A/N: Last part! Said this would be short. Warnings for murder and torture, i.e. the scene with Logrolf and Molag Bal in House of Horrors, with Cicero wielding the mace. Not too graphic but still disturbing.
Summary: Time to free Logrolf and save Markarth from an active shrine to Molag Bal - but while Cicero and Eola are down with the murdering part, persuading everyone else they're on the side of the Aedra will take some doing.
Logrolf was waiting for them in Deepwood Redoubt's lockup. Exactly why he'd been detained in the first place, Eola had no idea and didn't greatly care, but he did look both suspicious and unfriendly so it probably hadn't been hard to find a reason.
"Logrolf, is it?" Eola asked as she stood in front of his cell. Not just a Daedra-worshipping priest but a Nord as well. No wonder he'd ended up in jail.
"What do you want?" Logrolf growled as he looked up. "I already told you I'm not a Stormcloak spy. Do I look like a Talos-worshipper to you?"
Honestly, no, not in those robes but Eola guessed Keirine hadn't had a lot else to use to justify keeping him prisoner.
"No," said Eola calmly. "You look like a Daedra worshipper if I'm honest. But that's not illegal, so it seems you're in luck. You get to go free." She reached for the key Keirine had given her and prepared to unlock the cell, Cicero giggling at her side.
"Free?" Logrolf glared suspiciously at her. "Your Matriarch has suddenly changed her mind and decided to let me go, has she? Doesn't want to know about that Daedric shrine she was asking about before? I find that hard to believe. What are you up to?"
"Sister, are you sure we can't stab him?" Cicero pouted. "He is annoying."
Cicero was quite right about that one, but Molag Bal wanted Logrolf broken before his altar, which meant Logrolf did actually have to leave Deepwood in one piece and go back to Markarth.
"Logrolf, much as I'd like to find an excuse to keep you in custody a while longer, the fact remains you've not actually broken any laws of the Reach," Eola sighed. "So seeing as we're a civilised country which respects the rule of law, we have to release you. Go on, get out. The guards have your things waiting for you by the main gate." She unlocked the door and held it open. Logrolf got to his feet, shuffling out, still unconvinced this wasn't a set up but welcoming the reprieve anyway.
"Civilised?" Logrolf scoffed, sceptical eyes flicking over them both. "This country isn't civilised. This country's as wild and dangerous as it ever was. Don't think I don't know what's going on under the surface in this place. You mark my words, you people will come to a bad end one of these days when the truth gets out."
"The old gods would not have given us freedom if they did not intend for us to keep it," said Eola, narrowing her eyes. "Now get out of this town. If you are wise, you will not stop until you get to Solitude and take a boat somewhere else."
Logrolf just grunted and raced out. Behind her, Cicero put his arms round her waist, snuggling her.
"Sweetling, what if he is wise? What if he does run away to Solitude?" Cicero murmured. Eola just patted his hands, grinning.
"Oh don't worry, beloved. Logrolf's bright but not as bright as he thinks he is," Eola purred. "According to Keirine he's the most stubborn and wilful man she's ever had to question. He has Da beat on the unreasonable curmudgeon front. I just told him to get his arse out of the Reach and go to Solitude." She turned around to face Cicero, arms around his neck, smiling up at him. "Sweetie, first thing he'll do is go straight to Markarth."
Cicero grinned back and then laughed once – then again, and again until he was howling with laughter, picking her up and swinging her around, exclaiming how clever she was. Eola laughed as she clung on for dear life. Well that was easily done. All they had to do now was follow him back to Markarth and finish the job.
Close to sunset as they reached the Reach's capital, sun already hiding behind the Druadachs and the city in shadow. Guards stood to attention as Eola and Cicero ran into the city, and up ahead, beyond the market, was a whole knot of them gathered around the Abandoned House. At their head was Madanach himself in his Forsworn armour, nodding to Eola as she arrived.
"Welcome back, daughter. You were right – our Daedra-loving friend got here about an hour ago and made straight for the place. He's in there now doing Sithis knows what."
"Anyone else been in there?" Eola asked, knowing the answer had to be no.
"No, and if anything does come out of that house, we'll be killing it on sight," Madanach said grimly. "What did Keirine have to say for herself?"
"She wants the altar!" Cicero chirped up. "So we said yes and she's going to take it away for her- ow!" Eola had kicked him in the shins, glaring at him.
