A/N: Sadly, I don't know (again) how often I can update due to college now starting up again. But I'm going to try to be better at still updating! Wish me luck! And THANK YOU so MUCH all you who have reviewed from the beginning and all of you new reviewers! It really brings me great joy!
-Liliedove
Madrale stood unshielded from the biting wind. The sun had set long beforehand, the stars ablaze with bands of gentle greens and blue hues streaming through the northern skies. The people of Windhelm quieted, the vicious slander and groans thrown about in the air that morning replaced with the sound of wind running through cold stone corridors, comforting crackles of firewood, and low voices murmuring to one another.
The meal was still going on in Ulric Stormcloak's hall, she having excused herself early from the table to get away from all the noise. She sighed lightly, rolling her wedding band around her numbing finger. She furrowed her brow as she attempted to remember that night in the Rift. It was confusing: her memory of it was very marred and held many holes within it. A smile graced her face. To even think that she was married to the fool! And to think that she'd never know whether or not they slept with each other that night. Of all the people in the world, he was the one her parents would be most ashamed of her marrying. If only they could see her now! The thought of her must have been like a ghost to them now, just as one day the thought of Cicero would be.
She blinked, staring out at nothing in particular, too lost in her thoughts to identify a particular object of interest. The thought of him being gone... It seemed impossible. She closed her eyes, his face appearing almost immediately. She shook her head with a smile as she saw the stupid lopsided grin he gave her, performing that same old jig again and again, as if it were the best entertainment one could ever find.
Could he truly be dead? It was hard for her to believe. Cicero came near death, yes, but to have him gone from nirn forever? So soon?
She remembered the feigned fearlessness he put on for her, half-prepared for his demise in the bowls of the Dawnstar Sanctuary, and yet not prepared at all to meet his beloved Night Mother so soon. Did he face his death with pride and honor, or did he succumb to making a faithless beg for mercy from the Imperials who controlled his mortality? The look on his face that monumental day spoke volumes of what raw, unleashed emotions of a crazed individual ran through his head; as an animal, panicking and striving to survive even when death is inevitable. It was the day she chose to accept her title as Listener. It was the when, for the first time, she defiled the orders of Astrid. Cicero... If it weren't for Cicero, what would she be today? What would the face of the brotherhood look like today? And what... what would the soft spot in her heart be inhabited by?
She felt a sudden cringe in her chest. She buckled her lips, shaking herself to bring her back to her senses.
"You, you're her, aren't you!"
She shot her head in the direction of the voice that disturbed her, her eyes wide. It was a boy, dark hair and eyes. Familiar in a way. She then remembered that she had seen his face in the crowd during the day. She didn't say anything as her eyes studied him, attempting to remember why she recognized such a young face.
The boy shifted his weight between his feet nervously, tucking his fingers into his armpits. "You're the one who came to me, all those years ago! I saw you as you entered the gates this morning with the Stormcloaks, and I just knew it had to be you!"
Madrale turned towards him, pulling her gloves back on. "Child, what are you doing out here at this hour? And going about looking for me no less?"
The boy pointed at the over arching house where the bridge they stood upon ended, candles burning brightly in it's windows. "I saw you standing here from my window. Don't you remember that I live there? … Well, I suppose you wouldn't... But, I just wanted to thank you again for what you did for me. There isn't a day I don't remember it."
"There's no need to thank me." She stated, crossing her arms as she leaned against the cold iron rails. The boy glanced between her face and his toes, growing uncomfortable in the silence.
"So... What is a member of the Dark Brotherhood doing out here, in the open? Aren't you supposed to be... you know, secretive? What are you doing with the Stormcloaks? And the jarl of Dawnstar?"
"You have a lot of questions." She stepped forward, beginning to turn her back towards him. His eyes widened. Keeping a relatively short gap he followed her.
"Please!" He gasped, almost touching her robe but then recoiling at second thought.
She stopped, then glancing at him over her shoulder. "Everyone is involved in war in one way or another, whether one likes it or not."
With a bold face on, he took another step closer to her. "Let me join you then!" Taken back by his words, she gave a look of disbelief. Seeing that, he clenched his fists. "Don't look at me like that! I'm an adult, I should be able to decide who I fight for!"
She turned to face him again, giving him her full attention. "Child, how old are you?"
"Thirteen." He stood straight, attempting to appear in the likeness of a soldier before her.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then placing a hand on his shoulder. "Leave war in the stories your father told you, where they are glorious and honorable. You will only disenchant yourself in the real world."
