Summary: Time to get Cyrodiil's lost son back to Skyhold, where he attracts no little attention. But it's not easy being newly unTranquillised in a strange place, especially when the two people you most want to talk to about it all have been dead for years. However, it turns out the Black Rose is not without friends, even here.

A/N: This is sort of a bridging chapter, as became apparent when I looked at the amount I had written and realised there needed to be a chapter break somewhere but I couldn't figure out where. So this is what I ended up with. Next chapter delves into the emotional reactions rather more, but this will do for a start.

Pulcinello e Giardita is Punch and Judy by any other name. If you're not familiar with the concept, go watch some YouTube videos of it. It's traditional children's entertainment where I live!


Of course, it hadn't been quite as easy as all that. Cicero Senior had wanted to say goodbye to the Tranquil, put a few things in order, ensure the alchemical work was in good hands, and despite the Tranquil he spoke to still having blank expressions, Cicero Senior seemed content he'd done it.

"It was important to me," he explained. "I feel better for having said goodbye. May we go?"

"Do you not want any of your things?" Madanach asked, seeing a large amount of tomes, potions, ingredients, tools, clothes, all sorts, just being left behind.

"No," Cicero Senior said viciously. "They are not mine. They are the Chantry's. Let it keep them. But… if the Inquisition can afford it… new clothes would be nice? Please, I want to get out of these damn robes and wear trousers again. Also a lute. I wonder what happened to my old one."

"I've still got it," Leliana blurted out. "I… still have some of your things, they were in a chest that belonged to my mother. They've been in storage for years but I kept the lute. I'll have them send it all to Skyhold but the lute's there already. I couldn't bear to part with it. I don't use it much though. You should have it back."

His face lit up as he realised Leliana had kept all his things, and Leliana felt her cheeks flushing as she realised just how much this meant to him.

"Do you… do you have my knives as well? They're black ones. You won't recognise the metal but it's ebony. Black and enchanted! Pointy! The bow is made of the same. All enchanted but not with lyrium runes."

Cicero at this point took his own ebony knife out for Leliana to look at… and there was no mistaking the design.

"Yes, I have your weapons," Leliana whispered, still shuddering a little to look at them. "It never felt right using them."

Mainly because the very material itself felt malevolent but she didn't tell either Cicero that. Cicero proudly put his knife away… and the elder Cicero actually squealed.

"You still have Blooddrinker and Soultaker!" Cicero Senior cried, clasping his hands. "If you are not using them..."

Leliana began to realise quite why he'd ended up Tranquil. Not that she agreed, of course, but she could see the reasoning.

"I'll get them for you," she promised. What harm could an old man do with two exquisitely sharp blades after all. And then she remembered this was the Black Rose and wished she'd not thought about it. But still. At Skyhold she could keep an eye on him, no?

So to Montsimmard it was to buy him an entire new wardrobe – mostly black trousers and waistcoats, with capes and coats to match and a few silk shirts and cravats in varying colours to add a little variety.

It was costing a fortune, but Cicero helped matters by discreetly changing into his motley and gliding into view behind Leliana and his uncle, and suddenly extra discounts were being given to Red Cicero's most beloved uncle.

Who was eyeing up his nephew in the jester motley and suddenly had all manner of questions.

"That is… not actually Harlequin wear, it's a Cyrodiil merryman's outfit, what are you trying to convey here, niposito?"

Stories of dashing entertainers who acted as spies from his uncle. Watching Pulcinello e Giardita shows as a boy. The jester he'd been hired to kill who'd turned out to be his last contract.

"A tribute to a worthy foe," was all Cicero ended up saying. "Also it frightens people. That is always useful in our business, is it not?"

Cicero Senior agreed that it was and said no more about it, in fact once the shopping was done, he seemed most keen on just watching the fountain in the city square and enjoying the sunshine, and nearly cried when Leliana bought some seed from a vendor so he could feed the pigeons.

"You were watching them. I thought you might enjoy feeding them too."