"Keirine's on her way to take the altar to a safe place for disposal, but she's unlikely to get here before morning," Eola explained, smiling nervously and hoping her father would choose not to press matters. "So she sent Cicero and me back to deactivate it properly so at least the place is safe. Guess we'll probably have to deal with that Daedra-worshipper first though, won't we?" She looked hopefully up at him and Madanach just smiled knowingly back.
"Obviously he's a very dangerous man and will most likely try to stop you. I expect you to take whatever measures you need to protect yourselves while you're in there. If that results in his death, well, he'll have brought it on himself."
Cicero squealed on hearing this and Eola hugged her father, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
"You are the best father ever," she told him, sincerely meaning it. Maybe he wasn't perfect but how many other fathers would be quite so willing to turn a blind eye and let her get on with things like this?
"I like to think so," Madanach said dryly, letting Eola go and then having to fend off Cicero who was also feeling rather grateful for the opportunity to do some perfectly legal stabbing. After only a little scuffling and only one threat to hit Cicero with lightning, Eola finally managed to peel him off Madanach and bundle him into the Abandoned House, smacking his backside once and shoving him inside, before waving to her father and closing the door behind her.
Once they were gone, Madanach's smile faded as he leaned back into the wall, finally letting the worry show a bit. It was Borkul who dared to join him, seeing his boss looked nervous.
"Think they'll do it? Molag Bal's a dangerous one, boss."
"I know," said Madanach, brow furrowing. "But I do have faith in them. They're not weaklings, either of them, and if Keirine's given them something to help solve the problem, then I'm willing to go along with it. Besides, knowing Cicero, all he'll need to do is start cuddling the altar and telling Molag Bal how lovely he thinks he is. That'll send him running."
Laughter at that – Cicero's odd tendencies were well known to them all by this point. All levity aside, Madanach couldn't help but worry. His daughter was strong, he knew that – but were even she and Cicero a match for a Daedra like Molag Bal?
As predicted, Logrolf was found kneeling at Molag Bal's altar, sigils the same as the ones on Boethiah's shrine at Deepwood newly painted on it. Eola winced at the desecration. Maybe Molag Bal wasn't her Daedra of choice, but seeing a perfectly good Daedric shrine desecrated like that – it bothered her.
The cage sprang up around Logrolf, trapping him inside. Logrolf just laughed, sounding very confident indeed for a man trapped before Molag Bal's altar.
"Again, Molag Bal? I have won this contest before!"
"Ahhh, but I have my own champion now, Logrolf," Molag Bal purred in a low growl that even had Eola tingling, so Namira knew what it was doing to Cicero. He was already biting his lip and whining softly.
Logrolf twisted round, managing to look over his shoulder and see them both.
"You?" he snapped. "I might have known."
"Mortal!" Molag Bal laughed. "I give you my mace, in all its rusted spitefulness. Crush the spirit from Logrolf's bones. Make him bend to me."
"Yes sir," Cicero breathed, cheeks flushed pink. "Anything you want, sir." Belatedly, he remembered Eola was there and turned hopeful eyes on her.
"Can I, sweetling? Can I?" he pleaded, dark eyes wide in the gloom as he fluttered his eyelashes at her.
"Go on," Eola whispered, already feeling the anticipation build. This was going to be good.
Cicero, cackling gleefully, sprinted up to the altar, grabbed the mace and, hefting it in his hand, raised it to strike.
Logrolf cried out as the mace swung down, but despite the pain and blood, he stayed firm.
"Never," he gasped. "Never, I'll never bend to you – ack!"
Cicero's face had hardened into a demonic snarl as he set about beating the defenceless man, Logrolf's cries only seeming to make him more determined. Eola bit her lip, moaning softly at the sight. Some people wondered what she saw in Cicero. Some people thought the squealing, giggling, demented little fool was all there was to him. They'd never seen him like this, darting around his prey, screaming as he struck, revelling in the blood everywhere. She'd never wanted anyone so much in her life.
"Die, blasphemer!" Cicero snarled at Logrolf, bringing down the mace in a particularly vicious strike. "Filthy desecrator of shrines!"
Logrolf cried out and the mace smacked into his head with a brutal crunch, and Logrolf fell dead. Cicero stared at the body, then up at Eola, then at the altar then began to giggle.
