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Chapter Text

“This was a necessary kill”, Elias repeated to himself like a mantra as he walked through the empty Riften marketplace. “It was for the better, I did it for the children.” 

He had checked a thousand times already, but he turned his head around again for a quick last glance at the place. Not a soul in sight. With a silent sigh of relief, he crossed the bridge over Elgrim’s Elixirs and finally reached Honeyside. He found the house key in his pocket and forced himself to unlock the door slowly, even though his hands were trembling and his heart was racing, screaming at him to get in as soon as possible. He managed to enter without making any sound. Well, Iona had not slashed his throat yet, so he assumed he had been able to get in without waking her up. Elias had told her he was going to stay the night, but he never mentioned his little plan. His housecarl was not supposed to know. Nobody was.

He removed his cloak and tossed it on the brown leather chair in the corner of the room before crawling back into bed. He could still feel his heart beating faster than usual. 

This was not his first kill. Far, far from it. He stopped counting the amount of lives he had to take when he realized it was simply part of the whole “adventurer” lifestyle. It quickly became a normal, mechanical, robotic act. Routine. Elias remembered how mad he was at Mjoll when she assured him that he would “get used to it” with time. Out of all people, Mjoll was the last one he expected to have that kind of opinion. The woman he admired the most, the one he was looking up to, his one true best friend in the entire world: That woman told him he would “get used” to killing. Elias found it laughable how, mere days later, he was already washing the blood off his sword the way he was washing dirt off his clothes. Even though he hated to admit it, Mjoll was right. You get used to killing. However, those kills were always necessary. They were done out of self-defense. This one was different. This one was a choice… and would very much probably not be approved by Mjoll. “Let us not get involved in this mess”, the lioness told him the day before as they were leaving the Aretino residence. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this… with the black sacrament and all”, she added as Elias remained silent. The poor Aretino boy was clearly out of his mind, mentioning “a dark brotherhood”, as if it was some kind of professional organization. The Dark Brotherhood does not exist. It is but a creepy legend people tell to scare children. At least, that is what Elias had concluded, after his time in Skyrim.

The boy was surely having a psychotic episode. Understandable, considering he was all alone, no more family, and he had just escaped from an abusive orphanage... However, if what he confessed about Grelod was real… There was no way Elias could live knowing that woman was alive. There were many things he was able to accept and forgive. Unfortunately, child abuse was not one of them. 

After a moment of silence, Elias finally agreed with Mjoll, and they headed to the stables, outside the city. He did not let Mjoll know, but the whole carriage ride, he was not able to think about anything other than Grelod The Kind.

Elias’ daughters, Sofie and Lucia, were the fuel to the fiery rage he felt against the old woman. Had he not had the money to offer them a roof to sleep under, Grelod's orphanage is most likely where he would have taken them. He felt glad knowing they were safe and sound in Heljarchen hall in The Pale, under Gregor’s protection. Nonetheless, some other kids would still be stuck with Grelod. Even if they weren't Elias’, he still thought it was unfair for them.

He decided to pay the orphanage a little visit when he would arrive. Just to make sure.

The midday sun was shining bright when Elias and Mjoll arrived in Riften, earlier this day. After several days spent in Windhelm, solving that damned butcher murder, Mjoll suggested they take a couple days off, and Elias was not against the idea. He would have preferred to spend the day home, with Sofie and Lucia, but it was Mjoll's turn to spend time with her family. Elias had noticed, lately, the usual signs his companion demonstrated when she was in need of her lover. The irritability, the lack of focus in battle, the insomnia... Elias had said nothing, not wanting to upset his friend, but the symptoms had been particularly strong these last few days. Aerin was in for one strong, passionate night. 

Her love life was one of the few things Elias did not envy Mjoll for. It did sound beautiful whenever the lioness tried to explain to him how it felt to be in love, how different intimacy feels when you do it with a lover. Sure, Elias believed it. However, he wanted nothing to do with the inherent weakness that came hand in hand with it: there is no time to get distracted when you need to fight for your life, there is no time for grief, no time to think of anything other than surviving and winning. Elias found it already hard to be away from his adopted daughters so often, the only two people he truly loved, other than Mjoll. A lover was simply out of the question. "As if the dragonborn had time for this kind of foolery", he always thought.

Elias and Mjoll were often mistaken for lovers, by outsiders. They weren’t bothered by it, though. It just made them laugh, since they both knew it would never happen and this whole thing was 100% platonic. “We’re not hunting the same kind of meat,” Mjoll always said. Elias liked that allegory a lot; it explained everything without making a big deal about it. The Breton did enjoy women’s company from time to time, but only in the context of a brothel. They were cheaper and easier to find, and they got the job done. Usually. But if he had the choice, he greatly preferred men. Strong arms, squared jaws and flat chests were what his mind usually went to when he did allow himself to indulge in such thoughts.

Elias was not completely mad about spending the day in Riften, though. He had fire salts to deliver to Balimund and some flowers for the young Black-Briar girl at Elgrim's. The Honourhall orphanage was also very conveniently located in the city. He thought a little visit, at least, was in order. It would hopefully let him know what pushed a child to perform nothing less but a black sacrament against the old hag. Whatever that sacrament even meant.

After running his errands around town, he stopped for a snack at Honeyside, the little house he bought in the city. Considering his lifestyle, owning several houses throughout Skyrim was extremely convenient: especially when they were protected by a housecarl. Elias sometimes felt bad for his housecarls who were stuck inside a house when they were probably dreaming of living a crazy life of adventure. He tried to reassure himself by thinking that this situation was at least providing them with a fully furnished house to live in, in which they can do whatever they want, whenever he is away. 

He knocked before entering, and smiled when he saw Iona hunched over the cooking spit. Out of his four housecarls, Iona was not his favourite, but she was definitely the best cook. She had a way of mixing the spices and the flavours in ways that made Elias eat out of pure pleasure and not out of necessity. If Iona was frigid and awkward on the surface, at least her comforting cooking was able to bring a minimum of warmth into the house, making the energy more bearable.

“Honour to see you again, my Thane.”

Elias tried not to roll his eyes at that stupid phrase he heard so often. Was there even some meaning to this saying anymore? He was genuinely happy, however, to see his Riften housecarl and eager to devour whatever she was cooking. After a little bit of small talk to catch up and three bowls of stew --and a very probable stomach ache in the near future--, Elias headed towards the wardrobe, near the bed. He knew there were some pretty civilian clothes in there that came with the furnishing of the house. If he had to pretend he was a single man looking for adoption to enter the orphanage, which in itself was rather rare, his armor and weapons would not add to his credibility. He quickly stripped off his armor and put on the first tunic he saw inside the closet, hoping it would fit. It ended up being a bit loose on him, but he took this as an advantage to hide his blade in there. Hopefully, he would not need to use it. Yet. 

Elias untied the ribbon with which he had brought half his thick brown hair up in a messy bun, and decided to let them fall freely instead. He kept them a bit shorter than shoulder-length, which was what he found the most practical, after a lot of trial and error. Usually, Sofie braided them tightly -and quite beautifully, if he was honest-, but she wasn’t there to help him with that. He passed his hand through it to try and slick them back, and looked at his reflection in the small mirror inside the wardrobe. Pale grey eyes stared back at him, and he scrunched his brows at the sight of his upturned nose that he hated so much. It always betrayed his young age. He tried to reverse the effect by keeping a beard, but it grew in a weird way, which annoyed him. His appearance was something he’d never be fully content with, but he had no time to dwell on it.

He called it fair enough, and decided it was finally time to head towards the orphanage. After quickly passing through the marketplace, trying to go unnoticed, he finally reached his destination. For the first time, he realized “Honourhall Orphanage” was actually written on top of the door, in metallic letters. It was not his first time in Riften of course, it was where he lived before moving his family to the Pale, but even after so much time spent there, he still had never noticed it before. The black iron letters seemed to fade away with the dark brown wooden background of the walls. Just like the place in itself seemed to fade in the background of the entire city, in general.