"Yes! I would, I would!" Cicero Senior enthused, and the next twenty minutes passed with all of them just watching an old man cooing at the pigeons and throwing seeds to them.

Madanach took the opportunity to take the younger Cicero aside.

"So how are you," Madanach said quietly. "This whole thing cannot have been easy for you. You know he's probably going to need a lot of care and attention."

"I know," Cicero said softly. "But he's back, Madanach! I have my uncle Cicero back! He used to tell so many stories about being a professional bard and spying for the Empire on these nobles from places I was sure he made up. None of it ever seemed real. But… it was. He was telling me about the Game. Do you know, I think he was trying to train me to follow in his footsteps."

"Well, you and Leliana both did in your own way," Madanach said, watching Cicero Senior cheerfully throw seed at pigeons and squeal over how they gobbled it up, and Leliana sitting with him and laughing too, seeming more carefree than Madanach had ever seen her.

"Yes," Cicero said, smiling but also seeming a little sad. "He reminds me of how I was when I finally left Cyrodiil. Just being outside again, around people, was the most exciting thing I could think of. And then I got to Skyrim and there were mountains and glaciers and snow everywhere! I didn't even need to stab anyone. I was too busy looking at the view. But I was lonely. And then pretty Elisif was kind to me. I never told her this but at Loreius Farm that day, I was half tempted to leave the cart behind me and follow her off on what was clearly a grand adventure. I didn't. Not that day. But later… I did. I have few regrets. I was lonely and afraid. Now I have my family back. And I don't care if Uncle is frail and fragile and needs looking after. I will help him. He might be excited over ridiculously trivial things like sitting in a town square feeding pigeons. He might cry because it is cloudy or raining. It does not matter. He will not be lonely. Not while I live."

Because the loneliness had hurt the most, most likely. Madanach reached over the table and took Cicero's hand, remembering coming out of Cidhna Mine and nearly crying himself as he remembered what sunlight and rain and the night sky were like. He'd not had to worry about loneliness – a minute to himself was a bloody luxury. But he knew what it was like to be out of prison.

"We'll both help," Madanach promised. "We've got the grandkids in common, haven't we? After the Adamant siege, we make contact with home and get them over here. They should meet their new uncle and they've probably missed you."

Cicero's eyes lit up and he profusely thanked Madanach, exclaiming his uncle should meet the children, he should, he should!

Yes he certainly should. And Eola too. And Maia might be interested as well. Come to think of it, a lot of people might wish to meet a famous bard back from the dead. Loneliness might be the least of his problems, and there was the possibly misfiring magic too. If only Madanach knew someone with Templar abilities who was also kind and compassionate and wanted to follow the Eight, not Andraste.

Yes, Elder Cicero definitely needed to meet Madanach's husband and wife.


Back at Skyhold and the first thing to happen on entering the keep was Elisif herself rushing to meet them and flinging her arms round Madanach.

This was nice. This was very nice. But also a bit alarming. She felt guilty and upset and… oh gods. Something was wrong, wasn't it.

"What happened?" he gasped, suddenly not wanting to let her go. "Is it Alistair? Or..."

"Alistair's fine, he's looking after Maia for me," Elisif whispered. "But – Eola got injured. She's back here, in bed, Liriel's looking after her, but she nearly died!"

Sadly, Cicero's sensitive werewolf hearing picked that up, and the wailing meant he had to put his own worries on hold and check his son-in-law wasn't going off on one.

He needn't have worried. Elder Cicero had taken the job on instead and was cuddling his whimpering nephew, whispering to him in Cyrodiilic.

"Is she all right," Madanach said, trying not to think about Eola in pain because it so rarely happened. She'd go into danger, he'd worry, and she'd normally be fine. Last time he'd had this was when the Dawnguard shot her, and that had been years ago.

"I think so but she's resting up," Elisif said, letting him go and turning to the Ciceros with no little interest. "Josephine told me you'd gone to Montsimmard to break up a strike? Or conscript the Tranquil. And rescue Cicero's uncle. Is that him?"

Both Ciceros heard this and the whimpering abruptly ceased, two pairs of identical brown eyes swivelling to Elisif in the same fluid motion.

