She could smell the alcohol on his breath and it was so strong she almost gagged. He was ten feet away from her and he reeked of mead. Many men like him had approached her smelling the same, their foul mouths throwing angry words her way as they pelted her with rocks or worse things, swearing her name and her demonic looks. But she'd only been a kid. They'd only done enough to leave her with bruises and a scarred psyche. This man, this absolute stranger, was the first to actually wield a weapon.

Mortem's red eyes had widened in fright. The blade was so sharp, and had been polished just for this occasion so that the little light that shone upon it could glitter in menace. She'd backed up as far as she could, but now she was trapped. Trapped between a hard wall and a man that was whispering her death under his breath.

He was quicker than she could ever dream to be, even in his drunken state. One moment, the blade was in his hand, the next, it was in her shoulder. She'd screamed out in pain, tearing up at how much it hurt, but all he did was laugh. That's all they ever did was laugh; like they were so high and mighty.

That's when the voice had first danced across her mind, helping her find her strength as well as her inner abilities. The voice, neither male nor female at the time, ordered her to do something very simple.

Kill him.

Someone else would have hesitated. The voice would have been something to fear. It only calmed her and made all the pain go away. It made Mortem find the courage to finally stand up for herself. Ripping the blade from her shoulder without so much as a whimper of pain, Mortem had turned it on its owner and shoved it into his heart, watching with a sick fascination as the life drained from his eyes. Just like the blood was leaving his body. The red liquid stained her hands, still warm against her skin.

She knew what she had done, but she didn't care. It had felt so very good, ending the pathetic man's life. It sent a thrill through her body she'd never felt before. It made her feel so… alive.

Excellent, my child, it had whispered to her before fading away. She was sad, because she was once again alone, but not for long.

Turning her red eyes to look in the forest in front of her, an Imperial like herself stepped out, his red hair almost matching hers. He looked between her and the body she was kneeling over for only a moment before he smiled and extended a hand.

"Let me take you some where your talents will be appreciated."

"Mortem, my Imperial beauty, you're dozing again."

Blinking rapidly, Mortem's red eyes looked down at Cicero, his head resting comfortably in her lap while her fingers absentmindedly ran through his hair. He was staring up at her face from his position, his expression unusually calm, but curious as well. Mortem sent him a small smile and continued to play with his hair.

"Sorry my dear Cicero," the Imperial mumbled, stroking down to his cheek, "I started to day dream."

"About what?" the fool inquired, nuzzling into her gloved hand.

"Better days," the redhead replied, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on Cicero's brow. Cicero giggled and gave her his little crazed smile while her own grin grew. Their alone time was interrupted by someone clearing their throat at the door.

Looking up, Mortem saw Rovaan standing there, his face revealed to the dim light in the room. He gave them both curious looks and received the same from them.

"I can only suppose you did your contract well if you're still allowed access into our Sanctuary," Mortem stated boredly, continuing to run her slim fingers through Cicero's hair. The fool seemed more than content in her lap.

"I have; Astrid seemed impressed."

"Why do you see to seek me out?"

"You have entranced him, Mistress! Oh, the Dragonborn has seen your lust for blood and has become spellbound!" the fool cackled, sitting up to sit beside his friend while they both laughed at the blonde's expense.

Rovaan glared at the man, finding his presence annoying, and crossed his arms. "That isn't it at all. Astrid said that I take after Mortem's kill quality and she said it would be her job to train me. I did not become spellbound."

Well, that certainly put a damper on the redhead's mood. Sobering up, she tried her hardest not to glare at the newest recruit.

"So, simply put, Astrid gave me the duty of babysitter," the woman sighed, standing up from her comfortable position on the floor to look at the Dragonborn, hands on her hip.

"Look, I'm just telling you what Astrid said," the blonde hissed, sending hateful waves towards the Imperials.

"This is the man you were so very interested in?" Cicero commented as he stood, sounding very bored while he picked at a loose thread on his gloves, "To take orders from someone of the likes of Astrid so easily? Brotherhood of Skyrim indeed."