As soon as he stepped foot inside the building, he could feel three little pairs of eyes glaring at him from the ajar room. There was a palpable shift of energy in the place: it was as though they all simultaneously froze in place. Elias assumed they did not have visitors very often. A pretty Breton lady who called herself Constance greeted him, but informed him, with visible dismay in her voice, that the children were not up for adoption at the moment.

The man furrowed his brows. What was the point of an orphanage if the children could not be adopted? 

“Can I still see them?” he insisted. “If adoption ever becomes available, I will have at least gotten to know them before choosing one.”

Constance was bouncing on her feet, looking down, visibly uncomfortable. She stared at what seemed to be the back of the room where the children were.

“Okay,” she finally said, “but quickly”.

She led Elias to the main hall, where the children were doing heavy cleaning chores. They all stopped whatever they were doing and bolted to his side. He was overwhelmed by greetings and questions from the children, when Constance finally intervened.

"Children, not all at once!" she said in a soft yet firm voice. "Mr. Lamand is here for a brief moment to get to know you. Please, be nice to him."

"How many are there?" Elias asked, while smiling at the little blond girl already holding his hand, as if ready to leave with him at any moment.

"We currently have four children. There's Runa just there, to your right, then Samuel and Hroar."

She pointed to two little brown haired boys. Elias felt his chest tightening when he noticed how slim and frail their little figures looked under the dirty rags they used as clothes. 

"Where's the fourth one?" Elias asked, looking around.

"In the chamber," the little blonde one replied, still holding onto his hand.

"The chamber?"

"Yeah," Hroar said, "the place where Grelod takes us when-

“FOR CLEANING SUPPLIES,” Constance shouted, interrupting the boy.

Elias turned around to meet Constance's eyes. She smiled timidly.

“Yes,” she continued, “Grelod wants to make sure the children know how to execute basic house chores, so they can develop their autonomy.”

Elias kept his gaze on Constance, but the latter was now looking at the ground. A loud thud came from the back of the room and made all of them jump. Elias saw an old gray-haired woman coming out of the room, gripping a young blond boy by the arm. The poor boy’s eyes seemed empty, his face completely emotionless. Gods, what had she done to him?

The thought barely had the time to occur in Elias’ mind when the old lady screamed in horror, letting the boy fall down on her side at the same time.

“Constance!”, she yelled at the young Breton woman, while walking towards her. The old woman’s face was red with anger when she grasped Constance’s arm, the same way she did with the boy. Elias brushed her fingers on the sword, hidden at his side under his outfit. “What were you thinking letting strangers enter? What is wrong with you?”

Constance was shaking, and Elias could see the children clinging together on the ground next to a bed, as if trying to hide from the scene.

“I’m sorry, Grelod, he just wanted to meet the children, I didn-

“NO!” the old hag shouted, mere inches away from the young woman's face. “We’ve talked about this, you little skeever, how many times will I have to tell you?”

Constance was still trembling under the old woman’s claws.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, wiping the tears from her eyes with her free hand.

Grelod let go of her arm and turned towards Elias. 

“You,” she said, approaching. 

Elias did not move an inch. The old crone was not scaring him.

“You are going to leave,” she simply said to him. “You are going to leave and never come back.”

Elias had to physically restrain his arm from reaching for the sword inside his coat and slash Grelod’s throat right then and there. 

Not now.

“GO!” the old woman shouted impatiently, pushing him towards the front door.

Elias gave a last quick glare at the woman, making sure she could see, only from his eyes, how much he wanted to hurt her. He opened the door and headed back home, trying to walk normally without trembling from rage as he passed the marketplace.

He understood, now, that Aventus Aretino was not entirely psychotic. His whole delirium about a dark brotherhood was strange and so was his gruesome "sacrament", but he was at least telling the truth about Grelod. At this moment, Elias had made his choice.

Grelod had to die.

***

It had been over an hour since Grelod had stopped breathing, and Elias was still unable to sleep. He turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling, eyes still trying to adjust to the dark. His mind replayed over and over again the sight of Grelod snoring inside the sheets, dreaming, unaware of what was coming. He remembered the weird feeling of Grelod’s body writhing under him as he pushed the pillow onto the old hag’s face. Elias could not focus on anything else other than pushing, pushing, pushing harder, with his hands, with his lower body, to muffle the screams, to cover the sounds of the bed creaking. He had even thought of unsheathing his sword and getting it over with faster. A quick slash in the throat perhaps? Or a fierce pierce in the chest? “No,” he had thought, “they will hear her scream if I stop pushing”. Just as the thought occurred, he felt the body under her suddenly softening. There was no more resistance. That is when he knew it was time to flee. Thinking back on it, he congratulated himself on choosing the pillow instead of the sword; After all, he did this for the children, and the murder scene would have scared them, if not completely traumatized them.

He had no idea whether he would tell Mjoll. Or the girls. Would they even understand? Would they hate him for it? He grimaced, physically hurt by the idea of his favourite people being mad at him. His eyes started watering and he could feel a tear slipping down his cheek, wetting the pillow under his head. Did he make the right decision by killing Grelod? Part of him wanted to say no, that killing is never okay unless it is for self-defense. However, the other part of him was convinced Grelod had to die, for the greater good. Even though he was barely able to admit it to himself, he knew, deep down, that he did not regret his choice. For the first time in his life, killing had felt so goddamn good.

Chapter Text

Elias had been staring at the wrinkled parchment sheet for a whole minute already. He had been interrupted by a courier, as soon as he stepped out of the house. "We know", he kept reading over and over again. Who is "we"? What do they know? And why did they find it necessary to smash their hand in ink and slap it across the page?

He hated to consider this option, but he feared it had something to do with what he had done to Grelod, a couple of days earlier. He was almost certain no one saw him entering or leaving the orphanage. Even the guards, upon finding the old woman’s body, concluded that she simply died of natural causes, in her sleep. No one even mentioned a murder. In rumors, maybe, but Elias did not listen to that. Anyway, he had been busy third-wheeling Mjoll and Aerin for the past two days: They went outside the city gates for fishing and hunting, while filling themselves up with Black-Briar mead. Elias did not hate it. The two lovebirds were always good company, but he would have been able to enjoy himself more if he was not hiding a murder from them.
He was glad to come back to Honeyside on the second night. It felt good to sleep in a proper bed, instead of inside a rigid fur roll, in the tent next to his friends like he did the night before. Mjoll and him had decided to head to the Hold next to visit Halldir's Cairn, south west from Falkreath. A friend of Elias at the Bard’s college asked him to retrieve a certain drum there if he ever happened to come near the cave. He had been eyeing the page about it in his quest journal for quite some time already, and he was happy to finally get down to it.

Elias had not told Mjoll about Grelod yet. He told himself she would, eventually, but the right moment never came.
He suddenly got dizzy, and had to grip the door knob to avoid falling on the ground. He just had an atrocious, horrible realization. What if it was Mjoll who wrote this? Or Aerin? Or both? Did they discover his plan? Was it their way of letting him know? Then again, a simple "we know" was not enough for him to guess if it was a positive or a negative response to what he had done.

He lifted her head up in his daze and hurried to hide the paper in his pocket when he saw the Nord lioness coming towards him.

“Is everything okay, Elly?” she asked him, “You look anxious.”

The Breton swallowed hard and readjusted his hair.

“Oh, I’m fine!” he answered, forcing a smile. “I was just spacing out.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Elias smiled shyly. Not the first time, indeed. Mjoll continued:

“I know I’m early, but there is something I need to tell you about.”

Elias felt his stomach rising. She knows. She found out.

“Of course!” he answered, feigning enthusiasm. “What is it?”

He could feel the sweat in his hands wetting his gloves as he waited for his friend to answer.

"Me and Aerin have been talking…"

That's it. They knew. She was going to say it.
Elias closed his eyes, knowing the words would hit hard.

"Well, I'm just going to say it simply," the lioness continued, "Aerin and I are going to get married."

Elias’ eyes flew right back open.