"Oops," he giggled. "Cicero didn't actually mean to do that. Er. Sorry."
Mercifully, Molag Bal actually seemed pleased, laughing his head off as reality blurred and swirled around them.
"You mortals and your frail, weak, pathetic bodies! Try it again!"
The room settled back to normal, with Logrolf picking himself up, dazed but apparently resurrected. Cicero gasped, did a little dance of delight at the prospect of another round, and set about his grisly task with gusto. More vicious beatings followed before Logrolf finally collapsed, sobbing for mercy.
"No more!" he cried. "I yield, I yield!"
Cicero paused, glancing at the altar, seeing how Molag Bal would respond to that. With pleasure, it appeared.
"You bend to me?" Molag Bal growled. Logrolf nodded.
"Yes," he gasped.
"You pledge your soul to me?"
A longer pause this time, but in the end, Logrolf nodded.
"Yes," he whispered. Molag Bal's voice rose with the anticipated victory in his grasp.
"You forsake the weak and pitiful Boethiah?"
Silence. Logrolf was on his knees, shaking, apparently some resistance present still. Cicero advanced, mace raised, growling.
"ANSWER HIM, WORM!" Cicero roared at him. Logrolf whimpered and nodded.
"Yes," he whispered, barely audible now.
Eola could only watch, feeling the tension in the room, Cicero poised to strike, mace dripping blood as he stood over the helpless priest.
"You're mine now, Logrolf," Molag Bal purred. "Mine, and I intend to make use of you. Cicero. Finish him."
Cicero didn't need encouraging. Cackling, he set about striking Logrolf again, rapid mace blows raining down until Logrolf breathed his last and fell dead. Gasping for breath, Cicero stepped back, still clutching the mace, maniacal grin on his face as he began to giggle.
"Sister," he laughed. "Sister, we killed someone! Horribly!"
"We sure did," Eola whispered, finally emerging into the light. "Although I think you did most of the work."
The mace started to glow, darkness starting to entwine around it, and as Cicero held it up, surprised, Molag Bal spoke again.
"The Mace of Molag Bal. Behold, Cicero the Fool. I give you its true power! And when your enemies lie broken and bleeding before you, know that I will be watching."
Cicero watched, eyes lighting up as the Boethiah runes on the altar blazed then burnt out, the cage spikes retracted and the rust fell from the mace, leaving it greeny-black and restored to its former glory.
"And now, children," Molag Bal purred. "I have a soul in Oblivion needing tending to. Look after the house while I'm gone!" Laughing as only the Daedra of Domination could, Molag Bal's presence faded from the room.
Cicero was staring at the mace in awe.
"Look at it," he gasped, stroking the sides. "Isn't it pointy!"
"Very," Eola said, having to admire the sheer viciousness of the thing. "You could kill all sorts with that. The mace alone's dangerous enough, but are those magicka and stamina damage enchantments too? And is that a...?"
Cicero yelped as he accidentally sliced open a finger on the mace's points. Pouting, he held the finger up to her, but the blood wasn't what was worrying Eola. No, it was the purple glow he'd just developed.
"Sweetie, did you just cast Soul Trap on yourself?" Cicero nodded, looking very forlorn and just a bit ridiculous. Eola sighed and healed his finger.
"Well, don't worry, it only lasts a minute tops and with enchanted weapons it's usually shorter – look, it's worn off already, see?"
The glow faded. Cicero laughed nervously and sheathed it.
"Sister, do you think Mother will be angry with us for helping out Molag Bal?"
And wasn't that Cicero to a tee. Brutality and death didn't bother him at all, but the thought of his beloved Night Mother being angry with him never failed to worry him.
"I don't think she'll mind," Eola reassured him. "You got a nice weapon out of the deal, and you got a bit of practice at killing people. I'm sure she knows you're still hers at the end of the day."
"I am, I am!" Cicero squealed, coming to hug her.
"Thank you, sweetling," he whispered. "Thank you for helping. You are so very lovely and understanding to poor Cicero."
Eola stroked his hair as he nestled in her arms, eyes fluttering closed and a happy little smile on his face. Bless the man, he was absolutely adorable.
"Come on," she whispered. "Da will be worrying. Let's go tell him what happened, hmm? And by that, I mean you don't say a word while I do the talking, right?"
