THE BOREDOME OF IMMOBILITY

The wounds weren't a problem. They both began to heal very quickly, Cicero a little faster than Morrigan. But she didn't complain, she was stoic. Occasionally Cicero saw her touch her own side, but she never said anything, she remained quiet until it stopped hurting her.

But most of all Cicero appreciated that she had learned. He had seen her falling into a pit of depression before, especially in the evening. She used to think that everything was wrong, that she didn't want to die, that her life was horrible. She had done it a few more days, and then she had stopped. She had stopped seeing the negative of everything. Instead of cuddling depression, Cicero noticed that she occasionally cuddled her wrist. He never told her that he had noticed, because it was right that it was something of her only, somthing private. She had to understand that nobody would've noticed, not even an attacker. She had to understand that she was safe with her wrist, and so he never told her how proud he was of that little gesture. It was as if, suddenly, she had learned where to canalize negativity.

She was beginning to accept his religion as well, it seemed. Perhaps not to believe in it, of course, but at least she appreciated it. No one had ever understood why Cicero and his brethren wanted the Void so much, but Morrigan was getting an idea.

In fact, one morning, one of many at that time, she said suddenly:

"You know, I think there's a certain beauty in the Void. It makes the world better."

It was a deep thought, and Cicero agreed, but he wanted to know what had led her to that conclusion. When he asked for further explanations, she was simple, yet precise:

"If you believe in a fantastic paradise, life, which isn't perfect, becomes something to finish as soon as possible, almost a punishment. If you know that afterwards there will be nothing, instead... everything seems more beautiful here."

And that was exactly the reason why worshiping the Void was the wisest choice. Morrigan hadn't yet taken the next step, she hadn't yet understood that the Void, once achieved, would've still been positive in its own way. But again, he had to give her time. Time could make all things right.

Time, unfortunately, could make it all right, except one thing: her illness. Morrigan's fingers were whiter than usual, as if there were no more blood flowing, and she claimed to feel the numbness rising from the tips to the rest of the hands. Both were fearing the day when the whole hand would've become useless, but they never talked about it, Morrigan herself seemed to want to convince herself that it wasn't important. As she had been taught, yes... but maybe it wasn't right.

They were very often making love at that time. Partly because they wanted it and partly because they felt obliged, they knew that sooner or later the insensitivity would've imprisoned Morrigan completely, even in her private parts. And then they were there, in that inn, as if nothing else existed. Visitors came and went, and Morrigan and Cicero instead were remaining, in the innkeeper's amazement. They used to eat, laugh, wait for death trying to mimic a normal life that, they knew, wasn't for them. Everything seemed false, in that period. Everything seemed unfinished.

When Cicero tried to talk about it, they were sitting on the outside stairs. The weather was cold but merciful. There were clouds that threatened a storm, but the storm wasn't coming, and they were there waiting for it.

Waiting... it seemed to have become a routine.

"Little crow, are you... are you happy here?"

He hoped she would've said no, but he knew she wouldn't have said anything.

In fact, she shrugged, hesitating.

"I don't know. I am if you are too."

A non-response, as she always did to avoid making decisions. Cicero tried to be patient.

"You don't have to always reconnect everything to Cicero. I asked if you're happy, and that's it. Are you, or aren't you?"

She shrugged again, as if to repeat the previous answer.

Cicero, exasperated, looked up at the sky. He saw a snowflake, just one, falling on him. It melted on his forehead.

Then, however, a change as sudden as it was unexpected:

"No" she admitted, in a low voice, almost guilty, "it reminds me so much of Whiterun. Don't get me wrong, I know it's not like there, I'm treated well here, and I should just be grateful, you're paying for everything. Just... I'd like to do something adventurous before... before..."

She couldn't finish the sentence. Cicero noticed the sadness in her empty and homogeneous eyes, even if she was trying to hide it. She gripped her own wrist, as if clinging to a vain hope.

"Little crow, it's okay if you vent it. Ignoring pain doesn't mean not to feel it at all. Being able to win it must be a benefit for you, not an effort for the others around you."