"What?" he asked in confusion.

"You heard right." The Nord smiled. "You're the first one I've told."

The Breton felt his muscles unclench as the news settled in. A wedding. That was all. A stupid wedding! He wanted to scream at how relieved he was, at how insignificant it seemed compared to what was in his mind at the moment, but he quickly caught himself.

"Mjoll, that's amazing!" he said as he held her friend's hands in his. Even though it was the least of his worries for the moment, he still felt genuinely glad for the woman. Her and Aerin seemed truly happy together, and his friend's happiness and well-being was something he honestly cared about.

He started laughing. A laugh of relief, but the context could easily make it look like a laugh of joy.

"If I knew you'd take it so well, I wouldn't have been up all night with anxiety about the idea of telling you."

The Breton offered a little smile to the woman facing him.

"I'm sorry that I caused you distress," Elias said. "But why wouldn't I take it well? How can I be saddened by this marvelous announcement?"

"Well, there's something else that this wedding entails…"

"What is it?"

Mjoll took a deep breath.

"I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and I think it is the perfect occasion… The time has come. I am retiring from my adventuring career."

Elias felt all colours leaving his face. He forced his smile to remain, even though he just wanted to shout at the top of his lungs.
He had not anticipated that.

"Of course," he answered while trying his hardest to not sound panicked. "That would make sense. I know it was in your plans and that it would happen, one day or another."

He let go of the Nord's hands and looked down, trying to compose himself, as he looked at the irregular wood pattern on the ground. He felt his chest and throat tighten, as well as his limbs getting fizzy.

He felt Mjoll's fingers against his cheeks, lifting his head up so they could lock eyes. Mjoll's calm glare and soothing voice seemed to be the quickest relief during moments of angst.

"Elly, look at me. It's going to be fine. You are going to be okay. It has been more than a month since the last panic episode. You don't even need me anymore to calm down, you're doing it on your own, now!"

As weird as it felt to realize this, it was the truth. Whenever the memories of Apocrypha, Sovngarde, and the civil war crept back up into his mind, he would do the breathing exercises that Mjoll taught him, and eventually the feeling of imminent danger would go away. Elias had been genuinely getting better and more in control of his thoughts in the past weeks. There is no cure for trauma, but it is possible to learn to live with it. And that is what he intended to do.

"It's going to feel strange without you," the Breton said with a weak voice, the retained sobs still hurting his throat.

"I know. It's going to feel strange for me too. There won't be a day where I don't think about you."

A moment of silence emerged, the now ex-companions looking at each other with melancholic smiles.

"Do you know where you're going to stay once you are married?" Elias asked.

"Yes, we will remain here, in Riften. Aerin's house is good enough. And there's a spare room for…"

The Nord lady put her hands on her belly, letting them rest there, peacefully.

Elias gasped upon realizing what his friend meant.

"By Mara, Mjoll!" he exclaimed as he locked the woman in a tight embrace.

He started smiling again, not forcing himself this time.

"Congratulations, I'm so happy for both of you! You deserve it so much."

"Thank you, my dear. Promise you'll write to me often," the lioness said as she ended the hug.

"As often as I can."

"I will send you an official invitation when the date will be settled. Your two little ladies are also invited, of course."

"I can't imagine how thrilled they will be when I tell them."

"Yes. I miss them."

"Me too. I better start packing and preparing my horse now, if I want to get to Falkreath before dark."

"Of course. You take care of yourself. And don't forget the breathing exercises. You will be fine. I'm not even worried for you.

"I know. You take care of you and your little growing family too. Farewell, my lioness.”

"Farewell, my dovah."

Elias was riding Nin, his faithful mare, without any sense of direction. He had abandoned going to Falkreath, and just decided to ride until the pain passed. He slowed down when he noticed Windhelm's walls in the distance. He did not realize he was going this direction, but he told himself he would go check up on the Aretino boy before crashing at the inn.

He found the boy curled up on the bed, his eyes wide open. He jumped when he saw Elias and ran towards him to ask if he had done the deed.

"Grelod is dead," he said simply.

The boy was ecstatic, jumping up and down while clapping his hands, telling him he was the best, and that he saved them all, and "Long live the Dark brotherhood".
He was still stuck with this weird brotherhood delusion, apparently. He offered him a pretty silver plate, a family heirloom of his, in exchange for Grelod's death. Elias appreciated the gesture, but he found it odd to receive "payment" from a child. An orphan at that.
He found a pouch in his bag and filled it with gold.

"Take this and stay out of trouble," he told him as he dropped the pouch on the ground before leaving.

The warmth of Candlehearth hall was extremely welcomed. Elias spent a long time next to the fire, savouring its sensation as the cold tingles in his legs and hand slowly disappeared. He did not even take time to eat, drink, or bathe. As soon as he started to yawn, he got up and went to his room, hiding away inside his bed. He did not even get the time to feel sad or anxious about Mjoll, about himself, or about the orphan boy. He just closed his eyes and fell into a deep, deep sleep, one he had not had in a long time.
This weekend had truly exhausted him.

Chapter Text

Elias struggled to open his eyes, his heavy lids fighting to stay down. He blinked several times, trying to make the room less blurry. He was finally able to make out some wooden walls and ceiling. This was not his room… nor did it resemble Apocrypha, even his nightmare version of it. Why was he in there? How did he even get in there? He turned around and gasped, his heart threatening to explode inside his chest, when he saw a hooded figure sitting atop an empty bookshelf, its leg lazily dangling to the side.

“Sleep well?” the figure asked, in a soft feminine voice.

Elias managed to speak despite the knot in his throat and the heavy sound of his heartbeat he could not ignore: “What? Where am I? Who are you?

“Does it matter?” the woman immediately answered. “You’re warm, dry… and still very much alive. That’s more than can be said for old Grelod. Hmm?"

Elias froze. So, this is related to him murdering the old hag? Who is she? How did she know? Why?

“You know about that?” he asked the woman, genuinely curious about how he could have possibly been caught. He saw no one, he made no sound. How did she know?

“Half of Skyrim knows,” the hooded lady answered, with a slight tone of amusement. “Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? Things like that tend to get around. Oh, but don't misunderstand. I'm not criticizing. It was a good kill. Old crone had it coming. And you saved a group of urchins, to boot.”

Yes, Elias thought. This was exactly the reason that pushed him to murder Grelod.

“Ah,” the woman continued, “but there is a slight... problem.”

“A problem?” he inquired, half afraid, half wanting to Fus-Roh-Dah the woman off the bookshelf.

“You see, that little Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me, and my associates. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill... that you stole. A kill you must repay.”

Elias felt his vision going blurry again. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing to avoid passing out. The Dark Brotherhood. This stupid brotherhood Aventus was raving about...This organization was real? Not just a dumb legend people told naughty children to scare them? He could feel his palms getting sweaty, and his arms tingling. Oh, by Mara, what had he gotten himself into?

“You want me to murder someone else?” he finally asked, eyes still closed, focusing on his breathing. “Who?”

He still had no idea what was happening. All he knew is that he had to stay alive. He had to go back to Mjoll and the girls. Whatever it would take.

“Well now. Funny you should ask.” The woman smiled and continued: “If you turn around, you'll notice my guests. I've ‘collected’ them from... well, that's not really important. The here and now. That's what matters. You see, there's a contract out on one of them, and that person can't leave this room alive. But... which one? Go on, see if you can figure it out. Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to observe... and admire."

Elias felt his jaw clenching and his face turning hot. What sort of insanity was this? He looked around him and saw, to his horror, the three “guests” the woman was talking about. Their hands were bound behind their backs, and their heads were entirely covered with a thick black hood. He stopped and pondered for a moment. Was he really going to kill one of them? Play russian roulette with human beings? 

He did not even want to consider fighting the woman on the bookshelf. He had no idea what this Dark Brotherhood was really about, but he did not want to mess with their business again. He assumed killing one of their members could not end well for him.