Cicero nodded, seeming quite cheerful now, and quite amenable to being led away. That was her Cicero, all right. Very fond indeed of cosying up to powerful and ruthless men... but at the end of the day, what he really wanted was a scritch behind the ears, a cuddle and a loving female authority figure telling him what a good boy he'd been.
"Good boy," Eola whispered and sure enough, Cicero squirmed in her arms, sighed happily and trailed after her, lovesick little smile on his face. Mentally drafting a sanitised version of events for her father, then contemplating what she'd be getting up to with Cicero later, Eola headed back to the city. Today had been a good day.
"Well, Madanach, I have to congratulate you on your handling of the situation," Legate Fasendil said, watching as the ReachGuard manhandled the now inactive shrine out of the Abandoned House under the watchful eyes of First Matriarch Keirine who, despite a terrifying reputation, looked to Fasendil like nothing more than a sweet old lady with the same silver hair and piercing blue eyes as her brother. And if he detected use of Illusion magic, well weren't most humans a bit vain about their looks as they got older?
"Oh, don't congratulate me, this has been very much a group effort," Madanach said calmly. The two of them were standing on the steps of Understone Keep in the morning sunshine, Fasendil in his Legion uniform and Madanach dressed in some fine blue and gold robes that he claimed were a sixtieth birthday present from his wife that she'd picked up in Solstheim.
"All the same," Fasendil said, stroking his chin. "Not many rulers would have been able to get an active shrine to Molag Bal rendered inert and safely removed without considerable loss of life and limb. As it is, to do it with only two reported casualties, and one of them the Molag Bal cultist responsible – I'm very impressed. Seems you're not the open sponsor of Daedra worship we all thought you were. Are you going to ban it now?"
"Ban it?" Madanach raised an eyebrow. "Do you honestly think we'd have found the man if it had been banned? He'd have been careful. Gone to ground. Maybe set the shrine up out in the hills instead of in Markarth. We'd never have known until whatever plot he was hatching had come to fruition. As it is, we nipped it in the bud before any real harm could be done. Apart from that poor Vigilant, of course, but I daresay he knew he was in a dangerous line of work. We've made the necessary offerings to Arkay for his soul, of course."
"Yes," said Fasendil, feeling a little uneasy about all this but not sure why. "So what exactly did happen to the man? Vapourised completely, you said?"
"That's right," Madanach confirmed. "Body completely destroyed. The altar had powerful protections on it, it took all Eola's power to contain it, but she managed. Couldn't save Tyranus though."
Fasendil looked over to where Reach-Princess Eola was perched on one of Markarth's walkways, watching the shrine removal with that little fellow in the jester outfit who was her constant companion and official consort-to-be. A surprising choice but each to their own, Fasendil supposed.
"She must be a powerful mage to do all that on her own," Fasendil remarked, wondering what sort of magic could rein in a Daedra.
"She is," said Madanach proudly. "Why do you think I sent her in there in the first place? She's one of my best."
"I was wondering why you sent your beloved daughter and sole heir into a dangerous site of Daedra worship," Fasendil said, watching as said daughter and her jester friend turned and made their way over. "What if something had happened to her in there? You don't have any other heirs, do you?"
"No," said Madanach, shadow passing over his face as he looked stiffly away. "But Eola likes her freedom, and I knew she'd be all right. Cicero's got her back."
"Cicero has lots of things," the little jester chirped as he scampered over. "Did Madanach want any of them?"
Eola hushed him and advanced, smiling sweetly enough, although something in that smile always gave Fasendil chills. Too many teeth, and too sharp for his liking.
"Hello Legate," Eola purred. "I thought we'd see you here. Has my father told you everything yet?"
"He's told me enough," Fasendil replied. "Tell me, how did you manage to contain and disarm a Daedric shrine all by yourself?"
"Can't tell you, I'm afraid," Eola said calmly. "It's old knowledge passed on from my mother and her mother before her. You'll need to speak to Keirine if you want details, but it's something only the initiated can really grasp."
The idea of the Reach having state secrets that Imperial representatives weren't allowed to see didn't sit entirely easily with Fasendil, but on the other hand, he knew enough about magic to know some things literally couldn't be explained, only experienced.
"The Empire might need that knowledge at some point," Fasendil said pointedly. Eola just smiled.
