Fourteen
Cicero had cried himself to sleep over his mother's coffin after carefully tending to her after his time away. He'd been away from her for short periods of time before but never more than a day or two at the very most. He had been separated from her for nearly a week. His whole body had been in utter agony and as much as he had wanted nothing more than to curl around his sweet Dove and sleep, the space and time she had given him to tend to mother was greatly appreciated. Doubtlessly, she was off reporting to the Jarl of their success and restocking supplies and would return after bathing. His Dove very much liked to be clean, especially when she was upset.
His dreams were odd, still, and the silence of them was deafening. He was trapped again in the halls of the Cheydinhal sanctuary, his personal hell. His family was dead and gone, The Night mother's coffin silent and cold, and he was unable to hear anything, even his own voice, even the Jester. Panic swelled in his chest like something monstrous and he ran through the sanctuary, knowing what was going to happen and being unable to stop it. Mother's corpse ignited into flame, her preserved body peeling away under the heat. But there was something new, something that horrified the Jester in ways he could not fathom. Claret's tiny form was curled in the circle of Mother's arms, her white hair floating about them in a curtain of burning embers. She turned those unusual, beautiful eyes to him, smiled, and spoke.
"Listen," Her voice was distorted, overlapping and cruel. The redhead let out a wordless cry and thrust his hands into the fire, trying to put it out, trying to save them but the flames burned hotter and hotter and his hands screamed in agony until! Cicero woke gasping, dagger in hand and scream just behind his tongue. Wide red eyes darted about the room like something wild and it took him a few long moments to settle his breathing and calm himself. It had been weeks since he'd had that dream and the addition of Claret had been particularly unsettling. He couldn't quite get his heart to slow down, which was odd since until a little under a week ago, he had been fairly certain that vampires were dead.
His muscles were stiff and sore from sleeping with his head pillowed on his folded arms, no doubt funny creases on his face from where the leather of his gloves were raised here and there. He felt himself go very still, even his heart stilling in his chest, his breath ceasing as he felt the room around him. He was still trying to get used to the sensation and it was very involuntary. It were as though he had this barrier, an aura of sorts hovering a breath away from his skin that he could...flex and push out with and it would fill the room, giving him a vague picture of the space in his head, specifically the living things in the area. It was almost like shifting a muscle in his shoulders or stretching, or even yawning. The action was instinctive and loosely linked to fight or flight. He was fairly sure that he could do it intentionally, but he hadn't quite figured out how.
The Inn was quiet and still, save for the heat of the fire in the main hearth that he could feel in his head as though he'd reached his hands out to warm them, even though it was in the other room. All of the occupants were lying in beds, their hearts measured and sleeping. He could tell that just from one small flex of that aura. It was a powerful feeling, one that whispered of possibilities. Cicero could even feel Mother, cool and powerful in her coffin. That was surprising and actually extremely comforting. She felt like a deep and endless sea, dark, bottomless, and tranquil compared to the warm, quick and almost frantic living people sleeping around him. And yet, there was something very very wrong. Where was Dove?
He stood, moving much faster than was probably acceptable for mortal standards and paced to her bed. His throat constricted with a sudden concern. Yes his beautiful little Dove was independent and perfectly capable of taking care of herself in most situations, however, he was quite surprised to see that she had not returned to rest. Her scent had faded from the room long ago and there was nothing of her belongings save for the bags that contained their extra supplies, rations, the tent, bedrolls, spare cloaks, cookware and so on. Dread welled up in his chest.
No. She probably was just off on some other errand for the Jarl! His silly girl was always helping people! Yes, that was it! She'd gone to help the town more and left Cicero in the safety of the Inn to recover from the whole vampire incident. She was extremely protective of him, after all. He was sure that she would be back any moment now to fall into his arms and let him hold her close! Except, she wouldn't do that. No. She was afraid of him now. The red head sat gracelessly on her vacant bed and let out a long sigh. His face dropped into his soft gloves, fingers clutching lightly at the follicles of his hair. He'd hurt her. Badly. He knew that and yet he hadn't really had much of a choice at the time. That bastard vampire wouldn't have believed him if he hadn't done his best acting and Cicero was VERY good at acting. It had been one of the things that had made him one of the best assassins. He could fall fully into a role or personality at the drop of a hat. He let people hear what they wanted to hear, what they expected and in turn, they did as he wanted and predicted.
And his acting had done exactly as intended. It had convinced everyone in the room, including Dove. He hadn't been able to send her any sort of reassurances or tells because he had needed her reaction, needed her emotions to be very apparent to put a firm wall between them and fool their captors. Cicero could not risk attacking the coven and getting them killed without knowing the numbers, the exits, the potential threats. He was cautious and very methodical by nature. Being anything less than that would have been fatal or would have lost the body of the Night Mother ages ago. He never took uncalculated risks.