“Am I to take your silence as acceptance?” the lady asked. “Then you know where we stand. Make your kill, and we’re square. Repayment of your debt is but a discreet knife thrust away.”

There was no other way around this. If Elias wanted to come out of this alive, he had to play the lady’s little killing game.

He sighed deeply and headed towards the first faceless victim. He poked their head, which made them squirm.

"What did I do?" they said in what seemed to be a man's voice. "Please, whatever it is, I'm sorry. I... I can hear you talking out there. Please, let me go. I've done nothing to you."

Elias grimaced as a sudden urge to throw up appeared. This was an unusual situation for him. He was used to killing what he referred to as "bad" people. Killing to protect himself. Not killing random innocent people. There was no satisfaction in that, no gain, no benefit, just loss all around.

"Just tell me who you are and why you think you're here," he asked the man while he glared at the hood covering his face. 

"My name is Fultheim," the man replied in a rush, the trembling of his voice betraying the fact that he was terrified. "I'm a soldier. Well, mercenary, really. You know, a... a sellsword. I've lived in Skyrim all my life. That's all! I'm a nobody, really. So can't you just let me go? Oh gods, I don't want to die..."

He truly hated hearing him beg for his life. He did not want to take it. If anything, he reminded him of himself… Just a man living his life, killing when he has to. He was not the kind of person he would feel okay killing. He still had two other choices, however. He pivoted to his right and poked the second victim's head. A woman, judging by her dress.

"I don't have time for this nonsense," the woman exclaimed as soon as Elias touched her. I've got a home to keep and children to feed. Now let me out of here! Cowards! Stealing a woman from her home! For shame!"

Oh. A mother. 

"Who are y-"

"None of your damned business who I am!" the woman said, interrupting him. "If you're going to kill me, just do it already! As Mara is my witness, if I didn't have this damned hood on right now I would spit right in your face..." 

This woman was definitely a pain in the butt. Yet, not enough for justifying a kill. There was still the third option.

"You," he said as he poked the third victim on the head. This one was a Khajit, if Elias saw his furry tail correctly.

"Tell you what," the cat answered, "You release me, and I promise my associates won't hunt you down like an animal and butcher you in the street. It's a win-win." 

Elias rolled his eyes so far behind, he almost saw his brain. He knew exactly the type of person he was, and he did not doubt how mediocre some fighters his associates would probably be.

"Just tell me who you are," Elias asked, his patience running dangerously low.

"Ahhh…" he began, and Elias could detect a smirk on his mouth, just from the way he talked. "Vasha, at your service. Obtainer of goods, taker of lives, and defiler of daughters. Have you not heard of me? Perhaps I will have my people carve my name in your corpse, as a reminder." 

Elias felt a wave of disgust traveling through his stomach, but he turned it into a low, raspy laugh.

"You had me at  « defiler of daughters », you rapist asshole."

He punctuated that last sentence with the unsheathing of his sword, just before burying it deep inside the Khajit's chest, with one quick swing of his arm.

He heard him gasp for air as he pulled the blade back towards him. He enjoyed the little resistance he felt in his wielding hand, as if the cat's insides were gripping onto the blade.

The Kaajit’s body fell face forward on the ground, and Elias used the back of his clothes to clean the fresh blood off his sword. Thank Mara, a kill worth staining his blade.

He then turned around to face the brain behind this mad little game he just played. He heard the two other victims speak, but he did not want to listen. 

The lady was still sitting on top of the bookshelf, a big smile on her face.

"The conniving Khajiit," she said to Elias. "Cat like that was sure to have enemies. It's no wonder you chose him."

Elias stared at her, daggers in his eyes. This woman was insane. Evil to a whole new level. Oh, how he wished he could have killed her instead! This is the kind of kill he would have taken his time with: making the bitch suffer before the final deadly hit. Watching her beg for death to come quicker. Making her pay for the shit she had done. It could not have been the first time this lady had pulled this kind of madness; she seemed so relaxed, so calm, just watching the scene from atop the bookshelf, as if she was watching a bard perform at an inn. As if it was nothing. Gods, he hated her already.

“ Hmph,” the woman said to Elias, “when most would speak, you listen. You think. You understand that the only thing that matters is you following my orders. To kill.

The Breton laughed internally. The only reason why he followed her orders was to avoid being killed himself. Who did she think she was? Elias refused to take orders from anyone, unless he wanted to and the reward was good. Yes, that also applied to daedric princes and other deities.

“Can I go now?” he asked impatiently.

“Of course. And you've repaid your debt, in full. Here's the key to the shack. But why stop here? I say we take our relationship to the next level. I would like to officially extend to you an invitation to join my Family. The Dark Brotherhood. In the southwest reaches of Skyrim, in the Pine Forest, you'll find the entrance to our Sanctuary. It's just beneath the road, hidden from view. When questioned by the Black Door, answer with the correct passphrase: ‘Silence, my brother.’ Then you're in. And your new life begins. I'll see you at home."

Elias got out the filthy shack as fast he could, and then began to look around, analyzing his surroundings. He saw Nin next to the building, looking healthy and not wounded -fortunately. He ran towards the animal and stroked its mane, delighted to feel a familiar sensation after the weird experience he just had. He climbed on its back and looked everywhere around him.

"Where the fuck am I?" he asked herself out loud. "A marsh area..."

Then it hit him. 

"Oh! Right."

He was north of Morthal, near the little piece of land he bought a while ago, as a condition to be Thane of the city. Elias could not have cared less about this particular title (that he already received in several other cities), but he enjoyed knowing he was basically providing a free house to whichever housecarl they assigned to him. 

The construction of the little cabin he had paid for a couple months ago should have been finished by now, and his housecarl, Valdimar, well settled. He considered going there first, as he had promised Valdimar he'd come when he was around the area, but he finally decided not to. He needed to be alone. He needed to think. First, where had he been before entering the shack? His latest memories were of Windhelm. He remembered seeing the Aretino boy, then sitting by the fire at Candlehearth hall before going to bed. Astrid must have captured him in his sleep, then. But how in the hell was she able to transport him from the inn to the middle of nowhere in north-west Skyrim without getting caught? How did no one at the inn notice an unconscious body being transported? And what kind of powerful potion did she use for Elias to remain in a sleep coma for so long? Also, he still was not able to accept the fact that the Dark Brotherhood was real. An actual thing. An organized group. He could not believe it, did not want to believe it. Not only that, but he was invited to join it.

All those questions and thoughts running through his head were enough to fill him up with the familiar sensation of uncontrollable fear that usually preceded a panic attack.

The wave of heat throughout his body. The dizziness. 

The tingling in his extremities. 

The feeling of disconnect from reality.

"Breathe," he told himself, imagining Mjoll next to him, doing the exercises with him.

He forced himself to breathe slowly, and he was fortunately early enough to not let it develop into a hyperventilation crisis.

He rode for hours towards Heljarchen hall, what he liked to call his "main house". He was cold and tired, but he refused to stop before he arrived.

He eventually arrived in the middle of the night (or very early morning). All he could hear as he got in were the peaceful snoring sounds of everyone sleeping, his daughters in the room next to the dining hall, and Gregor and Oriella in the beds upstairs. He took off his armor as quietly as he could, then crawled into bed. He focused on his breathing, again, visualizing his lungs inflating with air as he inhaled, then deflating as he exhaled. He could not start replaying the scene in his head, he was not ready to think about it yet. “Tomorrow,” he kept telling himself, “I’ll deal with this tomorrow”. Alas, when he finally did find sleep, his dreams were not free from the abandoned shack and the Dark Brotherhood.

Chapter Text

“Papa, you’re home!”

Elias opened his eyes and saw Lucia sitting on the floor, next to the bed.

"Hi, love," he said to the girl as he felt his eyes closing back again. "Is it still early?"

"Yes, only Gregor is up. We're going to the market in Whiterun. He says I'm going to help him cook a vegetable soup for lunch!"

"That's great. Wake me up when it'll be ready, will you? Papa still needs to sleep for a while."

