Chapter Two: With Friends Like These…

I woke up with a gods-cursed headache. Damn me and my love of mead, and damn the Sanctuary for keeping barrels of the drink. I groaned, rolling onto my side, and eventually upright. I cradled my head between my hands, pressing the heel of my palms into my closed eyes and massaging my temples. Someone was watching me, but I could care less at the moment. "Too much mead, Alysa?" a cheery voice sang. I felt my shoulders sag: I couldn't deal with overly cheeriness this early in the morning. Oh, Sithis help me, I thought. Please let me have imagined it's that clown…. "Oh, yes yes! Too much mead for Alys-ah-oof!"

I tackled the jester, pleased with the sound of air whooshing out of his lungs, my throbbing head forgotten momentarily. We wrestled for the upper hand, and I punched and kicked as hard as I could. I hissed, sucking in a breath as I connected with stone. I gasped as I was suddenly heaved up, and tossed. Cicero was stronger than he looked. I flailed briefly, quickly tucking myself into a ball and rolling along a tight passage. Footsteps ran closer. Wait, wait! I commanded myself, staying in a ball until the jester jumped. I rolled upright, using my energy to propel my left fist into the area just below his breastbone. Cicero bounced backwards, my fist exploding with pain, throbbing in tune with my head. I swore, not waiting to see if Cicero would stand. I glanced behind me once, bolting down the stairs and crashed straight into Arnbjorn. We tumbled down the stairs, and since I was much lighter, I was flung quite a way further. I felt winded, my hangover forgotten in my need to breathe. I sat up, trying to gulp in air. Arnbjorn growled, "Watch it, Tidbit!"
Cicero appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyes wild and a long, thin, ebony dagger in hand.
I bared my teeth, ignoring Arnbjorn for the moment and propelling myself forwards, crying out my rage as I ran.
Cicero bounced down the stairs.
Something slammed into me.
A wolf slammed into Cicero, dagger clattering away and into the pool.
I snarled, struggling against something scaly, eyes only for my prey. The scaly thing let me go, and before I could stand my muscles froze, and I couldn't move. "Festus!" I screamed through clenched teeth. "You let me go! Curse your magic!"

"Enough!"

Astrid's voice cut through the commotion. Cicero was snarling at the wolf, whom I suddenly realized was Arnbjorn. He snapped his jaws at the jester, and he went limp, wide-eyed and whimpering, begging the Night Mother for something. I felt the Paralysis spell easing off, my muscles slowly becoming my own again. "What happened here?" Astrid demanded, striding towards us. I heard Babette snigger from somewhere. I still couldn't move myself just yet. "Festus, let her stand. And husband, get off the Keeper. Keep them both calm, Festus."
I sighed in relief when the spell disappeared from my limbs, and I stood immediately, dusting myself off as I glared at Cicero, and eventually Astrid. "Alysa," she purred, venom in her voice. "What is the meaning of this?" she waved a lazy hand at the scene.
I sighed through my nose, standing taller and lifting my chin. My pride would not break under me today. "We fought, and I was winning until he–" I jerked my head in Cicero's direction, "–pulled a knife. And Veezara jumped me. And Arnbjorn changed." And Festus put a spell on me, I thought sourly, feeling my nose wrinkle in disgust. Cicero started talking quickly, and I snorted loudly, turning to leave. Astrid took my arm as I passed her, and Arnbjorn growled. I flexed my jaw. I hated it when people touched me. I refused to turn around, letting my anger cool and freeze over into ice. The kind of ice that could easily let me kill whole villages of people at a time.

"Poor Cicero did nothing! He greeted his dear Sister and she tackled him! Oh yes she did! She tackled poor Cicero to the ground and fought him! He had to defend himself!" poor Cicero explained. He didn't like seeing the wolf-man as a wolf; and he made Alysa angry. Cicero looked at her, oh she was angry! Now he knows why she is called Ice-Wrath: oh she is cold, cold, cold! Especially when she is angry, raging, furious! So deadly; maybe she will freeze this… Astrid's arm, and then that woman will die! She thinks Cicero doesn't hear, but he hears EVERYTHING! She speaks of heresies, denying the Night Mother and the traditions of the Dark Brotherhood! The woman keeps talking, and Cicero mumbles an apology, pretending to be sorry. He listens carefully to Alysa when – mm – Astrid tells her to speak. "I am not sorry. I will apologize only because he is my Brother. Other than that," and she turns, she turns! But she glares at poor, sweet Cicero. "Stay away from me in the mornings, Keeper. And Astrid: let. Go. Of. Me."

