A/N: Not much to say, other than a huge Thank You to all reviewers, followers and favoriters! So enjoy and review! Hail Sithis.
Update: Alysa has had her age kicked up a bit to better fit Cicero's age - otherwise it was a little creepy... Thanks lilidove for reminding me!

Chapter 8: The Silence has been Broken

I parted ways with the Dragonborn and his companion in Morthal – I had lost them almost immediately after we arrived in the little town, both because of the fog and we went separate ways – Tawarthion apparently had business with the jarl in this miserably marshy place. Even the people were as unwelcoming as the environment, skeptical of strangers.

I walked into the only inn in town – Moorside Inn – and immediately regretted it. Lurbuk was doing something that was supposed to be singing and playing the lute. I almost ran outside to stop myself from charging him straight away. Night Mother give me strength. And I appreciate the help this past week, I thought, remembering how quickly Tawarthion and Uthgerd had traveled. If I hadn't been ready to flee at any second as a general rule, I would never have been able to keep up with them. Not that I ever traveled particularly quickly, either. I wrinkled my nose, walking to the apologetic-looking innkeep. "Sorry 'bout 'im. We don't usually got customers, so 'e's usually no trouble," she explained quietly, glancing at the Orc to make sure he wasn't listening to us.
I nodded. "It's alright. A room for the night," I flared my nostrils behind my cowl as the Orc reached a high note and went false, his voice breaking. I knew I didn't have a perfect voice, but even I could sing better than him. By Sithis, Cicero could… I smiled to myself, my mood softening despite the damnable Orc that went on.

And on.

And on.

I put my things in my room, and pulled my cowl down, leaving the hood on. It was cold, despite my natural resistance to it. I sat down at one of the long tables and ordered hot food and a warm drink. A few townsfolk entered a while later, and Lurbuk started his performance in full swing. Tar and Uthgerd walked in a few hours later. I watched them cross the room to the counter. "Bard!" I called as soon as there was something akin to silence.
Lurbuk looked at me excitedly. "Yes, dear lady?"
I smirked. I was sure Tar saw it too. "Sing me a song. Sing me a song of fear, and death!"
The common room went still, and I savored the power it gave me. I struggled not to snigger out loud and play with my blades…. Sithis help the poor souls who got in my way. Now was the time to be this bard's friend. He grinned, thinking. Tar leaned against the counter – his armor clinched softly against it. "Hm…" Lurbuk stroked his chin. "How about this? Shadows creep, and... and phantoms leap! A man got... he got scared. And the demons dared! To um... visit upon him all which they feared!" he finished, false and terrible. But I grinned and applauded anyway. I could tell Tar was beginning to realize I had an agenda here, just by the way he moved. Hopefully he didn't call me out. "Join me, Bard!" I called, waving him over and ordering the best mead for him. I cringed on the inside at the knowledge that I wasn't getting any. "Brilliant, I know. It's a gift," Lurbuk boasted, coming over and sitting with me. Maybe he'd be tolerable if he was drunk…?
"A gift indeed!" I toasted, and the common room resumed its usual noise – perhaps a little louder and more cheerful now that the bard was occupied. Oh, the poor thing wouldn't know what hit him.

I bought drink after drink until he was so drunk he didn't know his own name. Babette's new poison was a tiny vial that I slipped it into his drink. Let the experiments begin, I thought, playing the drunken fool and toasting loudly with him, avoiding my drink when some of his splashed into mine. Babette hadn't been very specific with doses and I liked being alive, really. Who else was going to kill all the people in the world, if not me? Tawarthion was warily watching me from a corner, by now. I think he saw I wasn't drunk when we made eye contact. I almost never indulged on a job, whether I was outgoing or returning home. It was simply too dangerous.

The effects of Babette's new poison were… astounding. And maybe a little too fast. Lurbuk started singing and howling in earnest a few seconds after he got halfway through his special mead, and by the end of it he was acting like a person possessed. I was disturbed, really. But I kept watching, kept playing with as his drunken friend. Babette liked details on her poisons. I was still mildly amused by his barbaric dancing, clapping along from my perch on a bench when he became obsessed with something on the other side of the inn.