Elisif had seen Kodlak and Cicero turn to make similar movements without realising they were doing it – at the time, she'd not realised either what it meant. And she'd seen the twins imitating Cicero, sometimes without realising, sometimes deliberately copying him. But nothing had prepared her for the two of them together, not actually father and son but something very close to it, instinctively moving in harmony.

"Oh my goodness, Cicero, he looks just like you!" Elisif gasped. "Except older. Hello, sir! Welcome to Skyhold!"

Raised eyebrows from Elder Cicero, who let go of his nephew and to Elisif's surprise and embarrassment, dropped to one knee, head bowed.

"There is no need for you to call me sir, Eminenza, if my nephew tells me true, you outrank me by some considerable margin, my Empress. Despite everything, I remain loyal, and I know who I owe for my rescue. Marquise Briala certainly, but I also know she felt she owed you, and I know who sent my nephew. Thank you, Eminenza. Your kindness will never be forgotten."

Cicero Senior's voice wavered on the last sentence, and then he was wiping tears from his eyes, further compounded by him realising he couldn't get up without help. His nephew ran to his side, but it was Borkul who actually lifted him to his feet without breaking a sweat.

"Thank you," Cicero Senior whispered and Borkul patted his back.

"No trouble, old man. Listen, is Josie around? She's sorted out quarters for him, right?"

"Yes, she has, can you go fetch her?" Elisif said, stepping forward to get a better look at him. The poor man was still dabbing at his eyes which also likely meant Madanach or someone had been able to break Tranquillity. Thank the gods. That was a horrible fate for anyone, let alone a loyal son of Cyrodiil.

Impulsively, Elisif the daughter of Skyrim reached out and pulled him into a hug, thinking he could do with it, and the poor man let out a terrified whine.

"Eight, I'm so sorry!" Elisif gasped, guiltily letting him go and recalled Dorian exasperatedly telling her perhaps not everyone was as enthusiastic about hugs as she was and that some cultures prized personal space.

"It's all right!" Cicero Senior finally got out. "I – I wasn't… I'm sorry, everything is still very bright and overwhelming and this hall is very big, and Inquisitor-Empress is too kind for a humble spy like myself and..."

Cicero the Younger was moving in to offer comfort, even though he was surely worrying about Eola as well… and then Leliana was there too. She'd been quiet, watching from afar, but something about her being there seemed to calm her father immediately.

Father. It felt odd even knowing Leliana had one, and her earlier emotional reaction hadn't given Elisif confidence. But here she was, being, if not affectionate, kind at least.

"It's all right," Leliana said softly. "You're safe here. Elisif's a good person, and you're family now. Your nephew married her stepdaughter."

Said stepdaughter was presently laid up in bed while the blood-replenisher draughts took effect, and was going to be resting for another day or two at least, and really not liking the idea. A visit from her father might or might not lift her mood, and it looked like her husband was ready to bolt off any second, only loyalty to his uncle keeping him.

"Would you mind if Cicero here went to see Eola? He looks worried," Elisif said gently. "Madanach, you should go too. I can't discuss it all out here but Liriel has the details. So does Alistair if you run into him."

"I'll be sure to ask," Madanach said, and after giving his uncle a quick hug, Cicero was off too, motley flying behind him as he sprinted towards Eola's room.

Leaving Elisif with an elderly spy still adapting to having feelings again, and his long-lost daughter who was clearly still adapting to the role herself… but who seemed more positive about being in it now.

"Shall we find somewhere to sit and talk if you're willing? Did you need food or drink?" Elisif asked. "Only I feel there is quite the story here. Unless you'd rather rest?"

"It has all been very exciting, but I did have tea in Montsimmard. And cakes! We had cakes! I can have cake again! I – I can enjoy food again..."

He looked like he was about to cry again and Elisif didn't blame him. Fuck the Chantry indeed.

"He's very fond of fondant fancies," Leliana added, smiling gently as she patted his back. "Josie's quite fond of them too. Shall we order some more in for you?"

