Tirdas 4 First Seed 4E 204 11:30 PM
With a practiced flick of his wrist, Cicero spread the thin protective cloth over my bed. I stepped forward and let the dressing robe fall loose to pool at my feet. Although a fire roared in its pit, the air was still cool enough to cause my bare skin to break out in goose bumps. As Cicero removed his gloves and rolled his sleeves up, I laid on my stomach on the bed. I folded my arms in front of myself and rested my head on them. The jester pushed my flowing black hair up over my shoulder so it would it would not be soiled.
Cicero dipped his fingers into the earthen pots that have been warming by the fire. Oil covered fingers gently probed the back of my neck, kneading tension away. Professional hands travelled down my back. He never lingered too long, never making his touch overtly friendly. I sighed blissfully letting the Keeper know my pleasure. My thu'um caused the bed to shudder; I was no longer shy that he knew how his touch made me feel. Cicero only wished to please; it is only fair to that he knew he had done well.
The last six months have been prosperous for the Brotherhood. Garnag had been invaluable in advising on how to find killers. New siblings have been added and our ranks have doubled. Deesei, a female Argonian tracker, drew our attention for killing a guard in Riften. She preferred to fight with her fists and has been an excellent teacher for brawling.
Vedave Sendal, a male Dunmer mage, specialized in enchanting and destruction. He was expelled from the Winterhold Mage's college for killing a rival in an "accident" that looked too much like a well-placed fireball. Injuring three other students had not helped his case.
Eiruki, a female Nord, whose long brown hair and large brown eyes made her look as innocent as a virgin on her wedding day. She's so soft spoken that I can barely hear her most of the time and had to ask her to repeat herself. Under that exterior was a killer, but she seemed happy to spend most of her days helping Nazir run the household when not on contract.
Anaril Telind, a male Altmer, was another Winterhold reject. He managed to encase most of the school in a block of ice while experimenting with his magic. Anaril was primarily a destruction caster, but he dabbled in a little bit of everything arcane including alchemy. He now assisted Babette with her potions.
Geldii, a female Bosmer, was a rare heavy armor user. The slight wood elf looked almost comical in her heavy steel armor and her double bladed axe; at least until she started swinging it. Then her victims better hope they had time to get out of the way. Geldii has said several times that she likes how the blood sprayed from her victims.
Elbent, a male Breton in his fifties, had a good sense of money. The man had several fences throughout Skyrim. I preferred to keep good relations with the Thieves' guild and sold any stolen items to them first, but I found that their coffers seemed strangely low for a group whose sole function was to make money. We needed other sources of income and Elbent provided that. The man was charming and could get very close to his victims by getting them comfortable enough to open up their secrets before slitting their throats.
Mother was beyond pleased with the new additions. With our ranks fuller, we are able to maintain a better presence throughout Skyrim and more Black Sacraments are performed bringing us contracts. Our reputation for killing Titus Meade had made us popular with the Nords and a force to be feared.
I spent most of my days helping with training and resolving any conflicts among the family. The Sanctuary was getting crowded and even the closest of siblings fight occasionally. Strong personalities collide and tempers must be soothed. It was tiring and stressful which caused me to need Cicero's skills even more.
Both palms pressed firmly down on the small of my back, causing bones to pop loudly. Cicero knew that was where the most tension was and systematically rubbed until it was all gone. His voice was a low baritone as he softly sang to himself. A positive sign, the Fool of Hearts only sang when he was in a good mood. No macabre jokes or morbid ditties as he promised me when we first started this nightly ritual. Tonight was an Imperial lullaby that brought nostalgic memories of my childhood.
How did I get here? I wondered.
Middas 10 Second Seed 203 4E 9:00 AM
"Oh, Listener, your neck hurts? Let humble Cicero rub it for you."
Fredas 7 Mid Year 203 4E 8:00 AM
"Listener, you slept poorly on your arm? Let Cicero see!"
Morndas 11 Sun's Dusk 203 4E 10:00 PM
"Poor Listener! Your feet ache? Sit, sit while Cicero removes your boots and massage them for you."
Loredas 14 Evening Star 203 4E 9:30 PM
"Listener, there's so much tension in your back. If you'll loosen your armor, Cicero could reach it so much more easily."
Turdas 2 Morning Star 204 4E 11:30 PM
"Is the Listener ready for her nightly message? Please make yourself comfortable while loyal Cicero prepares the oil."
Tirdas 4 First Seed 204 4E 11:30 PM
By Dibella, he was a sly bastard.
After knowing the Fool of Hearts for more than two years now, he constantly was able to pull one over me. No matter how much I tried to resist, Cicero would break through my defenses with his eternal patience.