He went quiet.

I tensed.

And then he walked straight into the fire, falling face-first into it and lay there, not even making a sound while he burned. Initially everyone was so shocked no-one moved. Mind you, I was thoroughly amused by a hallucinating bard who just killed himself, and I was having a hard time keeping my laughter to myself.

So I screamed instead. Well, it sounded more like a Hagraven shrieking and cackling at the same time. That's when everyone realized he was dying, and the stink of burning flesh quickly filled the room. I shrieked at least twice more to relieve my need to laugh, then broke down and buried my face in my hands as I laughed. Oh, Babette, your poisons are wondrous!

I think most people thought I was crying and drunk, and someone put an arm around my shoulders and walked me to my room. I was sure Tawarthion was trying to put the fire out with magic. I curled up in my bed, daggers under my pillow with a grin on my face. I would definitely use that poison again.

Cicero and Astrid were enemies from that day on: we watched each other, made sure our backs were to a wall whenever the other passed. Cicero locked Mother's chambers and coffin whenever he went out to speak with Festus, or Babette or Veezara, and sometimes Gabriella. Cicero didn't know what to think of her: Dark Elves never made sense to Cicero, but then, little ever did! Like thieves… they take from the person before they're dead! They steal from the living! And they say Cicero is crazy… hehehe. No, Cicero isn't crazy. He's MAD! Maddening! Ha ha ha!

Ah, Cicero misses the Listener. It's been almost five months now, since she became Listener and Astrid denied Alysa her right to speak with a client. Cicero wanders back to his chambers – only there am I really safe from the pretender and her lapdog. He locks himself in every time, and now he is going to clean and oil Mother. "Dum-da-dum, dee-duh-dee," Cicero sang, collecting his oils and carefully working on keeping Mother perfect for the Listener. He took his time today, not that Cicero ever rushed. He was just extra careful to get all those hard-to-reach places, cleaning and oiling, and humming and singing and dancing as Cicero went. He hummed and sang for Mother all the while of all sorts of things: sweet Mother who blessed dear Cicero with a Listener, and who kept him patient for this Listener. Cicero wondered if she would find Volunruud. "If Cicero wasn't Keeper, sweet Night Mother, Cicero thinks he would have tried to find Alysa and show her where Volunruud is. He is sure he knows where it is. But oh, sweet Mother of all assassins in our Family! Keep her safe – be your Listener's Keeper as much as humble Cicero is your Keeper. And Keeper Cicero will stay, until he dies in service to you, Mother," Cicero paused to concentrate on cleaning and oiling. "Cicero would gladly die for you, Mother. And Alysa, the Listener. Yes, Cicero would die for both of you…."

Cicero sighs happily a few hours later. Or maybe many hours later? Cicero never knows, because Cicero never knows what the time is! Cicero smiled sadly. "It's been lonely without her, Mother! Cicero doesn't know what to do… so Cicero must wait. And eat! Cicero must eat to stay alive. Sweet Night Mother, Unholy Matron, humble Cicero will return to keep you company!" Cicero claps, then dances once for Mother before locking her in her coffin. Cicero wonders how Alysa managed to pick the lock – Cicero had tried a few times but he had broken his pick so many times he gave up. "I suppose you were helping her, Mother. You knew from the beginning she was the One," Cicero decided, then left down his passage to the little dining room Cicero had for himself, and made dinner – or lunch, or something before or after or in between the two, Cicero wasn't sure. It was always difficult to tell time inside the Sanctuary. Very difficult, no matter the light that streamed in from cracks and crevices in the walls and roof. Oh well, I wonder if I have any sweet rolls, or carrots….

I stood at the door to Volunruud. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the heavy doors open and stepped inside to a narrow passage. A worn journal and a skeleton lay near the door. I pulled my cowl over my mouth and nose, and stepped over it and headed down the stairs. There were two passages leading on: one almost back the way I came and one ahead. I heard voices from the passage closest to me. So I followed them. I walked into a chamber with at least three dead Draugr, and a wooden door stood ajar. I looked in, and pushed the door a little wider more out of habit. It moved slightly on silent hinges: bless ancient Nords for their silent hinges.