"Yes! Every meal!" Cicero Senior squealed, clearly liking this idea.

"Not every meal, Maia sees that, she'll want the same!" Elisif cried, dreading that already. Mercifully, Josephine arrived at that point, professional face in place, and offering the greetings due an honoured guest. Cicero Senior blushed a little, but seemed to recognise traditional Orlesian social greetings and responded in kind… in Orlesian in fact. Fluent Orlesian, it turned out.

"It turns out he speaks four different languages and is good at all of them," Leliana said, seeing how impressed Elisif was. "Thedosian, Orlesian, Tamrielic and that language he and Cicero speak that Madanach says is spoken Cyrodiilic. They both tell me it is merely street slang but Madanach tells me it's really not, it's a separate language, and his translation magic is the only thing allowing him to hear it."

Elisif had heard the servants in the Imperial Palace speaking with each other in a language she couldn't follow at all and asked about it, only to be told it was a vulgar, peasant tongue inappropriate for Court and she shouldn't worry about it. But it explained much about the Empire if the citizens of the central province didn't even speak Tamrielic to each other, just for formal business or talking to strangers… or non-Imperials at least. Nords did not have a separate language, they spoke the standard… more or less. But elements of older tongues remained, both Dovahzul and Old Nordic, and even the standard had forms and wordings unique to Nords. It still bothered Elisif that she didn't sound very Nordic, despite Argis telling her not to worry about it, being Dragonborn meant she didn't need to.

"You've got the fucking Thu'um, El," he'd told her. "Don't worry that Maia's your baby not your bairn, and you say yes not aye. No one expects the Queen to sound like a bloody tavern wench."

It had made her laugh, even if it had been a reminder she wasn't native to Skyrim. But the realisation that Imperials from Cyrodiil weren't even speaking their own language when they spoke Tamrielic, but a formal dialect reserved for business said so much about why Imperials came across to others as a bit cold. They were used to showing their softer sides in Cyrodiilic. Probably explained why Cicero sounded as odd as he did sometimes.

Maybe being able to talk his mother tongue to his uncle might help him. Of course, those conversations would exclude Leliana by default, in fact even Tamrielic ones would. Elisif wondered how she felt about that. About any of it. So she asked.

"So how are you doing? You seem a lot happier than when we last talked about this."

Leliana blushed, looking at her feet, but she was smiling.

"He's nothing like I thought he would be. I was expecting… I don't know. A broken man. Not the sort of man I'd want to look up to as my father. But… he organised a strike! It was his own idea! Yes, he had help, yes I think being reunited with Cicero prompted the timing. But he thought of it and led it. Even while still Tranquil. Now… I don't know where we go from here. He's vulnerable and needy still. But he has all these stories! Including… you won't like this one. Apparently when his sister got pregnant with no husband, he stole seven statues of Dibella from a temple and fenced them to Orlesian nobles and an upmarket brothel to raise money to support her."

Elisif suddenly felt rather less sympathetic, imagining the amount of remorse he'd likely show for this – none, most likely.

Leliana saw her face and smiled apologetically.

"Do not fear, leave it to me. I'm working on a plan to retrieve them for you. I should also mention that there might be many Orlesian treasures in the hands of Tamrielic private collectors. He can't even remember all the things he's stolen over the years. There are a lot of tales of the Black Rose's exploits."

It was the ones in the Imperial collection that most worried Elisif. That was all she needed, Orlesian dignitaries visiting the Imperial Palace and suddenly seeing a lost masterwork on the walls.

"Thank you for the warning, I foresee a lot of cataloguing going on," Elisif said wearily. "It doesn't bother you, your father turning out to be a master thief?"

Leliana actually laughed at that. "Oh, hardly! We do what we must in this business, Herald. We already have underworld contacts and smugglers on the payroll helping our efforts. What's one retired criminal."

As long as he stayed retired. Elisif sincerely hoped he got bored less easily than his nephew did. At least he probably wouldn't be climbing on anything. Probably.

All the same… perhaps keep an eye on him.