"Of course! but you will have to tell me all about your latest trip. See you later, Papa!"

Elias woke up several hours later, the rumbling of pots and pan from the kitchen yanking his mind away from sleep. He remained in bed, lying awake for a couple minutes. It seemed like some rest had helped him clear things up in his head. He did not want anything to do with the Dark Brotherhood. From what he understood, they were a bunch of assassins… A profession Elias had a lot of difficulty understanding. Some of their victims would obviously have to be people who deserved death, like rapists, bandits who killed strangers on sight or anyone of that sort. However, there would also inevitably be victims who did not deserve to die. Some victims who just upset the wrong people, on the wrong day. Some victims of sadists with too much money, but not enough common sense. Elias could not imagine himself killing someone like that, for no reason worthwhile. The fact that some people could do it with gold as their only motivation was a mystery to him. He liked gold; It was what allowed him to have healthy, happy and safe children, a comfortable place to live and some good quality equipment. Yes, gold was awesome, there was no denying it, but there were limits as to what he was willing to do to obtain it. 

That being said, he knew exactly what he was going to do next; He was going to travel to this Sanctuary, to the Dark Brotherhood. He was going to accept their offer. Then, when all doubts about him had dissipated, he would make his move. 

He was going to destroy them from the inside.

He got dressed and went to the dining room with the others to eat Lucia and Gregor's soup. He told everyone the tale of how he and Mjoll solved a murder in Windhelm, and smiled at the look of wonder in his daughters' eyes as he spoke. He also told them the news concerning Mjoll. The girls were ecstatic, Lucia already talking about what she planned on wearing for the wedding, and Sofie wondering if she was going to use white or grey yarn for the blanket she wanted to knit for the baby.

He waited at the end of the meal to ask the question he had rehearsed a thousand times in his mind already.

"I was wondering," he started, avoiding eye contact, "have you guys ever heard of the Dark Brotherhood?"

"Of course," Gregor answered, "I don't think I know of anyone who doesn't know about those crazy assholes."

"Language, Gregor!" Oriella shouted, hitting his arm with the back of her hand. "Why dear, you don't know who they are? Really?

Elias shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

"Well, the adults at the orphanage where I grew up referred to them as more of a legend, a story to get us to behave when we were children. I didn't know they were real…"

The whole table looked at him, eyes wide.

"By Mara, Papa, you really aren't lying when you say you don't know much about the real world, yet!" Lucia exclaimed.

Elias had always liked how his younger daughter had absolutely no filter, whatsoever. The fact that she was only six years old did not help, but even then, it was pretty flagrant. The little girl had a personality so intensely opposed to Elias’, so energetic, cheerful and impulsive as opposed to the Breton who was much calmer, soft and heedful.

“Lucia!” Sofie said harshly, yet not too loudly, “you can’t just say that to people! That’s rude!”

Elias could not help but to chuckle. He found it adorable how much of a little “mother” Sofie was like with Lucia. She was 11 years old, and her personality a lot more similar to Elias’, although she was way more self-assured and mature than Elias would have ever dreamed to be at her age.

“It’s fine, Sofie,” the Breton man replied, “your sister isn’t wrong.”

“But why are you asking us this, Papa?” the girl replied, “Is one of their members after you?”

“No, no!” Elias half-lied. “No, not at all. It's just that I heard rumors in Windhelm about a little boy being the one responsible for a Black Sacrament who led to a woman’s death. His name was Aventus Aretino. Do you know him, Sofie?”

The little girl gasped.

“Yes, I do know him!” she answered. “He was my friend before you adopted me. I can’t imagine what has led him to contact the Brotherhood…”

“Well, his mother died and he was sent to Honourhall Orphanage, in Riften. He and the other orphans were mistreated by the lady in charge there, Grelod, so he escaped and, apparently, performed the Sacrament to have her killed. But that’s only a rumor…”

“That’s horrible,” Sofie said, “I didn’t know his mother had died since the last time I saw him… And for him to perform a Black Sacrament… If that part is true, the woman must really have been terrible with him… It was not like him to wish death upon other people.”

“Death of a loved one can change us, you know.”

“Yes, I know…”

The atmosphere around the table had turned rather dark and depressing.

“Now, who wants dessert?” Lucia asked loudly, probably trying to distract everyone from such gloomy subjects. “We have pudding!”

After a good portion of desert and a little family dish-washing session, Elias locked himself up in the library tower with some parchment paper and some ink, in order to write to Mjoll. The girls were outside with Gregor, enjoying the sunny afternoon to practice their dagger wielding techniques.

Elias had absolutely hated having to lie to his daughters about such an important thing, but he did not know what else to do. They were not ready to hear the truth. Or maybe they were, but Elias certainly was not. He did not want to deal with their questions, with their fears, their protests, their opinions. That would be for another day.

He did not hold back anything in his letter to Mjoll, though. He described Grelod’s murder, the “We know” letter, the Brotherhood’s leader trapping him in that filthy abandoned shack, the khajiit he murdered, the invitation to be a member of the Brotherhood… and his plan to accept and destroy them once he would have earned their trust. A crazy, probably very stupid idea, but what he wanted to do nonetheless: His mind was set on that.

He was terrified of what Mjoll would think of him after having read that letter, but he knew that if there was someone he could confess to, it was her. This woman had been nothing but lovely to him since the day they met, she had been with him for most of his adventures, saving his ass from death more than once (and it was mutual). She was the one holding Elias’ cold hand while his consciousness was asphyxiating in Apocrypha, she was the one who went through Labyrinthian with him and patiently waited for his return when he traveled to Sovngarde to defeat Alduin. More than that, she was the one who sat next to him, whispering “It’s okay” when the panic attacks happened, the one who held him in her arms when he sobbed like a baby, the one who did not mind postponing their adventures at the last minute because Elias’ anxiety was creeping up again. Most importantly, she was the one keeping him grounded into reality when Elias woke up from nightmares, not fully convinced his mind was back into the real world, and not just being tricked by Hermeus Mora.

Keeping anything from Mjoll, as morally ambiguous as said thing would be, simply did not feel right.

He spent the rest of the day at the alchemy table, trying to use up the few remaining ingredients he had before they became rotten. He told everyone he was heading to Falkreath the next morning, to explore Halldir's Cairn and retrieve a Drum for a Bard in Solitude, what he intended to do before everything took this nightmarish turn. He was actually going to find that damned Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. 

He hopped on Nin early the next morning and headed straight to his destination, not even stopping to eat, but rather doing so on his horse’s back. He finally arrived at night; The Sanctuary was easy to find if you followed the lady’s instructions well. 

As he approached the stone door, a loud voice suddenly asked:

“What is the music of life?”

Elias jumped. The voice was loud, raspy, and seemed to come from the door itself.

“Silence, my brother,” he answered, as the lady had told him in the shack.

“Welcome home”.

The door opened slowly, revealing a little corridor with stony walls, and two flags on the sides with the same black hand that had appeared on the letter he had received a couple days earlier. He walked forward, and the corridor opened up into a bigger room, where a woman was standing, her back across the wall.

A very familiar woman.

“Ah, at last!” she said, “I hope you find the place all right.

“So what happens now?” Elias said, eager.

“Well, what happens now is you start your new life in the Dark Brotherhood. You’re part of the family, after all.”

Elias shuddered at the word “family”. He already had a family, a weird one, but a family nonetheless. He did not want a new one. Alas, he was going to have to pretend he was one of them, if he wanted his plan to succeed.

“This, as you can see, is our Sanctuary,” the woman continued. “You won’t find a safer place in all of Skyrim. So, get comfortable.

“I am honoured to be a part of your family,” Elias lied, forcing a slight smile.

" Our Family, my dearest. Our Family. Together, united as one, the Dark Brotherhood can accomplish anything. But you must be anxious to get to work. I'm arranging a job, but need a bit more time. For now, go see Nazir. He's got several smaller contracts."

He held himself from rolling his eyes.

“Where do the contracts come from?” he asked, wanting to make sure his conjectures were right.