The man's brown eyes widened in shock when he felt the sharp edge of a knife slice against his cheek, the deadly point of the blade embedding itself into the wall right next to the jester's head. Out of sheer anger, Rovaan had used that inhuman speed of his to attack, throwing away the caution that always held his dangerous side back to strike out. He didn't know whether to feel happy or disappointed that he missed the fool's throat.

Seconds after the first drop of blood stained Cicero's cheek, Mortem was on Rovaan, knocking him to the ground with unbelievable force that sent them both to the ground. The blonde hit his head against the stone floor, dazing him, but even through that, he could feel the cold metal of a dagger against his throat. When he opened his eyes, Mortem's infuriated one's glared down at him.

"Don't you ever touch him," she whispered, her face set in a snarl that couldn't be misinterpreted as anything other than pure revulsion. Rovaan was still pissed enough to think about a smug remark, but when the redhead pressed the dagger harder against his throat and made him bleed, he swallowed the words.

"He he he he! Where were you hiding this delicious talent?!" Cicero cackled, breaking the tense mood and forcing the other two to look at him. He didn't even seem to mind the fact that the cut was still bleeding, making a mess. Instead, he was looking at the pair with eyes full of excitement.

The fool ripped the dagger from the wall, juggling it in his hand before he threw it back at Rovaan, though the sharpest part of the blade never touched his skin. Instead, it stuck into the ground and pressed the flat surface against his cheek. Rovaan's eyes widened at the man's control of the blade.

"Cicero likes you more now, Dragonborn," he continued to giggle, clapping his hands, "Maybe my Imperial beauty was right about you. Try not to anger her too much, or she'll cut off your head despite your talent!"

Rovaan snapped his green eyes back to Mortem, who was still looking at Cicero. Her body had relaxed a bit, but not the hand that held the dagger. When the woman felt his eyes on her, she turned to look at him, her rage hidden but still palpable. With one last growl, she got off of him, putting her blade away and turning to walk back to the Keeper.

Rovaan slowly got up, being careful at the blade by his face. He pulled his dagger out of the ground and put it back in its sheathe, preparing to leave the room. Before he did, he took one last look at the pair and didn't know if he regretted it or not.

Mortem still had a look at that could kill, her hand still close enough to her weapon to pull it out if need be. Cicero, on the other hand, was more than happy. His eyes shone in sheer joy, but underneath that, there was something more sinister that made his darker half shiver in delight.

He placed a hand against the small cut at his throat and finally understood what Mortem had meant so long ago.

The Dark Brotherhood of Skyrim couldn't possibly compete with the true assassins from Cyrodiil.

Cicero and Mortem watched as the Dragonborn left, their eyes on his form until the pest was gone. Growling again, the woman turned to her friend and gave him a concerned look, her red eyes all for the cut on his cheek.

"He's quick," the fool said, his tone rather serious. Mortem wiped away the trail of blood with her gloved finger and brought it to her lips, flicking her tongue out to slowly lap at the droplets. "Almost as quick as Cicero."

"His talent can't surpass yours, Keeper," Mortem dismissed, using her magic to heal the small cut on the Imperial's face. His eyes, strangely, were still as serious as his words.

"But it could if you taught him, Mistress."

"I will do no such thing," Mortem growled, her hand curling into a fist, "He dared to touch you—"

Cicero quieted the woman by pressing his lips against hers, rendering her useless and silent. When he pulled away, smirk on his face, the redhead's heart ached. He was acting like the man he'd been before he'd gone insane.

"If we ever want to find our Listener, we need all the help we can get. The Dragonborn is the only person here who isn't hopeless. Teach him, Mortem."

Mortem's body shivered at the fool's demand, reminded of many years in the past where he'd used that tone and that smirk to persuade her. It had been one of the reasons she'd fallen for him. With a sigh, Mortem nodded her head and stroked the fool's newly healed cheek. If his former self had gained control over his crazed body to ask something so simple of her, the woman couldn't say no. Instead, she pressed another kiss against his mouth.

A/N: xD The non-crazy Cicero I made is fucking hot. As I was writing, I was just like "HOT DAMN. TAKE ME CICERO, TAKE ME." XD

I really like how this story is progressing :3 Thank you all for being so patient with me, and thanks for your input on who Mortem should be with. You can still try and persuade me through Reviews, because I'm still not 100% sure who to chose.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!