He growled in resentment towards her words, his face growing hot. "You know better than anyone that I've already been disenchanted to this twisted world! I've seen death, I've seen injustice! All one needs to do is walk these very streets to see that!" His expression wavered as she took another step towards him.
"Hold your words! You may have suffered wrong doings, but you have only tasted it on the very tip of your tongue!" As he pursed his lips, she softened the look on her face. "Child, tell me your name."
"Aventus Aretino."
"Aventus Arentino, listen to the words I am about to tell you: Grow up. Get married. Reap the rewards of the war once it has been won by the sacrifice of others, for there is only sorrow when a child dies on the battle field."
He bowed his head, nodding it slowly. "I suppose you might know best. My parents always told me to listen to my elders, because they have experienced many years I have not... Assassin, how old were you when you joined the Dark Brotherhood?"
"It is rude to ask a woman her age, and even more so to ask a womer such a thing!"
"I'm not asking your current age, just the one you joined the Dark Brotherhood!"
She shook her head, laughing. "I was eighty-two." She slapped his jaw shut as soon as it fell open. "That's not old at all for a dunmer, you know. Now go home, Aventus. It's high time you go to bed. Have a good life." She then walked away from him.
"What is your name!" He called.
She paused, thinking for a moment. "Madrale Uvani."
"Madrale Uvani... I won't forget you! Be sure to remember me, won't you?"
A faint smile came across her face.
It was mid afternoon, the wind tingling Cicero's fingers. As he walked through the forest, rubbing them together, he wished he had his old gloves back. They would still get damp, but they were warmer than the ones the hunter gave him out of the kindness of his heart. His toes were not as cold, but his coat and pants weren't much thicker than the gloves.
The numbness of his body hadn't been noticed while he rode mile upon mile on the open roads, but now that he made the final mile on foot he grew colder by the minute. As he rubbed his arms briskly, he thought of just dashing the rest of the way towards the Sanctuary. He could just imagine sitting by the fire in the dining room, a bow of stew in one hand and a bottle of mead in the other! Oh, what a comfort that would be! He began to grow excited at the thought, feeling all the colder just from longing for the warmth.
He skipped merrily through the snow, a grin spread across his face, but then suddenly stopped in his tracks as another thought formed in his head: what would he do when he saw Madrale again? What would he say? What would she say? Would she have a look of relief on her face, or would she not care that he had returned? What if she moved on from him? What if, what if... What if Nazir stole her heart? His face turned sour as his hand grasped for his sword. Never! He'd never let Nazir steal his dear Listener! His Madrale! His WIFE! He growled at the thought.
"And when I see you, I will STAB! STAB! STAB YOU! You THIEF!" He cried. Lunging forward, he sprinted towards the sanctuary, darting through the trees. As he came to the clearing, he stopped instinctively, putting his face to the air as he breathed it in deeply. Something was... cooking. No, not something good for the empty stomach, but something foul. It was... it was... flesh.
He walked to the edge of the ledge above the Sanctuary's door, crouched low to the ground. Not far from the shoreline was a smoldering pile of bodies. He squinted at it, rubbing his chin. He slowly made his way down the side of the cliff, his eyes growing wide in shock at the sight of the Sanctuary door laying propped up against the rocky side of the cave. His heart beat wildly through his chest, his eyes darting about. As a Stormcloak emerged from the opening, a burst of anger flared up within him. Pulling his sword from its sheath, he charged at the man and impaled him. "HOW DARE YOU!" He screamed. "HOW DARE YOU ENTER THE SANCTUARY OF THE DARK BROTHERHOOD!"
The man wailed in pain. As another came, alarmed with axe in hand, Cicero quickly pulled the sword out of the man's abdomen and across his neck. Body falling, he turned and slashed his way through the other man. He turned his head this way and that as he entered the sanctuary. The usual torches on the wall were extinguished, an unusual chill running to greet him through the hall.
His breath grew shaky as fear entered his heart. His steps were careful as he went deeper in, his thoughts growing non existent as he relied purely on animalistic instincts. Down below in the dinning room were more Stormcloaks, sitting around the table playing cards. Crouched down low, he crossed his legs one over the another as he walked, quickly inching his way towards the Night Mother's coffin. Slipping his hands into the cracks of the seal, he pulled its doors open from the bottom. He looked her over frantically, his shoulders then relaxing. "That was too close, Mother." He whispered. "Where are the others? What happened to them? What has become of our dearest LISTENER?" He began breathing heavily once more, his hands and legs trembling. His attention snapped over to the dining room as he heard stirring. A man had left the table, approaching the food pot. Lifting the ladle, he sniffed at it before dropping it back in with a flump.