“They used to come from the Night Mother. Potential clients would perform the Black Sacrament, and she would hear their prayers. The Night Mother would communicate this to the Listener, who would then dispatch a Speaker to arrange the contract with the client. But that was a long time ago. There hasn't been a Listener in years, not since Cyrodiil was overrun in the war with the Thalmor. But people don't know that. So they still perform the ritual... and we eventually hear about it. When someone wants us, we find out."

His hypothesis was right, then. The Black Sacrament was what lured the Brotherhood.

“Who is the Night Mother?” he asked again, not sure he had heard of this part yet. 

“The Unholy Matron, the Shrouded Lady, the Mistress of the Void. She goes by many names. Ages past, Sithis gave a woman five children. She killed them to win his favor, thus becoming the Night Mother. If you believe that sort of thing. Today, she's... well, she's a skeleton. An ancient corpse. But, more importantly, a corpse that's being brought to this Sanctuary by her Keeper."

“She’s being brought here?"

“Yes. A few months ago I received word from the Night Mother's Keeper that he had arrived in Skyrim from Cyrodiil. The Night Mother's crypt, in Bravil, was destroyed. A result of the chaos caused by the war with the Thalmor. That forced a relocation. I don't know where the Keeper has been these past few months, but I recently received another letter. He's bringing the Night Mother here. Soon."

Sithis… Elias knew he had heard this name before. Or read it, to be exact. He knew it was a sort of deity, a "pseudo soul" birthed from Padomay, the chaotic cosmic force of the beginning of time. He did not know much more than that fact, though, nor of the Night Mother.

He was starting to understand the Brotherhood a bit more. It seemed to be more of a religious kind of organization. Well, used to be, if he was to believe the woman. By the way she talked about it, she did not seem to be a strong believer. Elias felt even more disgust towards the woman: Appropriating a religious cult for yourself to fit your sadistic desires, and completely disregarding the deity which created it and all its surrounding traditions and symbols? This just seemed incredibly disrespectful and selfish.

“Before I go and meet the other members, can you tell me your name?” Elias asked the woman.

“Astrid’s the name. No need to tell me yours. We figured it out for ourselves a long time ago. Now go. Be sure and introduce yourself to your new Family members. They're all very eager to meet you.”

Chapter Text

Elias walked to the big open room, behind Astrid. It was huge, but the stone walls and the darkness made it look smaller than it really was. The few lights emanating from the fire pits here and there gave a pretty comfy ambiance, though, that and the little waterfall in the back, spilling out in a tiny pond. Next to it was a curved wall, one Elias immediately recognized to be a “shout wall”, as he liked to call it, a wall with dragon shouts written on it. On the other side of the waterfall stood a forge, as well as some equipment to work on armor and weapons. The whole place was quite lovely, actually, but Elias was still not completely fooled by its charm: it was still the headquarters of a group of assassins. 

“Ha ha ha ha!” an Argonian shouted in the back of the room, “Again! Again! Do the part where he tried to buy you some candy.” 

Elias remained in his spot, hidden from view, observing the little group of people interacting with each other.

“Okay, okay,” answered a brown-haired little girl, who did not look much older than Sofie. What was a child doing here?

“Wait,” she continued,“Here we go. « Oh, you are such a pretty little girl, »” she said, imitating an old man’s voice, “« Would the sweetie like a sweetie? Oh yes, how about some chocolate? » Oh yes, please, kind sir. My mama and papa left me all alone, and I’m so very hungry. I know a shortcut to the candy shop. Through this alley. « Oh yeah, very good. Very good. My, it is dark down here. Oh, but you are so beautiful. Such a lovely smile. Your teeth… your teeth! No! Aggghh! »”

The whole room started laughing, and Elias gasped silently, realizing what the little girl meant by “her teeth”. She was a vampire. Even from his spot, he could see her eyes glow a reddish colour.

“Oh, Babette, but you are so wicked,” a soft, silky voice answered. It seemed to be coming from whom Elias presumed to be a Dark Elf, judging from her skin tone.

“What about you, Festus?” a Redgard man asked, looking towards a much older man. “How did that last contract turn out?” 

“Oh, yes, please, old man,” a tall white-haired man interrupted, his voice low and almost guttural. “Regale us with your tales of wizardry…” 

“Ah, the young and stupid,” the old man replied. “Always mocking the experienced and brilliant. My contract went very well, I’ll have you know. Tried a new spell. Little something I’ve been working on in my spare time. Came this close to turning that priest inside out. Damned messy.” 

“And what of your latest, Arnbjorn?” the Dark Elf asked the white-haired man. “Something about a Khajiit? Merchant was it?

“Oh, a big doggy chasing a little kitty!” the little girl -Babette, it seemed- said before chuckling. “How adorable!”

The entire room laughed with her, but the “doggy” in question did not.

“I am not adorable,” he replied, “it was not funny, and he wasn’t a merchant. He was a Khajiit monk, a master of the Whispering Fang style. But now he’s dead… and I have a new loincloth.” 

As he said that, everyone slowly started to go their separate ways in the Sanctuary. This is where Elias decided to step in.

"So you're the newest member of our dwindling, dysfunctional little Family,” the Redgard told him, before he even had time to greet them. “I've heard quite a bit about you. I’m Nazir."

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, still internally reminding himself to act nice with them. If he was to earn their trust, it would not be by being rude to them.

“Save the niceties for now. I have no intention of getting invested in someone who may be dead tomorrow. If you’re still breathing in a few weeks, I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends.”

Of course. Another Skyrim man doubting his abilities. The usual.

“Astrid said you’d have some work for me,” he said, trying hard not to sigh and roll his eyes.

“Did she, now? Well, as it turns out, there are a few lingering contracts we haven't had the chance to complete just yet. And more, dribbling in from time to time. I'll assign them to you as they become available. To be completed at your leisure."

“Sounds simple enough.” 

"It is. These aren't particularly glamorous assassinations, I'll be honest. Don't pay much, either. But they'll keep you busy. Just do them as you're able. There's no real time limit - the targets aren't going anywhere. You can turn each one in as it's completed, or wait and turn in the whole group when all the targets have been eliminated. Whichever works for you."

Elias truly, genuinely hoped the contracts would be of real, obvious malevolent people. People he would not feel bad about killing.

“I'm ready for the first set of contracts.” 

"Well then, let's get started. I've got three available right now. Your targets are the beggar Narfi, an ex-miller named Ennodius Papius, and Beitild, a mine boss. When you've completed all those, we'll see if I might have some more. Now, Enodius... He lives just outside Anga's Mill, in the woods. He was once a miller. Now Papius is just a paranoid recluse who thinks someone is out to get him. And he's right. As for Narfi, he's a hapless beggar living in some ruins just outside the village of Ivarstead. Easy even for you. And finally, Beitild. She separated from her husband several months ago. Now the two run competing mining operations. Beitild's angry and desperate. A Fighter. That’s all I have for now. Happy hunting.”

Nazir handed him a parchment sheet with all the details concerning the victims on it. He already knew about Narfi. A poor fool, a mad man, yet not a dangerous one at all. He remembered doing a task for him, which consisted of almost drowning himself in the river to catch a necklace stuck to his sister’s old rotting body, sunken at the bottom. Fun times. He had already considered ending his life, not because he was mad at him, but because he pitied the poor man and his miserable existence, and he thought it would probably be best for him, at this point. At least, one contract he knew he could do, without too much guilt. As for Ennodius, he had no idea who he was. He would have to see when he meets him. The Beitild contract was different, though; He knew the woman personally. You know her without a doubt if you’ve ever been to Dawnstar. The woman is basically famous there for being a complete bitch. Elias had interacted with her a couple times, all very unpleasant moments, from what he remembered. The woman was not likable, but that did not strike as a good enough reason for Elias to kill her. Alas, if he wanted to gain the guild’s trust… sacrifices had to be made.