And he had known going into it that she was going to be upset with him for it. She was likely going to question their every interaction from then on as well. That was upsetting, but he understood. Dove took great care in who she trusted. It was an instinct that survivors developed. He often wondered what she had survived to make her so reserved toward people. Not that he was complaining, oh no! Quite the opposite! No her reservations were very very good, especially for a possible assassin. It would keep her alive. His chest grew warm and proud at the thought of being able to train her, mold her into the perfect killer. His beautiful Dove would be spectacular, he knew. Yes, oh even just in the few times they had killed together he could see it. She thirsted for death and blood just as much as any assassin.
His mind drifted , losing himself to the thought of her small, deft hands, her lithe little body that while still soft, was wondrous to behold in a fight. She was violent and forceful, a maelstrom that demanded attention on the field with a presence that made her seem giant, dangerous. Yes she was very, very dangerous. He felt his body react as it always did when he thought of her like that, relieved that he still apparently had basic functions still, despite the changes.
He was rather surprised. There was no ravenous, gnawing hunger or thirst for blood after he'd drank from Claret earlier, no savage need to tear apart anything alive. Yes he could feel the desire to hunt those around him, but no more than he usually did. There was just an added incentive that hadn't been there before. The people sleeping were tempting in a lot of ways. He could honor his Father by killing them in all manner of ways and sending them to the void. And he would enjoy it. It was the act, not specifically the victim that made killing enjoyable. The feeling of cutting and stabbing in just the right places, the knowledge that he could kill a person of any race in hundreds of different ways and do so with ease, there was nothing more powerful or satisfying. And for the past several years killing had become a rare treat, a guilty pleasure that he only allowed himself when there was no other options available.
He had been stripped of his ability to take on contracts and as such, his ability to kill on a whim. No, Mother's safety and comfort came first. Always. And so he stuck to that decision, killing only when Mother or his own safety was threatened and instead took to envisioning all of the unique ways that he would kill the people he came across if they had been a job or a threat. He made it into a teasing game of temptation. And because of this, the act of killing after denying such ingrained impulses was a euphoric, nearly sexual release. His body would sing all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes and he could just imagine Mother's pleased voice at a fine kill. It was an intimate act, taking someone's life, even out of anger or hate, though he very rarely killed for either reason. Movarth had died for both, and so much more.
Cicero stood then, snagging cleaning supplies from his bag and slipping from the room, locking it tight. He went purposefully to the bathing rooms, bolting the door behind him and stoking the embers beneath the large water kettle. Claret had looked so surprised at his strength when he'd killed the vampire. It would have been very funny had she not been hurt by him, he was certain. He was easily as strong, if not stronger than she was and that was exciting. Not for the first time, he thought back to their first night together, when he'd nearly killed her and she had noticed him, bested him. Sithis, what he would do for the chance to fight her now. He loved the idea of the two of them with just their daggers, playing a little game with one another, slicing off each other's clothing with deliberate, precise strikes.
She would make the first cut, obviously, ladies first! And his Dove was shy. She would aim for his shirt. Cicero sliced through the thick cloth with his claws, nicking his pale skin intentionally as he tore through the left sleeve at the shoulder. The fabric parted and sagged and he let out a little huff, losing himself in his daydream. He was not so shy, no he was daring and very rotten. He would slice down the center of her neckline in a quick, unpredictable motion that would cause the top of her dress to part wide between her small, perky breasts. She'd hiss and growl before setting those narrowed, hungry eyes on him and strike again. He sliced diagonally across his chest then, leaving a shallow cut from shoulder to hip and tossed the remains of the shirt aside.
And then! He would goad her, tease her for being afraid of seeing him naked while slashing a long cut high up to her thigh that exposed her tanned skin and toned leg. She'd turn angry red, embarrassed and cute with that determined set to her lips and move with her inhuman speed to pin him to the wall, running the dagger up his inner thigh while growling in his ear. Cicero shucked his pants and small clothes quickly, palming himself needily as he imagined that she would hold him, hands clumsy yet determined. His beautiful, clever Dove would bite and nip at his throat and shoulders, run her fingers and tongue over the cuts on his chest and his nipples, claim every inch of him as hers. Yes, oh how he wanted to be hers! His hand pumped along his length, head falling back with a thump against the wall. His muscles tensed, heat coiling tighter and tighter low in his abdomen as he remembered her tying him to the tree and having her way with him, the taste of her hot blood in his mouth and the delicious sounds she had made when he'd drank from her.
That was the thought that took him over the edge, the visceral, vibrant memory of how her blood surged through him like a combination of adrenaline and fire, with her sweet taste and scent all around him, her hips pressed down over his. He came hard, stifling a cry of her name with a bare hand. When he could see again, he breathed out a long contented sigh. His Dove was all that he needed. If she stayed with him, he was sure that he could endure anything, even never finding the Listener. He cleaned up his mess and set about bathing, letting the hot water soothe away any remaining tension in his relaxing muscles. He took his time, not in any rush. He was certain that he would hear Dove when she returned or if anyone was tampering with their room.