Every night we went through this ritual. Every night except one. His weekly oiling of the Shrouded Lady left Cicero too exhausted physically and mentally for anything else that night. The most sacred of his duties as Keeper, the process started at sundown and lasted until midnight.
Sundas 25 First Seed 3:15 PM 4E 202
"I want you to observe this oiling of the Night Mother," Astrid commanded. It had been about a month since the Night Mother spoke to me and Cicero proclaimed that I was the Listener. We were standing in the reporting room as usual. I had been surprised when I was summoned to find the Keeper waiting there ahead of me.
Cicero stood about ten feet away from me, his arms crossed and his face pinched with a frown. "Frankly, I'm getting disturbed by his muttering about the 'hard to reach spots'. I want someone to see exactly what he's doing with the Night Mother," Astrid explained.
"You don't even believe in the power of the Lady," I reminded Astrid. "Why do you care?"
"I don't, but I also have no interest in a perverted necrophile in our home either," Astrid said pitching her voice low enough so Cicero could not hear. Astrid might openly voice her disdain of the Keeper and the Night Mother in front of the others, but she was always careful to not do so directly.
"We're not exactly the role models for normality," I reminded our leader. Every last one of us was professional killers with odd quirks like being a vampire or werewolf or destruction magic obsessed wizard. Nazir liked to cook with a passion I didn't quite understand either.
"I'm not the only one expressing a concern. Even Gabriella is getting uncomfortable," Astrid said. I whistled low. That was quite a feat if Cicero was getting under the skin of our local death obsessed dunmer.
"I understand it has to be me. The Keeper maintains the Night Mother's corpse so she can create a spiritual connection with her earthly remains so she may commune with the Listener. If he's performing his duty then it's effectively a duty for me so I should have the right to observe," I said, showing off my learning of the old rites from my studies with Festus Krex. I was rather proud of learning as much as I had under the cranky old man's tutelage. "However, I sincerely doubt he's done anything inappropriate." I recalled the Night Mother's comment of how I warmed her cold bones when I had crawled into her coffin to spy on Cicero. Surely if the Keeper had been doing anything similar, the Night Mother's tone would not have been so pleased.
I stifled a giggle at the thought of Cicero secluded in the coffin and rubbing lovingly against the Night Mother while moaning, "Ooooh, Mother!"
"Let me get one thing clear, Hecate," Astrid said. She stuck her hand under my face with her finger extended. "I'm not asking you to this. I am telling you to do this." She turned and stalked away. Her growing paranoia was getting irritating. Astrid had held control of the Brotherhood for so long with no contenders; she didn't know how to deal with the new competition. It wouldn't be so bad if that competition was viewed as a mad fool and a corpse, but the declaration of me as the Listener had changed the game. I was more or less normal and had the potential for the others to listen to me.
As Astrid huffed past Cicero, he turned his back to her indicating his own irritation. The jester was making a bold statement to show his back to an assassin, especially one who openly despised him.
"You heard the boss," I said walking over to Cicero. I shrugged helplessly to show it wasn't my idea.
"That harlot is not the boss," the jester sneered. "Our Mother is the boss. The Listener should lead for Mother and not that blonde hussy."
"I don't want to lead," I sighed. We had this argument many times by now. Cicero insisted that I needed to be the one controlling the Brotherhood in the Night Mother's name. It was the only way to honor the Old Ways. I had no desire to lead. This was my retirement, dammit, but it was hard to use that as an argument when I wasn't willing to declare that I was the Dragonborn.
"If Cicero must submit to this ridiculous demand, then I have a few rules." He ticked off each point with a gloved finger. "First, the Listener must arrive half an hour before sunset. Cicero has much he must do to prepare and will not be disturbed once he begins. If the Listener is late, she will be locked out of the inner sanctuary and must wait until next week. Second, the Listener must be absolutely quiet the entire time. Silence is required for the ritual."
"Silence, the Void, I got it," I said. I thought he would smile, but Cicero only scowled at my interruption. Despite my nonchalant attitude, I was excited to be included. I had pored over several books detailing the Brotherhood and none of them had any mention of the rites required to maintain the Lady's body.
"Third," Cicero slammed his fist into the wall next to my head. He leaned in until he was inches from my face, "if at any point Mother tells the Listener she is unwelcome, the Listener must obey. Astrid may have abandoned the Tenets, but not loyal Cicero. Have I made myself perfectly clear?" His voice was little more than a primal growl. I was reminded of how the Keeper had sounded when he thought I had blasphemed the Night Mother's coffin. A cold chill ran down my spine and it took everything in me to not shiver.