"Smells like something died! It must have gone bad some time ago, I'd say." The man said as he turned back towards the others, rubbing his nose.
"Really? I thought it tasted pretty good." said another.
Anger rose in Cicero again, his hand aching to kill every last man in the sanctuary. How DARE they intrude the SANCTUARY? Cicero's own home! And the Night Mother's! He clenched his teeth together, giving his Matron one last comforting look before gently closing the shielding walls around her. He held his sword firmly; how dare they invade his Listener's den! His brows were slanted firmly on his face, his expression hard and bold. As he made his way towards the stairs, he stood taller and taller, his eyes growing larger and larger until his facade cracked, his nostrils and lip raising along it's ripped seam up his face. As he descended the stairs, one of the Stormcloaks took notice of him, startled as his chair flew back.
"Jordin?" One questioned, then drawing his sword as he turned to look at the figure approaching them.
Cicero seethed, then growling as his chest rose and fell steeply. He began raising his sword as he came nearer.
"Hold it! What are you doing?!"
"He couldn't be one of those Dark Brotherhood guys, could he? He doesn't look it." The soldier stepped forward, pointing his axe at the jester. "Looks like you're a long way from home, hunter. Why don't you turn around and be on your way, and mind your own business? There's an inn not far from here if you're looking for food and shelter." He then whispered, "It sure does look like he is in need of a bath, that's for sure."
Cicero's cheek twitched sharply, his teeth then beginning to chatter together. After another moment, he threw his head back, laughing. The men all looked at each other strangely, and then back onto Cicero. He then paused, the shaking stopped. Slowly, he brought his head back, a long look on his face with a loosely harnessed fire in his eyes. "Oh, but you see, Cicero thinks you've got it the wrong way about. You Stormcloaks tell Cicero that he is far from home, and yet..." He chuckled, a glint flashing in his eye as he turned the edge of his sword. "Soon... It will be YOU who will be FARTHER FROM HOME THAN YOU'VE EVER BEEN!"
Cicero leaned forward, then launching at the soldiers. Twirling, his sword danced through the air in the midst of them, shouts of pain ringing through the sanctuary. Retreating the best they could from Cicero as one of their fellow Stormcloaks keeled over on the ground, they talked amongst themselves before his next attack.
As a couple tumbled out of the way, the one left standing met Cicero's blade with the handle of his axe. Muscles flexed, he took a step forward, shoving him back. As Cicero began stumbling for but a moment, the others rushed towards him, only to discover in horror that they swung their weapons towards one another. The leader's eyes grew wide as he stared at the spot Cicero stood only a second beforehand. He then choked, pain running up and down his spine, and then throughout his entire body. As he looked down in horror, he saw the edge of a blade sticking out through his abdomen, a warm breath now ticking his ear. "That's one... Father."
The other men clenched their weapons tightly as they attempted to ignore the wounds they inflicted upon one another, watching in horror as the strongest of them lay dying on the floor with no shred of hope to hold on to. "Jordin." One said with a quivering breath. "You're welcome to stay here and die, but I for one won't die for this! I joined the Stormcloaks for Skyrim! This- this is MADNESS!" The man turned to run.
"Gordias! Don't!" The man yelled.
As the man began climbing the stairs, his body froze: a meat knife from the table now puncturing his skull. The last man standing stood still, staring at the mad man.
Cicero approached, a thrill running up and down his spine. His passion had never been at such a high, for he had never faced losing so much. So much that held such importance.
He circled his prey who seemed now submitted to his fate. "Why are you doing this?" The man asked.
Cicero clenched his jaw, then approaching him. "Why? You ask me why?" He paused for a moment, his face turning red. He then grabbed the man's throat in his hand. " YOU ASK ME WHY? HOW DARE YOU ASK ME WHY YOU KNOW WHY YOU KNOW! YOU KNOW! HOW DARE YOU TAKE HER FROM ME! HOW DARE YOU!" He began stabbing the man repeatedly, his arm and soon his whole body shaking violently as he did so. "DON'T YOU DARE ASK ME WHY! YOU DOG! YOU BASTARD! TO THE VOID WITH YOU! TO THE VOID! DREAD FATHER, TAKE HIS SOUL TO THE VOID AND STRIP HIM OF HIS DIGNITY FOR ALL ETERNITY!"
It wasn't until some time later that his breath began to calm, his shoulders soon slouching as his eyes batted slowly. He looked down at the mess in his hands, then dropping it. His mind blanked on him as he put a hand on the pushed back chair. "Mother..." He muttered. "Mother, mother, mother..."