Cicero Di Rosso the Elder, also known as Cesaire LaRose, and honestly with his nephew around sharing the name, he'd answer to both to avoid confusion, opened his eyes.

And realised two things. This was not a Circle but a small room overlooking a castle courtyard, and no one expected him to do any work today.

And he could feel.

He could feel. His emotions were back. The sun was streaming in through the glass window with Fereldan style curtains, and the bed was comfy, the fire had been lit earlier by servants, and he could feel!

He could dream again too. He'd had dreams. Stelmaria welcoming him back and wanting to tell him all about Cicero's career as an opera singer. And then she'd turned into a cheese wheel. Which on cutting it open had been filled with spiders who'd crawled everywhere. All singing 'Emperor of Fire' in high pitched squeaky voices. Out of tune.

He'd forgotten dreams were even a thing but they were, he had them again, and they were wonderful and horrifying and fascinating in equal amounts.

It was sunny. It wasn't too cold. He liked both of those things. He wanted to get up and go exploring and meet people and exchange stories and…

He wanted to show Oisine all this, see if she'd be impressed by his nephew being the important servant of the Inquisitor-Empress herself. Or that their baby was a candidate for Divine. But he couldn't. Oisine's songs would never lighten Skyhold.

Tears in his eyes as he rolled over, wincing as joints clicked and sobbed quietly into his pillow, because he could feel again, and all he could feel was grief. For a wife torn from him too soon. For his sister, dead in battle, and while he didn't know if Oisine would be impressed, he knew exactly how his sister would have reacted.

Tears of happiness in her eyes, proud of her boy, keen to meet her niece, then off to the forge or training the troops or telling the quartermaster how to do his job. Once a Legionnaire, always a Legionnaire.

Cyrodiil had never felt so far away, and while he knew he might see it again now, he also knew it wouldn't be the gleaming prosperous city he'd grown up in. War must have done terrible things to the place. And the Empire had lost Hammerfell and Talos both. But gained the Reachmen and the Dragonborn Empress. He wasn't sure it was an entirely fair trade.

Losing a god and gaining the Reachmen. For some reason the thought struck him as funny and he started laughing, laughing laughing laughing so hard he barely heard the knock at the door.

But he did hear it opening, and bard instincts kicked in. Falling silent he assessed his options, which involved no knives to hand sadly. But he did have his magic… and his voice.

"Impolite to walk into an old man's room without permission, messere," Cicero purred, adrenaline serving to regulate things even as part of him was squealing about being able to cast again. His new walking stick flew into the air, the head unscrewing to reveal the blade hidden within, and the button on the side pressing to reveal another blade shooting out of the end. No poison loaded yet but it could happen. Cicero was minded to see to that today in fact.

The two people who'd walked in barely flinched, both turning silently to look at him, and when Cicero saw the lyrium brands on their foreheads, he flinched. At least his was on his shoulder.

"Forgive me," Cicero murmured, summoning the cane back to him and reassembling it. "Brother, sister, did you need something?"

He'd never laid eyes on them before but he couldn't help but feel kinship regardless.

To his surprise, both Tranquil turned and bowed to him.

"We received notes, messere. That you needed help."

That was the man, a dark skinned Fereldan human.

"They said you were alone and likely to need carers," the woman, pale skin, dark hair, Kirkwall accent if he was any judge, added. "We all heard of what you did at Montsimmard. The news is interesting. So we contrived a roster. Two of us will aid you at all times. You are not young. You will need aid walking around Skyhold. Hands to help do things you no longer can or fetch things for you."

"We also wish to make observations on how the Tranquil cure affects you," the man said. Well, at least they were honest about it. "Many of us have been speaking about if we should seek it out ourselves. We believe the Inquisitor has it in her power to grant, but there is also talk it is not good for you. Many of us have suffered while in this state. Many of us were concerned we would not survive restoration."

"But here you are," his companion said, watching him with interest. "Cured. You took on the Chantry and won. Your example is motivating us all."

Cicero didn't feel very inspiring at the moment. He felt small and unhappy and missing the love of his life and the sister he could share anything with.