And that was the authorization she was waiting for. She sobbed, holding her mouth tight so as not to overdo it. Her eyelids narrowed and a pair of tears came down slowly, making their way to her skin and competing with each other.

Cicero didn't like to see her like that. He really didn't. He had never liked to see sad women, it was something he couldn't stand, perhaps because Modia had never been. When killing them there was no problem, it was normal that they cried during an attack, but if he saw them crying for unknown reasons, he immediately began to wonder what could've happened so serious.

"It's so hard, Cicero. It's so hard..."

She breathed in, and the warmer air came out immediately from her nostrils, appearing white into the colorless atmosphere.

"Cicero knows it. He never said it would've been easy."

"Why did you ask me if I'm happy?" Morrigan asked quickly, changing the subject.

Cicero didn't answer immediately. He sighed too, searching for suitable words. It's not that he was really bored, though...

"Cicero is bored, Morrigan. Sorry."

She didn't seem surprised too much. She nodded, shrugged. It was as if she knew that day should've come, as if she wanted to remove the trouble as soon as possible, to stop being a burden.

"Cicero needs to stay active, little crow" he tried to explain, "to make jokes, to go and kill people, to pray the Mother! He can't sit still, it reminds him... it reminds him of Cheydinhal too much."

Morrigan frowned, and only then Cicero regretted not ever mentioning Cheydinhal to her. What had happened there still hurt. It was as if those souls continued to follow him, all of them, even the one of the previous Listener.

"Cicero has been a long time alone and a long time still, in Cheydinhal. Cicero doesn't want and cannot repeat the experience, he would die. He must be active, that's why they allowed him to go back to work outside. Cicero becomes... intolerable... when he feels trapped."

Morrigan pursed her lips, nodding lightly. She wrapped herself in the black fur, which widened her shoulders in an unnatural way. She really seemed to have wings, like that.

"Well, you could go back to work. I know I'm ball and chain, but I could..."

"No, Morrigan, you couldn't come with Cicero, but not because you're ball and chain" he said sternly, making things clear, "Morrigan isn't ready. And we both need space. Cicero doesn't want you to have anything to do actively with the Brotherhood. He'll never take you into the bowels of Dawnstar and no, he'll never take you during a contract. You're not cut for that, little crow. You accept death, and Cicero is happy, but you're not a killer anyway. You need a reason, and often there is no reason, when Cicero works. Cicero won't drag you through Skyrim while doing something you don't understand and disapprove of. Forget it. Stay out of it, for your own good."

She was silent, Cicero couldn't understand whether disappointed or not. In doubt, he put his hand on her shoulder, sinking into the fur of her cloak. But he wouldn't have done more, he didn't really want to let Morrigan spend her last months of life supporting him behind the scenes.

"And then" he added, a little more cheerfully, "Cicero works one contract at a time, always. As long as yours isn't solved, he can't ask for another. It's a rule that is learned quickly, in the Brotherhood."

Morrigan nodded again, silent. Cicero tried to wait, to see if she wanted to say something, but she never hinted to even open her mouth.

Cicero peered at her, watching her and swinging his head from side to side, as if by changing perspective he could understand her better. But he didn't understand her, and so he decided to dismiss the topic.

"Cicero must go to the Mother, it's necessary. He's leaving tomorrow."

She nodded. Nothing else. Nothing at all.

"Well... if the Princess of the Void doesn't want to talk, it won't be Cicero to oblige her."

He got up from the steps and headed inside, leaving her there. It was getting hard, really hard to endure the cold... not even Cicero knew if that thought was about the weather or Morrigan herself.

.

.

That evening they were both silent. They ate, sighing, and Cicero felt the atmosphere too heavy. The inn was fuller and more vital than usual, it seemed that only the two of them weren't in the right mood.

Cicero glanced at Morrigan, on the other side of the table, who was biting into bread.

He decided he didn't want to leave with melancholy on him. He should have fixed the matter with her.

He stood up, smiling, trying not to be heard. The noise of the other patrons covered his steps and allowed him to get around the table, to reach her. He positioned behind her and placed his closed fingers of the left hand on the center of her head, as if to simulate the shape of an egg.