Cicero's favorite assassin jerked her arm away, glaring at Astrid and stalked away. Oh, perhaps Cicero should get to know her better! Perhaps then the Night Mother will accept her as Listener, since she doesn't want dear Cicero! He wants to apologize to Alysa, but he doesn't think she will be kind to Cicero, oh no not yet! Perhaps later… besides, Mother needs oiling! Cicero must get all of the hard-to-reach places! Yes, sweet Cicero will oil Mother then he will apologize. "Ho ho ho, and hee hee hee, break that lute across my knee! And if the bard should choose to fight, why then I'll set his clothes alight!" Cicero sings, dancing and showing his Family what he means as he dances all the way to Mother.

I ground my teeth: I shouldn't have started a fight with the jester. It was stupid, thinking back now. I needed to be gone, now: to travel and take my first real contract, to track, stalk and kill my prey; unlike the minor ones Nazir had given me when they turned up. I sneered at the thought of another snivelling idiot at my feet, whimpering for mercy and life. My lips curled into a smile. Oh yes, that was what I needed. I took my armor from my chest, then quickly washed in a pool deeper into the Sanctuary, close to where the beds were. I put on my armor, carrying my clothes under arm and strapping on my twin daedric daggers, putting my clothes back into the chest and taking out my daedric bow and quiver with twenty arrows. Right before I pulled my hood over my head as I turned, I caught my reflection in a small mirror on one of the walls.

Only my face was shown, but it made me think of my appearance overall. I was delicately built for a Nord woman: slender, and much shorter than the average Nord – I was almost a Breton-like height, probably from the series of mishaps that made up my childhood – my breasts were small, which I would eternally be grateful for, considering my… occupation, with a narrow waist and hips not much more prominent, though if I bothered to dress up I could look a little more rounded than I do in armor. I had often used my fragile-looking body to get my targets to take me straight into their homes. My legs were long, strong and toned from running, climbing, fighting and other acrobatics I needed to know. My fingers were long and thin, perfect for pickpocketing and wielding lockpicks, the latter of which was the only I was extremely good at. After all, targets don't always invite you in….

I let my mind's eye close, and studied my face in the mirror, watching myself sigh. I have a heart-shaped face, well-proportioned too, with smooth, pale skin and slightly more prominent cheekbones. My mouth was small, but my lips were fuller than most Nord women's, which made killing male targets very easy. Finally, I let my gaze settle on my blue-grey eyes, which could deceive even the most cynical. I had long lashes, and finely shaped eyebrows of a light brown. My hair was thick and fairly short: hanging just above my shoulders in bangs. I usually asked Babette or the Dunmer woman – I could rarely remember her name, probably because she and I rarely spoke otherwise – to braid my hair for me while out on small contracts. Now my light, mouse-brown hair hung loose, and I wasn't about to find someone and ask for help. I would have to go without a braid this time. I scowled, pulling up my hood and tucking my hair in, leaving my cowl down. I'd cover my mouth and nose once outside.