I miss you, Stel.

It hurt even more that while he could recall his sister's presence vividly, he could barely remember his wife's face.

But here were two Tranquil watching him and looking… almost fascinated. He remembered his erstwhile colleagues focusing on their work with rapt attention and slowly it dawned on him the Tranquil of Skyhold were making him their next project.

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. No emotions, but the compulsion to be whole again was driving them still.

Of course it was. Hadn't it been churning away at him, the nagging awareness of something missing all those years?

Maybe he could help them. Maybe. He could try anyway. And if in return it meant he got himself some underlings… well. He could make use of that too.

"I need to wash. And shave. And… there's an arcane privy behind that screen. I'll want to use that. Then someone will need to help dress me. I don't have many clothes at the moment, most of them are still pending delivery. I think the Ambassador is getting me some more from Val Royeaux. She said nothing but the best for Sister Nightingale's father. I did not have the heart to tell her pretty Leliana has never called me father yet..."

Tears in his eyes, because he'd been looking forward to parenthood! He'd nearly cried from happiness when Oisine had told him. Picking out names. Picking out mother and baby boutiques to rob. He'd had the heist to acquire the baby clothes planned out in meticulous detail. And then he'd been arrested before ever having the chance to carry it out.

He'd missed out on all of it, and Leliana didn't need her papa any more. It was enough to make him cry again.

"He's crying," the man said. "What do we do."

"There is a protocol for this. You sit next to him and put your arms round him. Pat his back occasionally and say 'there, there'. I shall fetch his kin."

Oh no. That was all he needed, overprotective Tranquil fetching his nephew and daughter for him.

"Don't," he gasped. "I just need a moment… but if you both sat next to me and cuddled me, that might be nice."

Both of them looked at each other, shrugged and did as asked, and surprisingly, it helped.

The Tranquil… wanted to help him. They couldn't care in the traditional sense, but they were there and reliable and would not get sidetracked from a goal they thought important. Cicero had not thought that might mean him, but he appreciated it.

"Obviously, long-term observations at close quarters will be required for you to truly draw conclusions," Cicero said thoughtfully. "But… I think if you take care of each other, both before and after the cure, you will get through it. The loneliness is the worst."

"But you have kin here," the man, who would later introduce himself as Keran said, confused.

"That is not always enough," Cicero said softly, knowing that his nephew was busy fussing over his wife, and rightly so. "But this is a big castle, and people have been very kind to a lonely old man. Come, get me up and dressed and to breakfast. Point out people connected to my kin to me. People an old bard might enjoy the company of."

The two Tranquil nodded, both looking thoughtful. And after Cicero Senior was up and dressed, off they were to the Keep.


The dwarf in the red shirt seemed surprised but not displeased to see him approach.

"Now here's a sight to see. The Black Rose himself, de-Tranquillised, rescued and here to party. Take a seat and enjoy breakfast at Skyhold. Varric Tethras, writer, businessman and occasional sidekick to the Herald, at your service. Everyone knows who you are, of course. You're the talk of Skyhold right now. How often do we see a famous apostate bard back from the dead?"

Cicero glanced at the Orlesian nobles who always seemed to be hanging around the hall, watching from behind fans and masks. Definitely interest there.

"Do they want a performance?" Cicero asked. "I'm not actually sure I can sing any more. I have not tried. But… I wish I still had a lute."

The female Tranquil, Sabine, immediately began making notes, and Cicero had a feeling he was going to be getting one sooner rather than later. Stendarr only knew what a lute crafted by Tranquil would sound like. Gingerly, he settled himself across the table from Varric.

"Sabine, my dear, if you wish to build me a lute, I am not averse, but consult me with on its manufacture first. I fear Tranquil are not the best judges of sound quality."

"You would be surprised," Sabine said, not looking up. "We are familiar with the frequencies that seem to bring people the most pleasure. But it shall be as you wish. You should be pleased with the finished product."