He felt her wince in surprise, asking who it was. But he didn't answer and, quickly, he simulated the breaking of the egg, mimicking with both hands the yolk and the albumen dripping on her head. She had to understand that it was Cicero, because she laughed.

"I thought it was true!" she was repeating, amid laughter, "I thought it was true!"

"Morrigan too often forgets that Cicero is also a jester. He knows a lot of nice tricks, you know?"

It was true, he knew a lot, most of them because he used to exercise during that period of emptiness in Cheydinhal. Many were visual, however, and Cicero was quite certain that Morrigan wasn't the kind of person to appreciate a coin that disappears behind the ear or a random card guessed in a deck.

Cicero sat down, happy, and above all happy to have made her happy. The tension between them had faded in a few seconds. Cicero was happy to have someone like her: it was easy to cheer her up. Unfortunately, he had the misfortune to meet her in difficult times, but he had to recognize that she was doing everything possible to enjoy the moment, especially now that she had been saved from Whiterun's stillness.

"Cicero, I... I wanted to tell you something. I had an idea."

She was serious but still in a good mood. Cicero wondered if he had made a wise choice encouraging her to speak. He was genuinely afraid of what she could propose him.

"Cicero is listening, little crow!" he said, perky, hoping he wouldn't get something too serious. To calm down, he took a sip of wine.

"We could go and investigate my client."

Cicero almost spat everything. But he restrained himself, feeling the wine rise up his nose and burn. He coughed to recover.

"By Sithis, Morrigan! You're like Babette! When will you stop violating poor Cicero?"

Yes, she was like Babette, in introducing uncomfortable topics. Above all, it wasn't a good idea to do so among all those people, but fortunately no one seemed to have noticed: the others were laughing, joking and eating as before.

Morrigan had some trouble understanding the distance between her and the others and how much voice to use for delicate speeches.

"I'm serious, Cicero. I remembered what my mother told me in that dream, you know? She said: it's not honorable to leave with pending issues, a true Nord fixes them all."

"Cicero believed that we had established that you're not really a true Nord..."

Morrigan sighed, putting a hand on her forehead, as if it hurt her for thinking too much.

"This thing torments me, now more than ever. I have to find him or her, to understand why all this happened to me, and... I don't know, maybe even take my revenge. This also torments you, I know. You said you're stuck on my contract until you solve it."

It was true, but he intended to solve it with her death anyway, perhaps natural if not really procured, certainly not with the death of the client. It couldn't be, it was forbidden. How infame it could be for a Brotherhood of assassins to kill those who request its services? A very good incentive to have more customers, really.

"Little crow, it doesn't work like that, Cicero is sorry."

"You too know that staying here is a trap. If you want to solve the problem without... without doing something to me... then we have to go back."

He was amazed by how much she could be logical and pragmatic. It was true, if there was nothing in front of them, a good way, even to understand what the Mother wanted from him, would've been to understand the origins of the contract.

"Yes, yes, yes, but Cicero cannot!" he said, acute, tormented, "Cicero cannot go looking for the client, it would be like going against every principle of... the family!"

They were careful not to use improper terms, among other people.

"Then I'll hire you." she said treacherously.

Cicero looked at her, wide-eyed, trying to figure out if she was serious. And yes, she actually was. She was stiff, seating composed, her face turned towards him and slightly bent sideways, as if challenging him.

"Wow. Morrigan... tonight you want Cicero to get a heart attack."

He drank, upset. He put the cup down and tried to think where that conversation had started, because he couldn't remember it anymore. In the end, he decided to get up, leaving the dinner table. Quick, he stood up, and took Morrigan by the hand, pulling her with him. They needed to speak calmly and in private, the matter was becoming a little too heavy for Cicero's tastes.

They vanished, then, and soon they were in their room, accompanied by the innkeeper's allusive look. Cicero would've killed him willingly, and maybe he would've, one day. What a good man that innkeeper was.

When they were inside, Cicero closed the door and took a moment think. He leaned against the wooden wall, almost suffering. He looked at Morrigan who, for once, was more confident than ever, and was standing in the center of the room as... a boss. Someone who had already hired and paid him, and was expecting a clean job.