"Cicero, I promise that if our Mother commands me to leave, I will obey," I gently lowered his fist away from my face. I don't think that he would hurt me now that I was named Listener, but I didn't want to push my luck. The Keeper was extremely sensitive when it came to honoring the Night Mother. He had murdered Lorieus and his wife after I had unwittingly commented that they had been disrespectful. To what extreme would Cicero go if he perceived a direct insult? "If you prefer, I'll go attempt to commune with her right now." It was a hollow gesture and we both knew it. The Night Mother had not spoken to me since the first time when she had given me the Binding Words to prove that I was the Listener.
It was another disappointment for Cicero. He had thought that once the Night Mother broke her long silence she would be full of advice and guidance for her children. I could only assume she was waiting to see if her children would prove worthy before further communication. Meanwhile, the Keeper frequently asked me what the Night Mother had said when she had spoken to me and if she had talked again while he was away.
Cicero's face was doubtful, "How can Cicero know the Listener will tell the truth?" His tone became pained. "Mother has never spoken to dear Cicero. No matter how hard he tried."
I pulled his gloved hand to my chest and placed it over my heart. "I swear by the Void, Sithis, and our Lady that I'll never lie to you about what Mother says to me." His smile was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. I wondered if he could feel my heart suddenly beating faster.
Sundas 25 First Seed 7:15 PM 4E 202
Cicero locked the inner sanctum doors as I curled into a ball on one of the pews. My mind was still reeling at the change in him. I was used to always seeing him in his jester gear flittering about with shrill laughter or loud jokes. During the day when Cicero cleaned the shrine, he usually chattered nonstop to the Night Mother about whatever thought crossed his mind.
There was a silence and stillness about him, a serenity I had not seen before. He was wearing his Keeper robes, a formal cut of the shrouded robes Gabriella and Festus wore. The material of Cicero's was the finest spider silk while the spellcasters' robes were made of fine wool. Unlike his jester's motley, these clothes were new; no doubt Cicero sewed new ones any time the slightest hint of wear showed. No frayed or patched Keeper's robes for Mother's oiling. His face was shadowed by a large black hood. The Fools of Hearts had been neatly put aside and only the Keeper was here.
Chanting in a language I didn't recognize, Cicero walked around the coffin adjusting flowers he had placed beforehand or relighting candles. Although he had lit dozens of candles, the room was still full of shadow. After circling the coffin five times, Cicero stopped before the open coffin itself. Kneeling in supplication, he continued to murmur praises to the Night Mother. This continued for an hour. It was difficult for me to stay still and quiet for so long. I found myself nodding off, but I dared not move for fear of making a sound or drawing something's attention to myself. Not just Cicero, but something lurking in the shadows.
Finally, Cicero stood again and approached the corpse. "Dearest Mother, forgive this unworthy servant for his actions." He gently released her from her resting place and lifted her into his arms. Cicero turned and placed the Night Mother on a slab where he had left pots full of prepared oils for the ceremony. Deft hands quickly loosen and removed her tattered dress. Cicero neatly folded the dress and put it carefully aside. Then he unbound the Night Mother's hair, softly brushing the fine white hair and oiling it before twisting it back into the funeral braid.
The oiling of the body was thorough. Every part of the Night Mother glistened. His gaze and touch were loving, but it was that of a son who attended to an elderly mother who cannot tend for herself. There was no perversion or lust here. I felt like an invader to see such a strong, private emotion.
Next was the cleaning of the shroud. Cicero shook it gently and examined the material for any insects that may have crawled into the linen. It was not preserved like the Lady's body and must periodically be replaced. Once he was satisfied that it is vermin free, Cicero cleaned the dress in sanctified water. While the dress dried, Cicero carefully examined the Night Mother's hands and feet for cracks. When the dress was dried, he delicately dressed the body.
The ritual was drawing to a close. The shrine was clean, the flowers fresh, and the corpse sanctified. Cicero paused and glanced over to me. Making a decision, he leaned over and kissed the Night Mother gently high on her forehead. His lips moved, but I couldn't make out the words. A step he has added over the years?
Lifting the body, he placed her back into her coffin. Rope was used to secure her into her final resting place before the coffin was closed and locked to keep unworthy eyes from looking upon her. I wondered if he had installed a better lock since I had unlocked it a month ago. One would think the Unholy Matron of an assassination cult would have the best kind of lock available for her final resting place instead of the most simple of locks I found previously.
Cicero gestured to me so that I rose and walked with him to the exit. He unlocked the door and we stepped out. Closing the heavy doors, he leaned back against them and sighed. Suddenly the cowl and robes looked too big on his frame. Cicero reminded me of a child wearing his father's clothes.