"Well. I am getting a Tranquil-made lute apparently," Cicero said, smiling at his new dwarven friend. "And I know your name! You wrote the book! Rise of the Dragonborn! I read it, you know. But I was Tranquil at the time. So… I am going to re-read it. I seem to remember my nephew dominating most of the scenes he was in."

"Yeah, that's because he did," Varric sighed. "I thought I could rein him in on the page. Boy, was I wrong."

Cicero cackled and reach for the fruit bowl. Apples! Pears! Someone had even got grapes. Bless them.

"Do not blame yourself," Cicero said, grinning. "Even his own mother had difficulty. What chance did you have?"

"Now, see, that's the sort of insider knowledge I could have used before I ever started writing him," Varric laughed. "You and I are going to have to have some long conversations, Monochrome."

Cicero looked down at his black and white outfit and realised his wardrobe definitely had a theme, didn't it.

"I always did like black," he admitted. Sabine was scribbling again, and Cicero somehow suspected every Tranquil crafted item he ever received was going to be black if possible.

"Well, it suits you," Varric said, before a door opened at the top of the keep and Cicero the Younger's tones could be heard shrieking.

"But you are not WELL, sweetling! You were ill! Injured! Liriel says the blood restoratives take days to work!"

"Yeah, and I've been sat on my ass for the last three, bored out of my skull," a woman snapped in response, and Cicero realised this had to be Eola. He wondered if she resembled Eldana of the books.

"But Eolaaaaa…."

"Don't you Eola me, I'm not staying in bed! You're my husband, not my father, you don't get to give me orders!"

"You only follow his when you feel like it!"

Silence, the sort of silence that falls when both halves of a married couple realise they may have gone a little too far. Then Cicero the Younger speaking up again.

"Sweetest Eola, could you… could you please think of poor Cicero? He worries! He does!"

He probably did. But his wife could probably use a bit of fresh air. And so Cicero the Elder decided to intervene.

"NEPOSITO! THEY ARE SERVING WINE FOR BREAKFAST! I AM GOING TO DRINK A FULL GLASS OF IT!"

Cicero, resplendent in the motley no one seemed willing to explain, turned slowly to see his uncle cheerfully raising a chalice full of… it was actually fruit juice, but he didn't know that.

"UNCLE NO!" Cicero cried.

"Uncle yes!" Eola laughed, delighted. "Hey, they serve wine for breakfast now? I'm down for that. Don't start without me!"

Cicero wailed even louder, helpless to do much except follow and scamper and make little shrieking noises, which Eola ignored as she slid into the seat next to Cicero Senior's, swiftly vacated by Sabine.

"Hey there," Eola purred, and up close, the resemblance to the Reach-King was striking. Younger and female obviously. But there were definite similarities in the body language, and he could sense she was a powerful mage. "And who might this handsome fellow be?"

Cicero felt his cheeks flushing a little, even as his instincts told him she knew damn well who he was, and certainly wasn't really chatting him up. Still, he'd take a compliment from a young lady any day.

"You flatter me," he purred. "Cicero Di Rosso the Elder, at your service, fair lady."

He bowed as best he could from a seated position and raised her hand to his lips, much to her delight.

"Now you I like!" Eola laughed. "Cicero, sweetie, your uncle is adorable!"

Hollow laughter from sweet Cicerito.

"Yes. He's adorable. Very, very… adorable."

Red Cicero's body language indicated anything but, and Cicero Senior cackled. He should probably be frightened, but he was probably safe from murder. For now, anyway.

"There is not really wine being served," Cicero Senior admitted. "It is only fruit juice. Only you were arguing. I dislike arguing. Also I wished to meet the famous Eola. My nephew speaks very highly of you. And he does care about you even if he worries. Only I am sure you do not need as much protectiveness as that. And being cooped up is not good for you. A little exercise and fresh air will do you good. Trust me on this one."

Eola's face had gone from annoyance at the lack of wine to a certain sympathy. Surprising. She'd never been in prison, had she? Then he remembered her father famously had been.

"Oh I know," she said softly. "Give me the mountains and the open sky any day. There's a time and place for darkness, of course. But you can't hunt indoors."