Elias spent the rest of the evening exploring the Sanctuary and meeting the other members. He very much enjoyed Veezara, the Argonian. He had been extremely sweet and welcoming with him, already giving him advice about his contracts and giving him a complete tour of the Sanctuary. Elias almost felt guilty for thinking so low of them before he got in; even if they were assassins, they were still living, sentient creatures, just like himself. The lizard, from what he understood about his story, had been trained to kill at a very young age. If he knows of nothing else, it would be totally normal and logical that he turned to an assassins organization.

Elias also liked Gabriella, the Dark Elf. She reminded him of an old lady he used to love, back in his days at the orphanage. The only difference being one of them was a cold-blooded murderer.

The Breton man did not have much sympathy for the other members. Babette was interesting and talented in alchemy, but Elias was still too creeped out by her to really enjoy her presence. Festus and Arnbjorn both talked to her as if he was a horse dung on two legs. It annoyed him greatly, but it was nothing he was not used to; It seemed like it was the norm, in Skyrim, to be as unfriendly as possible to every stranger around you. Nazir was okay, he thought. Very handsome. But treating him like an inexperienced child, like most people. Big turn off. If they knew he was dragonborn, maybe that would change, but he wanted to keep this information to himself, a secret weapon to his advantage.

As for Astrid, his opinion on her had not changed in the slightest. He was simply not able to like her. 

Before getting into his new bed -with zero privacy, may it be known- Elias took out his map and tried to plan his next trip logistically. He would go to Ivarstead first, and do the Narfi contract. This one was going to be easy. Then, he would travel up north to Anga’s mill and see what could be done about Ennodius Papius. Finally, he would go to Dawnstar and meet with Beitild. He didn’t know what he was going to do yet, but he told himself he would figure it out on his way there.

He left in the early afternoon the next day, hoping to arrive there at night time. He decided to wear the official black and red armor that was offered to him when he arrived the day before. He made sure everyone saw him with it before he left because he was not going to wear it much longer than that. He was not ready to associate himself publicly with the Brotherhood yet. Probably never, if he was being honest. 

He changed to his good old set of stalhrim armor before arriving at Ivarstead. To erase any suspicion, he did not even pass through the village, but rather sneaked his way around in the mountains so he could arrive directly behind the ruins Narfi called his house. After making sure he was deeply asleep, he pierced the man’s chest with his sword and pushed his hand on the man’ mouth so that no sound could escape. When he finally stopped writhing, Elias planted the man’s iron dagger in the wound he had made with his sword, hoping whoever would find him would think it was a suicide. Before leaving, he stroked the man’s hair and prayed for Mara to watch over him in the afterworld. He was a good man: just not fit for this realm of reality anymore.

Elias then headed to Anga’s mill, for his second contract. He stopped at a Giant’s camp midway, decimating the beast without mercy (and without Mjoll’s help, which made him incredibly proud when he realized it). He used the camp for himself, giving himself some strength back with food and rest. He reached the mill in the evening, and, he would swear his life on it, a dragon popped up in the sky precisely when he finally saw Enodius Papius, who was busy trying to cook parts of a mudcrab. Elias did not even get the time to tell him to watch out, the man was already in flames, burning up on the spot, like a human torch. The absurdity of the situation seemed to have made Elias’ brain fuzzy, and he got severely burned two times on his left arm before he was able to use his shout correctly and appease the dragon to send him away- Ever since Alduin, he had been absolutely unable to kill any dragon. The feeling of absorbing their souls, the sight of their flesh disappearing, only their skeleton remaining... It triggered too many bad memories for him to deal with.

He cleaned his wound as best he could with the little material he had, and then hopped back on Nin. He stopped at Nightgate inn for the night, where he took a long, cold bath to soothe his burns. When he bandaged himself up and headed to his bed, his mind got fixated on Mjoll. It had been around three days since Elias had left for the Sanctuary and gave his letter to the courier. It should have arrived at its destination by now, he thought. He started to feel his chest tightening and his muscles clenching, making his breathing more laboured. He felt anxious, knowing Mjoll was probably aware of his plan at the moment. He curled up in a ball inside the covers, asking himself if he had made the right decision by telling her. Although it did not matter anymore: what is done is done. 

He hopped back on Nin the next morning and headed to Dawnstar for the last of his three contracts. He really hoped another surprise dragon attack would do the job for him like last time, but he knew he could not push his luck too far. He could still barely believe it happened. Did a fellow dovah hear the laments of his soul and decided to come help him? Probably not, if he was being honest, but he liked to think of dragons as more than just evil creatures ready to just annihilate every human in sight. 

The sun was setting when he finally arrived at the pale city. He stopped at The Mortar and Pestle first, and was happy to see Frida again. He told her he was stopping in Dawnstar to ask the Jarl permission to extend the piece of land he bought to build a training field for the girls. A complete lie, but one that Frida believed, which led her to ask Elias about his daughters and Mjoll, who was not there. The two thus talked for a while, updating each other on what had been going on in their lives since the last time they had seen each other (sadness and panic attacks were mostly what had happened, to tell the truth). The elderly woman then offered Elias to use the alchemy table and stock up on various potions: she had a bunch of poisons and random ingredients she was going to throw away otherwise. Elias was delighted by the lady’s generosity, and spent the next two hours mixing away his worries. He was happy to be spending time with Frida and to brew some potions, but mostly, he was happy to procrastinate his contract. He really, really, really did not want to do it. 

Elias left when Frida closed her shop, and headed to Windpeak Inn. He was surprised to see Beitild there, drinking her bottle of mead alone at the table. That is when an idea suddenly struck him. The poisons he had made earlier with Frida... maybe they could be useful. 

He went to the counter to pay for a room and hid in there for a moment. He rummaged through the little bottles in his potion purse and finally found what he was looking for: the special deadly poison with a delayed effect. He never reached for it during battles or sneak attacks since the wanted outcome in those circumstances are always a quick, efficient death.

He still did not want to do it. His opinion on the woman had not changed in the past hours: he still thought of her as an insufferable witch -and he still thought she did not deserve to die because of that. However, he realized as he slipped the poison in his pocket, the woman was destined to die anyway; If not by him, then by another member of the Brotherhood. At least, Elias knew he could make her death painless.

He was able to pour the poison in the woman’s drink quickly, while everyone was looking away. 

He went to sleep soon after and left as early in the morning as he could: the sun had not even fully rose yet, and he was already on Nin’s back galloping away from the consequences of his actions. 

Elias decided to stop at Heljarchen hall first, since he was passing through anyway. Seeing her daughters, even for just an hour, had helped to appease the ache he felt in his heart after the monstrosities he had committed. As for the burns on his arm, they seemed to do the exact opposite, as they were aching at least two times more than in the previous day. He thus took advantage of this little stop at home to re-organize his potion purse and to find one he could use for the pain. He eventually found one that made the burning more bearable, but it was still much of an inconvenience.

He told his family he had to go back to another cave, to complete a quest for another Bard at the college; Hee would have to find a flute this time. They wished him good luck, and the Breton man hopped back on his mare, heading back to the Sanctuary. He was disappointed not to have had an answer from Mjoll, but he also knew it was still early, and that couriers are not always the fastest. 

The horse ride felt long and agonizing. Elias kept thinking of his contract victims. He was still not fully convinced he had made the right choice. Maybe this whole plan of destroying the Brotherhood was a bad idea, after all. He did not fully realize, when he acted it out in his head, that contracts would be given to him so early. He did not think about the fact that he would have to kill like them if he wanted them to think he was like them. Was it actually worth it? Was it okay to kill a few innocents if it meant destroying the big beast in the end? He was not too sure what to think anymore. 

All those thoughts soon triggered Elias’ usual symptoms of anxiety. Those familiar, so well-known sensations that seemed to have made a home out of his body and mind even though they had never been welcomed in, unwanted squatters. “Let them stay,” Elias thought to himself as he embraced the pain, “I deserve them, this time.”

Chapter Text

Elias had just entered the Sanctuary, his breathing still laboured from his panic attack, but slowly coming back to normal. He was exhausted, though. Anxiety symptoms have that very fun tendency to drain you out of all your energy without further notice.