"Emperor Motierre is quite welcome to come and discuss the matter with me any time he likes," she purred. Madanach was also smiling, and Fasendil backed off. For some reason, Emperor Motierre was choosing to pursue a relatively hands-off approach with the Reach, and while General Rikke wanted a close eye kept on the new country, any issues she'd tried to raise with the Emperor had been given the brush-off. Maybe it was a Breton thing, who knew.
"Right, well, in that case I'd better go write up the report for the General," Fasendil said, taking his leave. "I'll leave you to the clear-up."
The three of them watched as the Legate retreated into the Keep, before Madanach turned back to his daughter.
"You're in luck, he believed us," Madanach said, arms folded. "Now, do I even want to know what actually happened? I never heard of a Daedric shrine vapourising a person before."
"Well, that's what happened, we think," Eola sighed. "Tyranus was there when we left, but not there anywhere when we got back." What bits of him Eola and Cicero hadn't either eaten or smuggled out to Hogni anyway, but Madanach didn't need to know about that.
"Logrolf probably did it," Cicero said knowingly. "Logrolf was not a nice man, sir. Logrolf was doing all sorts of horrible things with that altar."
"Not any more he's not," Madanach laughed, recalling the bloodied corpse they'd hauled out and taken to the Hall of the Dead. It had had a quite thorough beating before the man actually died – odd when Madanach thought about it. No signs of Destruction magic or the clean stab wounds Cicero usually used. Anyone else and he'd be hauling them in for investigation – but this was Eola and she got a free pass on most things. How she'd done it, he didn't care but there wasn't a shrine to Molag Bal in the city any more and for that he was grateful.
His attention couldn't help but be drawn to the black and green mace at Cicero's side. It was radiating evil magic and he was quite sure he'd never seen it before.
"That mace. Where'd you get that from?"
Momentary panic in both their eyes and Madanach guessed this was another question best not asked.
"Cicero found it!" Cicero cooed, unhooking it from his belt and cuddling it, somehow managing not to jab himself with the spikes. "In a tomb! An old crypt! Isn't it lovely?"
"He wouldn't stop cooing over it, so I let him keep it," Eola said, stroking his back. "You know how he gets with these things. Anything to keep my boy happy."
"As long as he keeps it sheathed in my city," Madanach warned them both, correctly guessing it would be more trouble than it was worth to try and take it off him. He'd wait for Liriel to get back for that. She was his Listener, she could deal with the demented little idiot. Speaking of which...
"The pair of you might be interested to know I got a letter from Liriel this morning. Seems she found the powerful artefact she and Serana were after. She's heading to Riften to rouse the Dawnguard, but wanted to know if I could give her a hand. Obviously the last thing I need is a powerful vampire lord operating that close to our borders, so I said yes. Did you two want to go? The muster's at Druadach Redoubt a week from now."
Eola and Cicero both stared open-mouthed before squealing in unison and hugging first each other than him, both telling him he was the best father ever (Eola) and that they'd happily go and stab some evil vampires for him (Cicero). Then they both raced into the Keep to start packing. Madanach watched them go fondly. True, he'd had his doubts about Cicero at first (many, many doubts) but Cicero had proved his worth and certainly made his daughter happy. He'd do. As long as Eola was happy and grandchildren turned up before long, he was fine with it.
Madanach headed inside, mentally drafting the report for General Rikke that would hopefully convince her he was a concerned and enlightened monarch who truly cared for his people's wellbeing and was willing to take a stand against dark magic and Daedra worship. A bit of a tall order but given he'd managed to convince Fasendil of that while wearing the robes of a dead Hermaeus Mora cultist and with two Dark Brotherhood assassins right there, he was fairly confident he was up to it.
Guards stood to attention and saluted as their king made his way inside, and the citizens of Markarth watched as the First Matriarch and her people carried the Daedric shrine away, hopefully never to bother anyone again. And if the citizens of Markarth had doubts about the story their king and princess had told about stopping a Molag Bal cultist unleashing his vile magics and enslaving them all, they kept it to themselves. The shrine was gone, Markarth had one less thing to worry about, and the Reach was that bit safer. Perhaps most importantly of all, Cicero was no longer bored, Eola loved him dearly and as the two disappeared into their bedroom to have depraved, kinky sex, both thanked Namira and the Night Mother for finding the other for them. Because even the unrepentantly evil have soul mates.
A/N: And there you go, happily ever after for evil maniacs. Hope you enjoyed it!