That was going to take some getting used to. His hearing was already fairly good to begin with, but this new, amplified hearing was mind boggling. He could hear the sound of the floorboards settling, the crackle of embers in the main room, even the sounds of armor clanking across pavestones outside of the Inn. Probably the city guard patrolling. He was not complaining. He hated silence. Cicero dried himself and dressed in a fresh motley, tossing away the remains of the one he'd ruined in his little fantasy and returned to the room. He stowed aside his belongings and strapped on his weapons. He needed to find Dove. Stewing in his thoughts was never good and it would be an opportunity to adjust to his senses more.
The new vampire moved through town silently, forcing himself to slow down and walk like he usually would. It took effort, a lot more than he had expected and it was distracting enough to keep him from focusing too much on the lingering dread in the back of his mind. It was the middle of the night, so he doubted that anyone would be awake to answer his questions, but he couldn't sit and wait for her. He was too active, too antsy, too worried. Cicero just needed the affirmation that his Dove was safe and would be back soon. He was pretty surprised to see an older nord awake and outside, baling large forkfulls of straw into a stable not far from the Jarl's long house. The man looked like he was still just waking up, sweat beading on his bald head and yawns fighting to escape him every few moments.
Cicero tilted his head and wandered over, both curious and hopeful.
"Excuse me, sir!" He called smile in place on his jovial features. He really hoped that his eyes weren't red. The horsemaster jolted, startled by the sudden voice nearby and whirled. He gave Cicero a baffled and suspicious look, quirking an eyebrow at him. Cicero got that look a lot.
"You startled me, stranger," The man began, looking reasonably cautious for someone that had been approached in the early hours of the morning.
"Ah Cicero is very sorry for intruding, but he is so very worried for his companion and wonders if perhaps you've seen her! About my size, long white hair, very hard to miss?" The redhead asked, trying to look as harmless as possible as he clung to the top rung of the fence. The man's eyes lit with recognition and he relaxed instantaneously.
"Ah! You are the Thane's companion, Cicero! Yes, she spoke quite highly of you!" The man beamed and even over the sounds and scents of the animals in the barn behind him, Cicero could hear the man's heart rate slow and relax.
"She honors, unworthy Cicero. But please, have you seen where she went? I had thought that she would return to the Inn to rest but I've not seen her at all since we returned from the vampire lair and I am worried for her," Cicero asked again, bottling up the urge to butcher the man for wasting his time. He needed the man alive to tell him where Dove went.
"That's strange. She seemed quite fond of you, Surprised that she left without telling you," The horsemaster puzzled rubbing the back of his neck. " She bought some tack and a saddle for the horse that I gave her for avenging my daughter, loaded it all up and headed out of town early yesterday. Maybe she plans to come back soon? She mentioned something about climbing a mountain."
Cicero had gone very still again as he choked on his own breath. His heart hurt like something was squeezing it in a large fist. He steadied himself on the fence and tried to keep from panicking. She was gone. She had LEFT him. Gone. Alone! A pained breath eased out of him and he swallowed, licking his lips nervously. He had to get himself under control. But he could not. Dove had abandoned him!
"Are you alright, friend? Here, have a seat," He let the man approach and lead him to a chair on the porch, barely hearing the words over the static in his ears and the thudding of his heart. "Cicero, breathe with me lad. You are having a panic attack. Focus on my voice alright lad, you're alright. Your friend is alright."
Cicero blinked rapidly, couldn't get enough air, his lungs shuddered and heaved and he focused as hard as he could on the big nord's voice and crouched form before him. He breathed in as deep as he could and held it, forcing himself to let it out slow.
"That's it lad, deep, easy breaths. Don't worry about anything else right now, just breathe and let yourself calm down. We'll get everything sorted after you are alright," The horsemaster continued, knowing better than to touch the redhead anymore and treating him very much like a wild animal or a new horse. Cicero shivered and continued to listen, trying to grab hold of his control again, but it was hard. He had to! Mother demanded it. He could feel her even far out from the Inn, her cold energy shifted it's attention to him and he could feel it when it happened. She knew he was upset, knew that he needed help! He felt a caress through his hair that was motherly and comforting and nearly cried. Mother! He could feel mother! He still couldn't hear her, no, she wouldn't speak. But she comforted poor Cicero!
He blinked up at the nord, almost forgetting where he was for a moment.
"Ah. Forgive Cicero. That hasn't happened in a very long time," He confessed and the big man shook his head with a smile.
"Nah nothing to forgive, lad. My brother used to have panic attacks often when he was shook up, I'm only glad I was able to help a little. I should apologize for setting it off," The horsemaster added.
