean."

"You're teasing me," Hecate pouted.

"You deserve it," Cicero stuck his tongue out at her. He gently took her chin and tilted her head so she was looking at him. "You'll have to apologize to Elisif."

"What?" Hecate whined. "I don't want to!"

"You must!" Cicero insisted. "You made her feel bad and part of the Brotherhood's purpose is to bring closure and vengeance to those faithful who pray. Despite the dark ritual they perform, our petitioners are innocents who cannot shed blood for those they hate."

"The Tenets must be observed?" she mused.

"Hmm," he agreed. "It is disrespectful to treat Mother's children so poorly."

"Oh, you apply everything to the First Tenet!" she said as she slapped Cicero's arm. She sighed, pushing her hair back. "But I suppose that you're right."

"Cicero is always right," the Keeper bragged. "This is more than just about losing the bonus and Elisif's reaction. You've been uptight about her ever since you talked to her as Diana last year. Go make amends however you see fit. Cicero has faith in you, dear Listener."


Sundas 3rd Sun's Height 206 4E 11:00 PM

Elisif tossed and turned in her huge bed. She still had problems falling asleep when she was alone. Growing up, she had been piled into a bed with sisters and cousins keeping each other warm through the cold nights. Then as an adult, she had shared her bed with Torygg. Now her bed was too big and lonely and she could never get comfortable.

It had been made worse since her last visit from the Brotherhood. How dare they speak to her that way? Talking down to her like that. Still, she had to admit that at least Tragedy had berated her for her behavior instead of telling her to do nothing.

A cool breeze brushed across her face, smelling strongly of the sea. Elisif sat up, feeling vulnerable in her shift, and saw that her window was open with the curtains fluttering gently. Before she could get out of the bed to close it, a shadow emerged from among the curtains. It darted across the room and rested on the bed with her with barely a squeak.

A gloved hand went over Elisif's mouth before she could scream for help. The figure settled its weight on her chest, pinning her hands down and keeping her from being able to move. She tried to struggle, but the invader was stronger than she. Her mind shrieked in terror. This was it! She was dead. Either the Stormcloaks had finally managed to get their own elite killer or they had bought the Brotherhood. Her blue eyes flicked up and her heart sank when she saw the sneering visage of Tragedy's mask.

"Shush," the assassin murmured. "Don't yell. I want to talk." She waited for Elisif to nod before slowly removing her hand. When Elisif didn't immediately start screaming, Tragedy slid off her and onto the mattress. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't sleeping," Elisif answered. She wasn't certain how she was able to talk, her heart was beating so hard she thought she was going to pass out. "Why are you here? I didn't perform another Black Sacrament. Where is your partner?"

"Comedy is otherwise engaged," Tragedy chuckled. The assassin paused, looking uncertain although it was hard to tell with the face concealing mask. "I came to apologize."

"You did?" Elisif didn't know assassins could apologize.

"Yes," Tragedy nodded and sighed. "I was unfairly harsh to you the other day. I was embarrassed at my failure and I took it out on you. I also had other personal problems and I should have taken a few days to resolve them before coming to you. We're a professional organization. I shouldn't have treated you so familiarly. You deserved better treatment as both my employer and jarl."

"Thank you," Elisif said. She was shocked at the admission, but it made her smile too. None of her advisors ever said they were wrong or they should have respected her more. She patted the assassin's hand. "That means very much to me." She chuckled nervously. "In some ways you know the real me more than anyone else. None of my court has any idea who is summoning the Brotherhood. Some of them think it is Tullius and he's clever enough to not deny it nor confirm it. He doesn't think it's particularly honorable, but I think he's more concerned about not losing his commission or his head by losing this war, so anything that makes him look formidable only strengthen his position."

"It's safer for you to stay quiet," Tragedy said, her fingers entwining with Elisif's. The jarl gasped at the touch. "You could lose the Moot even if you win the war."

"They wouldn't dare!" Elisif exclaimed. She realized that she was getting loud so she leaned closer to Tragedy and lowered her voice. "They wouldn't dare!"

"Why not? Nords believe in strength and honor. Unless you prove yourself before the war ends, the people of Skyrim will think the real power in your court is your advisors. I have heard more respect for Tullius and Falk Firebeard than for you. You used to have the excuse of being a green girl on the throne and a new widow, but now you've ruled for almost five years. How have you proven yourself? You've gotten engaged to the boy of one of your allies. When do you stand on your own, lady?"

"You shouldn't talk to me that way!" Elisif protested. "What happened to your talk of speaking more properly to me?"

"Because I spoke out of personal aggravation," Tragedy shook her head. "Now I am fulfilling the role of all jesters. I speak the truth when none other dare. I am telling you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear."

"Hmph," Elisif snorted. "You remind me of my friend Diana. She said very similar things to me."

"Is that so?" Tragedy asked. She reached up and, to Elisif's surprise, unhooked the bottom part of her mask. The top part stayed on, now looking like a domino style covering. The eyes were still cruelly shaped, but without the grotesquely downward frowning mouth the assassin looked more human.

It comforted Elisif more than she wanted to admit. She had been scared that maybe Comedy and Tragedy weren't human or mer, but some daedra in disguise. She had never heard of the children of Sithis using demonic influences before—since the Void god was supposed to be neither Aedra nor Daedra—but one never knew what was truth and what was fiction with the old lore.