I didn't see anyone in the main room when I left, or the common room when I collected a pack and took three waterskins and a wineskin, which I filled with mead. Astrid's door was closed, and I could just hear voices inside, so I assumed she and Arnbjorn were having a discussion about him changing in the Sanctuary. She had an absolute distaste for that. Not that I blamed her – I'd seen it once before, and his armor had ripped to pieces. When he finally changed back, he was clad in nothing but his skin. Horridly embarrassing. Not that Arnbjorn ever cared. Now that the memory came back to me, I decided I would rather be a vampire if it ever came down to it. At least then the only time I would be naked was when I chose to be naked. I snorted softly, pulling my cowl over my face and pulling the heavy stone door open. It was a long walk to Markarth, and I would need to head to Falkreath and see if I couldn't take a cart up to Markarth. Assuming someone took one down to Falkreath. All it meant if I didn't find one, was my journey would take longer and be a little more than slightly difficult. I preferred easy journeys, and buying a horse for myself was not yet an option – I had only just gotten one thousand gold from contracts and fencing my target's goods, and I wasn't prepared to give it all away for a horse. I had weapons and armor to repair, and poisons to buy! "By Sithis!" I hissed, shaking my head and stamping a foot. I had forgotten to take a few bottles of Frost Poison. Oh well, I'd have to buy one. Or acquire one. Or meet a Frostbite spider, that's all. I wasn't going back now. The Sanctuary would see me again in a month or more, depending on travel and such. Assuming the contract was actually in Markarth. I sighed, glad for the cowl to take away just a little more of the bite Skyrim air had. Falkreath was in sight, and I'd spend the night there, to see if a traveller came by via a cart.

Hopefully there was a cart, just for me.

Cicero decided. He was going to apologize! He would find Alysa Ice-Wrath, and he would say that Cicero was sorry! He never meant to irritate her! Just say Good Morning and How Are You, that's all! Nothing else, no sweet Night Mother, nothing else. It wasn't dear Cicero's fault she had too much to drink! No no no! It wasn't. Cicero sighed as he skipped to the common room. Alysa wasn't there.

He skipped to where he heard she made potions sometimes. Only wonderful Festus was there. And the scary vampire-child, the un-child. Strange child, but Cicero thinks he might like her. He danced and sang all the way to the main room. The Argonian Veezara was there. Oh Cicero likes him a lot! Not as much as Alysa, though: no no! Alysa was much more interesting. "Hello hello! Good day! Brother Argonian, have you seen Ice-Wrath Alysa?"
The green lizard-man blinked. "Alysa? She left to take care of a contract for Astrid. Not sure who, or where, but if she's fast we'll see her again in a month, if the contract happens in Markarth or close surrounds in that Hold," he answered.
Oh Cicero despaired! He wailed and cried out! "Oh! Sweet Mother! What must poor Cicero now do?! He can't say he's sorry now!" the green-man Veezara blinked, staring at Cicero. "Oh, thank you, Argonian! Dear Cicero shall await her return! But, perhaps we could talk about the Night Mother, our Unholy Matron?"

There hadn't been a cart that came the next morning, or that afternoon, or even that evening, but there had been an apothecary which didn't have any poisons. Or ingredients to make one. It made me want to kill.

So I did.

The male assistant had a horse, and he had been rude, so I followed him home, slit his throat, slashed his wrists and his chest and took the horse he had tethered to a post just outside. I took the man's gold and a few valuable gems, too. I'd eventually have to make my way to Riften's Ratway for a fence. I suppose I scared the townsfolk, because I rode out of town with a smile plastered on my face. I had taken my cowl off to look a little less suspicious. I was well past the Sanctuary before my euphoria started wearing off and I pushed the horse to a gallop. It might have been night, but I was going to travel as far as I could for as long as I could. I might be an assassin, but I wasn't entirely merciless: if something was useful to me, it would live much longer than it normally would have, if I could help it. This horse might see some hard times, but it would get the best care in others. I would take the road north and west past Lake Ilinalta, and at the second crossroads take the road heading west into the mountains, and to Markarth. At least a week, maybe a little more, on the road.

I stifled a yawn a little after midnight, and I could feel the horse was tired as well. We camped in a grove of trees, and I slept as though Sithis had claimed me as his own in the Void.

Bother and befuddle! Oh Mother, oh sweet Night Mother what must Cicero do?! Will he never hear your voice?! Oh he speaks and he listens Mother! The others are slowly coming around, yes they are! It's just that woman Astrid who speaks of heresies! She refuses to acknowledge you as her Unholy Matron! Oh sweet, dear Mother what must I do?! Will you never speak?! No! No you will never speak! Oh, oh Mother forgive me, forgive your humble Cicero! He meant no offense, no sweet Night Mother, he knows you will speak The Words when you are ready! Cicero has faith! Can Cicero dance and sing for you, oh dear Night Mother?