What that had to do with anything, Cicero wasn't sure… then he recalled his niece-in-law's home culture and decided he'd rather not know.

His nephew had finally stopped sulking and deigned to join them, thanking Keran as he gave up his seat, then noting suddenly that two of the Tranquil seemed to be standing to attention nearby.

"Er… Keran and Sabine, this is your day off. You do not need to be standing to attention for us."

"We are not. It is for your uncle, Master Di Rosso," Keran said, shrugging.

"There is a roster," Sabine agreed. "We have decided he needs care and attention. We have taken it upon ourselves to provide it."

"Also it is a valuable research opportunity to study one who was made Tranquil and recovered," Keran added.

"But... but Cicero will do that!" Cicero protested. "And my uncle is an old man who needs his rest, he is not a research subject."

Cicero Senior began to feel a creeping sense of irritation and the urge to rap his nephew's knuckles, and to his surprise, Eola put a hand on his.

"Yeah, he does this," Eola sighed. "Something to do with losing all his loved ones. He's got very… clingy. You need to be firm with him."

Cicero Senior really could get very fond of Eola.

"Nephew, you were not here this morning, nor can I expect you to drop everything to run around after me all the time," Cicero Senior said firmly. "The Tranquil are offering to help. I could use the assistance. And the research could be important. To them, at least. They have no emotions to inform their decision on taking the cure, they have only logic and observation. So let them observe."

Whining from Cicero as he turned sad eyes on his uncle, but Cicero Senior stood firm, and eventually Cicero had no choice but to agree.

Particularly since Varric pointed out the siege was entering its initial phase and wouldn't he be assaulting Adamant with the troops soon?

"You can hardly take your uncle with you there, even if he is the Black Rose," Varric said, and Cicero had no choice but to agree.

"Cicero is sorry, Uncle, Cicero will be needed," Cicero said sadly. "We need to find a certain Grey Warden in amidst all that, and I think I might be one of the few who can do it. Certainly I am the only one who can move quickly and quietly unseen and get past the chaos before the main army."

"This sounds dangerous, nipote, are you sure it has to be you?" Cicero Senior said, alarmed at the idea of him near an actual battle. Stabbing and intrigue was all part of the job, but fighting? Being in an actual war? Cicero Senior couldn't bear the thought of finding his nephew only to lose him to a stray arrow or a sword slice.

"Yes," Cicero said shortly. "Yes it must. Uncle, please don't fuss. I will be fine. It is not the first time I have had to avoid fighting. Cyrodiil was a violent place after the war ended. Gangs were everywhere. It only really calmed down after the Skyrim war and Elisif becoming heir. Apparently the thought of the Dragon Queen of the North returning to put everything right gave people hope."

Both the idea of his home suffering and his nephew in the midst of it gave Cicero Senior chills, and seeing little Cicero being so blasé about risking his life did not help.

"Please take care and don't die," Cicero Senior whispered, good mood vanishing as he began to worry. "It should be me looking after you, not the other way around. We shouldn't die that way round either."

Surprisingly, Cicero the Younger rallied, taking his uncle's hands in his.

"I'm not a boy any more, Uncle. I know what I'm doing. I promise I'll be safe."

"Also I got a few tricks up my sleeve," Eola added, arm round her husband. "Don't worry. We'll be fine."

"You think you are coming then," Cicero said archly, raising an eyebrow. "Do you think you will be well enough if you do not rest now?"

"Yeah, sure – wait, is that why you were freaking out? You were worried about doing this on your own?"

Cicero nodded, worried, and Eola's face softened as she hugged him.

"All right, if it means that much to you," Eola said, kissing his cheek. "But we can sit out in the garden right? Your uncle's got a point about fresh air being good for you. And he's not seen it yet."

Garden! Skyhold had a garden. Cicero the Elder did wish to see that very much. So after breakfast, off he went to have a look.


A/N: Next chapter is the real meat of Elder Cicero's arrival as people React, there's a comeback performance from the Black Rose... and the issue of the Divine election comes to the fore.