"It's just… she promised. She promised we'd be together, at least until we reached Falkreath and she left. I know that when we were in the lair that I scared her. She tried to keep me from going with her, we fought. Cicero was hurt badly because he had gone after her anyway and my sweet Dove blames herself," Cicero found himself babbling to the other man that eased himself into a second chair next to Cicero.
"Sounds like she was just trying to keep you safe," The nord commented.
"She is afraid of vampires," Cicero added and the nord chuckled.
"Who isn't? She's a brave lass, charging in there anyway like that. She must love you a great deal, lad." the bald man remarked and Cicero's eyes rounded and his heart fluttered in his chest like a trapped bird.
"W-what?" He stammered.
"Look lad, I've been alive a long time. It isn't everyday that you find a woman willing to do what she has to to keep a man safe and risk her life doing it. Sounds like she got spooked when you were hurt and went on her own to keep it from happening again," The mortal reasoned. And it made sense. But love? Cicero's mind raced, pouring over their every interaction. She was shy with him but not with anyone else, playful, protective even when she was trying very hard to keep a distance there. Dove kept him alive when she didn't have to multiple times, kept him warm and safe and watched over him even when she really didn't need to. She went out of her way to make him smile, and seemed to understand his need for secrets.
"Dove...loves me." He murmured as his heart squeezed tighter in his chest. And yet she left. The nord clapped him on the shoulder with a grin.
"A woman like that is worth waiting on, Cicero, even if she hasn't gotten her head together yet. If it were me, I'd head down to anyplace she mentioned the two of you going together. Maybe she'll turn up if you give her time. Skyrim women are a bit like the cold wind. You can't force them to do anything they don't want to do and they'll chill your bones and toss you to the ground if you try, but if you let them go as they will and move with them, they'll carry you along and take your breath away," The horsemaster recited with a fond grin.
"Right. What is your name?" Cicero asked.
"Roland," The nord answered. Cicero smiled softly.
"Thank you, Roland," Cicero replied, and he felt the smile on his face grow even wider. He had a dagger in the man's gut and a hand over his mouth before the nord could so much as blink at him. Adrenaline and hunger hit him hard at once and the redhaired jester licked his lips with a chuckle.
"You could very well be right. My sweet, precious little Dove could very well be concerned for my safety. But you know, Cicero thinks there may be just a bit more to it," He mused at the struggling man whose eyes had gone impossibly wide in pain and fear and confusion. The Imperial dragged the man off the porch and hopped the gate in a small bound, letting the poor man smack the ground on the other side before continuing into the barn. The horses stirred, letting out whinnies of unease at the scent of the vampire.
"Now, let's try this again shall we? Where did my Dove go, Roland? For every lie you tell me, I'll break a bone in your body. Now speak," He demanded, uncovering the man's mouth. A yell of agony was all that met his ears and Cicero gleefully snapped the man's right shin. More screams left the nord as he curled around his leg. Cicero listened to the man breathing fast and hard. Every breath was practically saturated with pain.
"Speak Roland, Cicero can't hear you. Speak and this all stops now. You are going to die, Roland. I am going to kill you. You get to choose how long it takes me to do it. All that I need is an answer. Where is my lover? Where did she go? Tell me and I make it all stop hurting," Cicero cooed and he felt that instinctive flex of energy again only this time, it affected his voice. He compelled the man to tell him, willed the nord to give him everything he knew about Dove. "You miss your family don't you? All of them have moved on to Sovngarde without you and left you alone to this pointless existence. You are lonely and have only the horses for companionship. Don't you want to be with your family again, Roland, to hold you wife and child and grandchild again?"
Roland's face had gone nearly slack, eyes wide and mouth working to respond. He seemed to flounder for a moment, pain completely forgotten.
"Yes, I miss them," His voice was distant and slow. Cicero smiled.
"Tell me where the white haired woman called Dove went, Roland and you can be with your family again," He cooed and the big man teared up, eyes staring off at some distant memory. And then his eyes narrowed, the fog cleared and Roland spat at Cicero's feet.
"I'll join them, but not with the shame of giving that girl to a monster like you!" He hissed and Cicero sighed and shrugged. That was just fine with him too. The red haired man tortured the horsemaster for a very long hour before the poor man bled to death. The nord hadn't said a word, only glared at the vampire defiantly and stifled his cries of pain. Cicero had to admit a grudging respect for the man despite not getting the information that he wanted. It was that respect that kept Cicero from just ending it quickly. If Roland was strong enough to look a gruesome, painful, slow death in the face and not flinch, than Cicero couldn't either. The man deserved that much; deserved to fight until the very end.
Cicero returned to the Inn, bathed and locked himself in his room. He curled up in Dove's bed and wept until his tears and the soothing caress of Mother's energy sent him back to sleep.