Cicero smiled, thinking that he couldn't really see her as a killer. Then, calmer, he decided to take back his personality, and to make her understand the weight of what she had asked for.

He approached her, then, with a silent and predatory movement. She noticed, even if he didn't touch her. She always noticed, she was sagacious. And, in fact, she became a little smaller. She didn't give up, she didn't react, but became more human, something that Cicero could hope to face.

"Cicero doesn't think you have a clear idea of the gravity of what you have said, little crow" he warned, walking around her, with the malicious and sensual tone of a snake, "first of all, Cicero costs. A lot. And secondly, hiring him isn't so easy, there are some... procedures. Oh, don't get him wrong, Cicero's always happy to accept a new victim, but see, hiring him without the proper process would be... unorthodox."

"Procedures? What... what kind of procedures?" she asked, scared, smaller and shivering. Cicero laughed of the strength that the right words and tone could have. He liked words. If he couldn't impose his staring look, at least he was still good at imposing words, and Morrigan was particularly susceptible with those.

"Oh, the kind of procedures you wouldn't want to do, little crow. You need candles, bones, human flesh... to request the services of the Brotherhood, you must first invoke the Mother, and it isn't just like buying an apple at the market, if you know what I mean."

Morrigan was surprised. Hadn't she expected it? Hadn't she understoodd that the Brotherhood was more than just a cluster of assassins? More than just a guild of ruffians, like that of Riften?

Cicero, however, when he saw her falling on the bed, realized that it wasn't the macabre Black Sacrement that frightened her. No, it was something else.

"Sombody has done this to see me dead, then?" she asked, shocked, disappointed, "Someone hates me so much to pay and ruin their soul like that? Why?"

Cicero understood and, seized by an impulse of compassion, let go of the killer's attitude. He relaxed his shoulders, went a little closer to her, and this time walking normally, so she could hear him.

"Yes, even Cicero thought it was strange." he confessed.

He went to sit next to her, without speaking. They stayed for a moment like that, still, pointing silently in the same direction.

"What have I done?" Morrigan asked, more to the universe than to Cicero. Not in a commiserial tone, though. It was more a sincere curiosity.

"Sometimes the victims are unsuspected" explained Cicero, from the height of his experience, "the reasons may be the most disparate. Think of the people you've had some dislike with, even the slightest. Think of the things you've done."

He really wanted to help her. Also, because she was a case out of statistics and he was interested too. Although the other victims were unsuspected, there was always some reason. Cicero often didn't know that reason, but he could imagine it: the baroness, for example, was a really sweet woman, no one could've ever wanted to kill her for her character... but for her position, yes. Morrigan had no temper flaws, she didn't bother people because most of the time she kept away from them, she wasn't in an important position and she couldn't be involved in any shady deal.

"We can't even say that you may have seen something too much, eh, little crow?"

The joke was welcome, she laughed softly. Cicero was happy to make that effect. At least she was always ready to play down.

In the end, she spoke honestly:

"I really can't think of anything. The most serious thing I did was killing my father, and you know it. But it happened a long time ago and nobody loved my father, besides the fact that nobody thought it was intentional. Really, they all hated him, it can't be for that."

Not even Cicero thought it was for that. And he believed her if she said there was nothing else, really. Because he trusted her, yes, but above all because he trusted confessions made without a real reason to lie.

"You must know something more than me, Cicero. Please tell me!" She implored, behaving as if Cicero knew everything and didn't want to tell her, out of spite or maybe to protect her.

"Cicero doesn't know anything, he already told you. He doesn't ask why, he just executes orders" he clarified, mortified that he couldn't help her, "the only thing he knows is that Babette has collected the contract. Then the Listener assigned it to Cicero on the order of the Mother, but she spoke to the client."

Cicero knew very well what Morrigan wanted: to ask if it was possible to go and talk to Babette. She didn't dare, however, and remained silent, her mouth tight. In the end, she asked a sweetened question, which had nothing to do with what she really wanted to say:

"Who is Babette?"