"You look tired," I commented feeling inane for stating the obvious. The ritual took several hours and Night Mother could not be that light no matter how easy he made it look. How had he managed that ritual by himself for so long?
"I am tired," Cicero said with his amber eyes closed. He lowered his hood and ran his fingers through his shoulder length auburn hair. Some residue oil clinging to his fingers stuck in his hair, but he appeared to either not notice or care. His voice was calm, sane. "Are you satisfied now?"
"Yes." My voice was small. Maybe I should have refused Astrid instead of intruding on this ritual.
"Then you will excuse me so I may retire," he gave a deep bow and walked to our room. Frequently suffering from insomnia, Cicero rarely slept. Now he walked as if he wouldn't wake for a week. As the Keeper left, I watched him thinking of how Cicero had partitioned the different parts of himself. There was Cicero the Keeper, Cicero the killer, Cicero the Fool of Hearts. Had he left any of himself for Cicero the man?
Tirdas 4 First Seed 4E 204 11:30 PM
Although I understood and respected his duties as Keeper, I was glad Cicero never attended to me the same night he attended to the Night Mother. I could not stand the thought of his hands caressing over my body after preparing the corpse. Although I wasn't as uncomfortable with the dead as most people, the level of intimacy was too much for me to share. Similar thoughts had chased me initially. Any time my body would suddenly tense, Cicero would stop and offer to end for the night.
"Please roll over," his breath was warm on my ear. Asking me to move had been something he had to learn instead of gently rolling me himself. Occasionally, his attentions would leave me feeling boneless and my only response would be to grunt wordlessly at him. He always laughed at my laziness, but would roll me over regardless. Cicero never liked to leave loose ends. His duties must always be finished efficiently.
Soft hands ghosted over my breasts, massaging the muscle underneath. Over a decade of working with oil and constantly wearing his thick gloves had left Cicero's hands soft enough to be the envy of any lady of the court. It made working with the blade difficult as he never developed any callouses and his hands often became raw. It never stopped him from keeping his dagger sharp and ready if duty ever beckoned. Other than fulfilling his duties as Keeper, Cicero loved sending souls to the Void more than anything.
His hands finished traveling over my body, searching for any new cuts that may heal into ugly scars. His handmade oils had amazing curing properties. I had looked in the mirror once recently and I swear even my old dragon bites seemed to have faded. Sometimes I wondered why he didn't use the oil on himself for his own myriad of scars. Maybe the pressure was just as important as the oil.
Some days Cicero liked to tease by tickling me, but he cannot stand for his work to be undone. Whenever Cicero tickled, I would kick and scream playfully in response erasing all of his careful attention. However, the Keeper would always start over again, possibly indicating he wanted to pay extra attention to my needs that night.
Other nights would end with sex. The completely different attention left me just as relaxed and satisfied. The switch from professional massager to attentive lover only happened if I initiated it. Cicero never took advantage while I was under his expert hands. Occasionally while we were cuddling, the jester would ask permission. "May I?" His amber eyes trapped me with his bold, adoring gaze. I never refused.
A gentle pressure of his hand pushing up on my back was an indication I should lift up so he can remove the protective cloth. Cicero folded the cloth with a few snaps, making a neat square. A quick swipe removed any residue oil that might have stained my sleeping furs. Before I can become chilled, he pulled my blanket over me, tucking me in.
"Goodnight, Keeper," I murmured as I snuggled into the bed. I looked up to the Keeper and smiled.
"Sleep well, Listener," Cicero responded. There was a hesitation I haven't seen before in Cicero's stance. Kneeling by the bed, he leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. His lips brushed my ear as he whispered, "I love you."
It was the first time either of us had said those words to the other. I thought of them as the Binding Words normal people say. Cicero didn't give me a chance to respond before he grabbed his tools and left the room, carefully closing the door behind him.
My emotions were in turmoil. I couldn't breathe. I was blushing over my entire body erasing the calm I felt minutes ago. Why now? Why tonight? What made tonight different enough for Cicero to do that?
More importantly, who had Cicero been speaking to when he included that last little bit? Hecate the Listener? Diana the Dragonborn? His sister of the Brotherhood? That nameless stranger who had shown him a bit of kindness years ago? I had my own set of masks that I wore for I had to take my place on stage. Maybe making me not so different from my Keeper.
A/N: Anaril Telind belongs to Professor I. P. Freely who graciously volunteered him.
I had been working on a backlog for with this story which is why I was able to update once a day. Unfortunately, I have now caught up on the backlog which means updates will be a lot slower now. Huge thanks to everyone's support and reviews.