He began walking about the sanctuary, walking down the stairs to the training area, up the stairs through Madrale's lab, to the great stairway and the bridge. Babette's garden, and back into the dining room. A head in the escape route, only the sound of whistling reaching his ears. As he slowly closed it, he returned to the training area, and then into the hall to the bedrooms.
No Babette.
No Nazir.
No Bulmond.
No Mariella.
As he came to her door, he stopped. His chest began to tremble as he open it.
No Madrale.
He turned about in a circle, hoping that, perhaps when he turned once more there her face would be. But it wasn't. His mind blanked again, he then approaching her desk. It was empty, save a bottle of ink and her quill. His fingers lightly brushed over its soft surface. The next moment, he felt a sting at his eyes, his lips then quivering. "Where are you?" He whispered. His eyes then grew wide in disbelief as he remembered something. He then turned to face the door, his body stiff. "No... no... no, no, NO, NO, NO!"
He went out at a sprint, climbing the great stairs two at a time. As he reached the shoreline, he rushed towards the smoldering bodies, jumping in amongst them. "MADRALE!" He screamed. "MADRALE! No, NO! THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING! NOT AGAIN! NOT TO YOU!" He pulled them up one by one, looking at their distorted faces as they began falling into ash. He cried out at the top of his lungs, then stumbling out of the pile covered in black and grey. Grabbing one of the burnt swords, he slashed about in the air, then throwing the blade as far as he could.
Breathing, he glanced back at the pile of bodies. He then froze in horror, his face turned to stone. It then fell to pieces as he came to his knees, then dragging himself over to the edge of the pile. Barely recognizable, before him lay a dunmer maiden. His face fell to the ground beside hers, his hand gently resting on her cheek. "My dear..." He choked back a sob. "Listener... Madrale... Where is your sweet hair, so long and dark as the Void? His hand then traveled down her arm. "Where is your velvety skin? Or your eyes, the color of sunset? …. My Mistress... Where are you, so beautiful and mighty? Moth- Mother's... Chosen... Hero? Her Listener? What am I to do without you? Don't go, please don't go."
He then began to cry freely, his chest heaving. He dug his nails into the ground, pushing his fingertips into the sharp stones. "Life is not worth living anymore!" He proclaimed. "Cicero is alone once more! Not only his Family, but his wife! His LISTENER!" He rolled over on his back, staring up at the mournful grey sky.
He then took upon himself a dagger from the pile, placing it on his neck. "I will see you soon, Madrale! Mother! ...Father." As he began pressing it to his neck, he paused, then letting out a wail of pain. "BUT MOTHER NEEDS TENDING TO! How can the Listener tend to the Night Mother if she is among the dead? Is not Mother in need of her Keeper once more?"
He then sat up. "There must be a new Listener. A, a new Brotherhood! Under their leadership!" He turned to look at the corpse once more, patting it tenderly. "I'm sorry, Madrale... You will always be in my heart. I... I think I love you, and I always will. I'm sorry I could never be a proper husband... That you were stuck with me. I wish you could have been the Listener to save our people. But I suppose you must watch from the Void now with Mother. Watch over your dearest Cicero, won't you?"
Cicero returned to the sanctuary a day later with a horse and wagon. Returning to Madrale's quarters, he took all the potions and enchanted armor he could carry. Glancing over the room, he looked for anything that shouldn't be placed into the wrong hands. He looked at Madrale's desk. He recalled all of the documents she wrote out all day long at that desk, but they were no where in sight. The bookshelf she kept them on appeared empty. Could the enemy have stolen it...? He approached it, reaching out his hand and grasping the air. There was nothing. He then recoiled his hand. As he stood thinking for a moment, he then recited a spell he had heard her use before when dispatching a cloaking spell. He then jumped as the shelf became stocked full of scrolls and loose papers.
Before leaving the room, he glanced back with an ache in his chest. He couldn't bare to leave so many of... her things. Stepping back into the middle or the room, he began going through her chests, strapping heavy purses of gold to his belt. He soon came upon the daggers Svenja had shown to the Family in an attempt to turn them against her leadership. Holding them lightly in his hands, he then sheathed them and tucked them into his coat. As he headed for the door again, he stopped, then approaching her desk. He plucked the feather off the desk, pulling it lightly through his fingers. He sighed, placing it near to his heart. He gave the room one last look over the shoulder before blowing out the candles and closing the door tightly.
Once the Night Mother and all the other important things were packed into the wagon, he went where the Night Mother once rested in the Sanctuary, his right hand covered in blood. Pressing it against the wall and floor, he then hopped onto his wagon.
"It's time we hit the road again, Mother. Just you and me. How do you like that?"