Cicero chuckled, thinking of the little monster.

"Well, she's... a woman... more or less... hm."

Morrigan was confused, Cicero understood that she was thinking of some form of hermaphroditism.

"She's a woman but she looks like a child" he corrected, "she's really nice, you'd get along, Cicero is sure!"

But Morrigan still didn't understand.

"A woman-child in a… metaphorical way?"

"No, no, she's a little girl, short, little voice, you know… a child. She's a vampire."

Morrigan shook her head a little, frowning, as if she didn't want to believe it. Instead of being amazed, however, she joked.

"Well, I don't know what I could expect from one of the Brotherhood..."

"Oh, don't worry, she wouldn't hurt you. She only drinks men."

Morrigan chuckled, sarcastically, as if she wasn't quite sure she was safe.

"And why?"

"Cicero doesn't know, she never told him. But he supposes she has an unsolved fatherly issue. Like you, little crow, hm?"

"Well... mine isn't unsolved."

Cicero laughed hard. Where had she learned? Had he been such a good teacher? He would've never hoped for that ease on her part, ever.

"Little crow, you really like black humor, don't you? Very good!"

And he gently hitted her with his shoulder, to make her understand how much he loved that new part of her. Even because everything was lighter, that way, and Cicero appreciated when everything was light.

A pause, in which they calmed down, both by laughter and by the previous tension. Now they were ready to face the matter with more objectivity.

"Listen, why don't you take me to Dawnstar? We could talk with this Babette and we could investigate a bit. Without revenge, just... just to know, okay? To do something, to solve this matter."

The idea was honest, a good compromise, Cicero had to admit it.

"Um, we could do it, little crow. But be aware, it's unlikely that Cicero decides to kill a client. Rather, no, it's impossible, he'll never kill a client, forget it."

"You don't want to kill someone? It sounds weird."

Another joke.

"By Sithis, Morrigan, you're like a running horse! What happened to you, eh? Where's the little crow?"

They laughed again, but Morrigan was on her way now, she had no intention of losing the debate.

"All right, no revenge, for now."

"No revenge ever, at least not by Cicero's hand. The Mother should command it herself to…"

But he stopped. An idea. Dazzling. As if everything made sense.

"Morrigan... did your mother tell you those words? To fix the issue?"

Morrigan was lost. She turned to him with frowned eyebrows.

"Yes, in my dream. Why?"

But Cicero needed to think.

Her mother, her mother... her mother... her... Mother?

The Mother spoke only to the Listener, she couldn't have spoken directly. But she could've sent a sign. It wasn't the first time she took the form of other mothers, other parents, it was a figure who she appreciated, because she had been herself. Was it possible? Yes. Yes, it was.

"Morrigan, the Night Mother loves us!" exploded Cicero, suddenly euphoric. He stood up, agitated, grateful for that enlightenment. He put his hands on his head, laughed, closed his eyes and enjoyed the presence, though vague and elusive, of the Mother in that room.

"Cicero, what are you saying? It was my mother, Sigrid, I remember her voice."

But Cicero knew it now, there was nothing that could change his mind. He stood in front of her, took her by the shoulders, convinced and more than ever a believer.

"Do you often dream of your mother?" he asked, and he knew that it didn't happen often, or else she wouldn't have said it in those days, it wouldn't have been such a particular event.

"No" she admitted, still confused, "no, I had never dreamed of her."

"Exactly! Exactly! She was your mother, but she was sent by the true Mother! She's telling you what we have to do! She's telling us that we can, indeed, we must investigate the origins! It's her blessing, she's telling us to find the client! I'll inform the Listener, he'll accept, I know."

He hugged her, gave her a quick kiss, joyful.

"We're leaving for Dawnstar tomorrow, little crow. It's time to put an end to this damn contract."

Oh, guys, sorry for the delay! I'm writing a new original novel (about the myth of Hades and Persephone, just as you know), and yesterday I was writing a new chapter, got overly enthusiastic and forgot to translate lol xD But here I am! Hope you enjoyed your reading and see you on tuesday! Bye! *.*