"What are you…?" Elisif was interrupted by Tragedy's hand brushing her cheek before the assassin leaned forward and kissed her. The jarl made a muffled sound of surprise as the other woman's lips locked against hers. She felt a shock of arousal shoot through her body from the contact.

"I've never forgotten your complaint about us being your bedfellows," Tragedy chuckled against Elisif's ear. She ran her fingers through the fine strawberry blonde hair. "I've never quite been able to get it out of my head. The thought of you ruined under me as I touch and taste every part of you."

"Stop!" Elisif commanded. She didn't care how loud she was. "I don't know you!"

"You don't really know your fiancé either, do you?" Tragedy asked, scooting closer so she wasn't quite touching the jarl. She ran one gloved finger down Elisif's jawline. "Is that going to stop you from taking his virginity on your wedding night?"

"Don't be crass," Elisif stammered. She could feel herself flushing. The thought of taking Frothar to bed and being the dominant partner was alien to her, but honestly what else would she expect? Balgruuf seemed too proper to send his oldest child to a Dibellan priestess to practice their art. She didn't even know which thought was worse. A completely inexperienced virgin, or a boy who had dallied with prostitutes before coming to her bed?

"I could be so much more crass if I wanted to," Tragedy grinned. Her hand trailed to the top of Elisif's shift, running along the flushed skin. The breeze from the wind picked up again, blowing across her flesh, cooling her and emphasizing how hot she felt. "Did you go to Torygg a virgin?"

Elisif nodded, too flustered to form words.

"You can't be the virgin forever," the assassin said. "I could show you things. Make you more comfortable in your bed as it were."

The Nord shifted uncomfortably as the other woman's hand trailed down and cupped her breast. Her hand kneaded her gently while her thumb played with her rock hard nipple.

"Yes or no, the choice is yours," Tragedy promised as she ran her lips down Elisif's neck. The jarl shuddered from the touch.

"No," Elisif moaned.

"No? Are you sure? Normally I wouldn't ask, but when someone presses against my touch like that, the answer is usually the opposite."

"No," Elisif repeated, forcing herself to lean away from the assassin's touch. She took a deep, shaky breath wondering how in Oblivion she had gotten into that situation.

"Well, if you change your mind, you know how to get ahold of me," Tragedy snickered as she sat back and replaced the bottom part of her mask. "Although you should figure a better method than the Black Sacrament. We owe the Night Mother a death when we are called that way and I doubt she was thinking of the 'little death,' as the Bretons call it."

She got off the bed and made an ironic bow. "I'm glad we had this little talk, my jarl. Until we meet again." Then she was just a shadow slipping out of the window, closing it behind her.

Elisif flopped back onto the bed, feeling frustrated as well as shaky. How did she get into these sorts of situations?


Tirdas 5th Sun's Height 206 4E 2:00 PM

"Welcome home!" Cicero called when he saw Hecate come into Sanctuary. He was hunched over the alchemy table preparing oils for Mother. "How did it go?"

"Well, thank you," Hecate said as she kissed him on the cheek. "It worked. Making it so she rejected me instead of me rejecting her made me feel better. Even if she didn't know that was what she was doing."

"Good, good," the Keeper nodded happily. "Cicero knew it would."

"My Keeper is always right," she teased, playing with his hair. "I'm glad she didn't say yes. I don't know what I would have done then."

"You would have had a night of passion and felt guilty about it," Cicero snorted. "No doubt you would have come back here even faster, confessed everything, and wept in Cicero's arms until sweet Cicero made love to you to make you feel better."

"How can you be so blasé about it?" she asked.

"Because it's part of the job," Cicero shrugged. "We sometimes have to take undesirable roles to get a contract done. Cicero knows that it would not have been undesirable, per se, for Hecate to lie with the lovely Elisif, but it is also something she wouldn't do for the sake of doing." He patted her hand. "But if she had any thoughts of you being Diana, that will be suppressed now. So, good, yes?"

"Am I just a job to you?" she asked.

"No," Cicero shook his head. "Everything Cicero has done, he has chosen to do. That is the joy of being an assassin! We can do what we please without the concerns of common convention."

"But you just said that sometimes we have to do unpleasant things for the sake of completing a contract," Hecate protested. "You just contradicted yourself?"

"Did I?" Cicero posited. "Hmm, no, Cicero doesn't remember doing that."

"You're a real brat, you know that?" Hecate snorted as she lightly tapped Cicero on the back of the head. "Maybe next time I'll make you go and seduce the jarl."

"If Cicero was sent, he would succeed," Cicero teased. "Elisif would be called 'Elisif the Bow-Legged' instead of Elisif the Fair."

"That's actually sort of hot," Hecate admitted. Her hands wrapped around Cicero's shoulders and started to massage them. "You should show me your exact technique sometime when you're available. Just for reference, of course."

"Cicero is available right now if the Listener would like to learn," he grinned as he took one of her hands and kissed it. "Cicero is always eager."

"Then come, my Keeper."

"Oh, I plan on it," Cicero declared as he turned around and swept Hecate up into his arms before bolting to her room as her laughter filled the Sanctuary. "By the way, what did that wall with the draconic writing behind the dragon say?"

A look of horror crossed Hecate's face as she realized in all of the excitement she had forgotten to look at the Word Wall to learn a new word of power.

"Oh crap!"