A man in Imperial Legion armor stood to one side, while a man in expensive robes knelt by an effigy of the Black Sacrament. I assumed they had both been here a while. "Are you sure it will work, my lord?"
"I have no doubt. Though, the Emperor's agents have severely decimated their numbers they still take contracts." I couldn't see the man's face, but his voice was smooth, the sound something I would akin to a sly trickster and manipulator. Interesting, this client and contract would be. "They might take longer to get here, though…" he continued.
"Well, that depends on when you started," I said, stepping into the room a little more. The bodyguard drew his blade as Amaund Motierre hastily stood. I raised my hands.
"Rexus, it's alright. By the almighty Divines," Amaund said, stepping closer to me as he dusted his knees and his hands. "You've come. You've actually come. This dreadful Black Sacrament thing... it worked."
I nodded. "How can I help, Amaund?"

The Breton blinked, looking me over in a strange way. I narrowed my eyes at him when his gaze settled on my covered face. "Well, I won't waste your time. I'm glad you're here. Surely your time is as valuable as my own."
I blinked in reply. He seemed uncomfortable when he continued, realizing I wasn't going to say more. "Right, then. You prefer to listen, is that it?" I smirked under my cowl, almost wishing he could see my expression. Amaund continued, muttering more to himself for a moment. "Well, you must obviously represent the Dark Brotherhood; I certainly wasn't expecting anyone else. So I'll cut to the chase. I would like to arrange a contract. Several, actually. I dare say, the work I'm offering has more significance than anything your organization has experienced in, well, centuries," he stood taller, his confidence in dealing with me growing.
"Go on," I said, intrigued.
"As I said, I want you to kill several people. You'll find the targets, as well as their manners of elimination, quite varied. I'm sure someone of your… disposition… will probably even find it enjoyable. But you should know that these killings are but a means to an end: for they pave the way to the most important target…. The real reason I'm speaking with a cutthroat in the bowels of this detestable crypt." I narrowed my eyes at being called a 'cutthroat', shifting my stance. I suppose that's true, all things considered, I admitted. "For I seek the assassination of… the Emperor."

I raised my brows, surprised. But I kept my tone level and matter-of-fact. "The emperor? Well, leaders rise and fall. Business is business."
The Dark Brotherhood hasn't had a contract like this in a very long time: Amaund was right. "Oh, wonderful!" he grinned, and looked even more conniving than before. "You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that! So much planning, and maneuvering. Now it's as if the very stars have finally aligned…. But I digress. Here, take these. They need to be delivered to your, um... superior. Rexus. The items," Amaund gestured to his bodyguard to bring items to me. A letter and an amulet, by the looks of it. I took them, carefully turning the amulet in my hands. It looked very expensive. "These two items must be passed along to your superior. The sealed letter will explain everything that needs to be done. The amulet is quite valuable – you can use it to pay for any and all expenses."
I nodded curtly. "I'll make sure this gets done." I grinned. "I believe it will be a pleasure doing business with you, Amaund."
The Breton sniffed, dipping his head quickly. His bodyguard looked much less charmed. Now I just needed to kill Ennodius Papius, and head back to the Sanctuary.

I spent my birthday doing the one thing that made me happiest: killing.

I found Ennodius camped a short distance from Anga's Mill, and excitedly told him that I was officially twenty-eight today. He had been wary, backing away and trying to be polite despite obvious paranoia. The second he turned his back my blades were in his back and neck. Well, he was right to be paranoid, I sniggered, wiping the last splatters of blood from my face. I considered continuing to Windhelm to buy a horse when I realized I didn't have the coin, and buying on credit meant I'd have to return to settle my debt, one way or another. But I can buy a seat on a cart to Falkreath, I schemed. It wouldn't be as fast as horseback, but it was better than walking. I would return to my home soon.

I'm coming, Cicero.