He went down the little set of stairs and then stopped, hiding himself from view, when he heard a loud, high-pitched voice:

"But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely... punishment?"

Right, the Night Mother! The "sacred"  corpse. He had forgotten about this. Astrid said someone would bring her here, soon. The Keeper, she had said. Whatever that meant. He assumed the voice came from him.

"Keep talking, little man, and we'll see who gets punished ," he heard Arnbjorn say.

"Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog," Festus answered. "The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil. Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition."

Cicero? He had heard that name before… but where?

"Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are," the stranger answered. Sure to earn our Lady's favor."

"You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero," Astrid intervened. "And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper. Understood... husband?"

Arnbjorn answered with a grunt.

"Oh, yes yes yes!" Cicero exclaimed. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"But make no mistake. I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?"

"Oh yes, mistress. Perfectly! You're the boss."

Elias decided to enter the room at this moment. A huge wooden box stood in the middle of the place, probably twice as tall as him. In front of the box was… a jester?

Elias furrowed his brows, confused, as he approached the man, everyone around him slowly going their separate ways.

"Wait, oh wait!" The Keeper said as he turned around, pointing his finger at him. "I know you! Yes, yes, from the road! Cicero never forgets a face."

All of a sudden, it hit him.

"Of course!" he said. "You're the man we saw on the road, a couple of weeks ago, with the wagon! Transporting your mother... "

He remembered, now, where he had heard this voice and this name, Cicero. Mjoll and Elias had seen him on the road, not long ago, in front of Loreius' farm. The poor man was in hysterics, desperately trying to fix his broken wagon wheel, to transport his "mother". Not the kind of mother Elias had imagined, back then. They felt sorry for him, so Elias had gone and talked to Loreius to convince him to help the fool, while Mjoll had stayed with him to give him some food and water. The man was so happy when Elias came back and told him Loreius would help him, he started dancing around and praising them with thank yous, while the two companions tried hard to conceal their laughs. He even gave them some gold, a very decent amount, as a reward, which they initially refused, but he insisted. 

"Okay, don't laugh," he had said to Mjoll after the man was finally out of sight, "but I think the poor psycho looked pretty cute."

Mjoll had done exactly what Elias told her not to. She bursted out laughing, so hard she almost fell off her horse. Elias was laughing too, both at himself and at his friend who had to stop her horse completely to not fall over.

"I know, right?" The lioness answered between two snorts, "If we gave him a bath and some proper clothes, first. We may just have found your man!"

"Oh, yes. The prettiest fool of the whole asylum!"

"Stop, I'm going to soil my armor!"

Elias shook his head slightly, pushing the memory away. Gods, he missed Mjoll so much.

"I am! I am!" The jester answered. "But not just my mother. Our mother, hmm? The Night Mother! Oh yes! And you helped me! You helped poor Cicero! You talked to Loreius, and got him to fix my wheel! Oh, you may have pleased me, but you have surely pleased the Night Mother. And our mother, she will never forget."

Elias offered him a small, yet still genuine smile. Although intense, the fool was funny, he had to give him that. A little ray of sunshine in this dark, murder-smelling place. Although, if he was here, it would mean he was an assassin too, like all of them. And to think he took him for a simple psycho who was lucky enough to escape getting locked up… He shivered, thinking back at how him and Mjoll made fun of him so freely behind his back. If he had heard them… He did not even want to think about it. 

There was something very sinister about a murderer dressed up as a jester: the dark, grim aura of the killer seemed so incompatible with the bright, joyful vibe usually associated with jesters, and yet, they both co-existed within the same man's body. The contrast was too strong, too powerful to be unnoticed, creating a weird energy around him, something disturbing, uncomfortable.

Elias had so many questions for him, so many thoughts bubbling inside his head, he did not know where to start. Who in Oblivion was this man?

"What a fun coincidence our paths crossed again," Elias added, looking the man up and down, incapable of keeping his eyes elsewhere.

He was a rather small man for an Imperial, a good head and a half shorter than Elias. What stood out the most in his face were his red eyebrows that drew two sharp lines on top of his dark brown, almost black eyes. His nose and jaw also seemed to have been drawn with the same harsh, sharp lines, as opposed to his round, full cheeks. His lips, quite plump, protruded slightly, as though they were stuck in a perpetual kiss when at rest. Each one of his features seemed to be a statement, which made his face a "love it or hate it" kind of deal. As Elias had pointed out to Mjoll the first time they saw him, he quite liked the man's face. There was a special, weird kind of beauty hidden throughout the strangeness of his facial traits, and Elias could not avoid noticing it.

"Oh, you call it a coincidence?" the jester answered. "I would rather call it… Destiny."

Even in the way he talked, in his gesticulations, Cicero seemed to embody a typical jester persona. 

"I'm new, here, by the way," Elias said to him, "I just came back from my first set of contracts. I can show you around, if you want."

He was not there when Cicero arrived at the Sanctuary officially, but even then, he could not help but to notice how differently they reacted to the Imperial's arrival compared to his. Arnbjorn was being a prick, but that just seemed to be the usual. Festus was surprisingly welcoming, and Astrid was respectful, but all the others seemed very distant. Veezara, Gabriella and Babette were almost fighting for which one was going to show Elias around first when he arrived, they were all around him asking her questions and sharing advice.

This time, however, they were nowhere to be found.

"Oh, that would be so lovely of you!" the jester answered. "But Cicero must tend to Mother first. Get her settled and everything. Would you like to help me take her to her spot?” 

"Sure, but I doubt we'll be able to lift her up with just the two of us."

With some -very forced- help from Nazir and Arnbjorn, they were all finally able to lift the box upstairs and bring her into the little room with stone benches, the room that looked like a tiny temple. Elias was impressed to see the big, rounded steel coffin that contained the corpse. Mostly, he was impressed that it did not reek of decay, but rather smelled good, a scent similar to nightshade flowers.

"For a corpse, she smells pretty fresh," Elias said to the Imperial when they were both alone again.

"Cicero takes that as a compliment, for I am the one responsible for her preservation. It is my duty as a Keeper to keep Mother clean, protected and… happy."

It was odd, the way he talked about the dead body as if she was his real biological mother. Elias was not one to heavily worship any deities. He appreciated Mara and the values she seemed to represent, but a small, quiet prayer here and there was all he really did in terms of worship. He did not have anything against people who worshiped their deities heavily or not at all: he couldn't care less about other people’s beliefs, as long as they were not hurting anyone in the process. He was, however, simply not used to being around such extreme worshippers. He tried to keep an open mind, but it was creeping him out a bit.

"Oh, so that's what a Keeper is…" he added.

"Well, yes. You didn't know?"

"I don't know much about anything regarding the Dark Brotherhood, to be frank. I've only been here for a couple of days."

"Oh! Right. It will be Cicero's utmost pleasure to teach you all about it! But I must do my Keeper duties now. I would prefer to be alone with the Night Mother, if you don't mind… Don't worry, it's nothing personal, just old habits. Besides, it’s getting late. We will have plenty of time to talk tomorrow, i’m sure!"

Elias politely agreed and left. 

There were so many bizarre, intriguing things about Cicero, it almost made him mad. The Breton was so used to quickly reading and then mentally categorizing the people he met; The nice ones, the dangerous ones, the scum-of-Nirn ones, the adorable ones, and so on. With Cicero, it felt impossible: It seemed he could fit into every category, yet also into none of them at the same time. It was unsettling. 

Elias went to the dining hall to receive his payment from Nazir for his three latest contracts. He was surprised he paid him for Ennodius Papius, considering the fact that he did not kill him himself. His reasoning was that he would have done it himself anyway, in other circumstances. Elias was not so sure about that… but Nazir did not need to know.

He looked at all that money he just made, and felt his stomach revolting. It felt ridiculous to be rewarded for something he was so ashamed of, something he found so wrong. Would it be worth it in the end?

Astrid entered the room after Elias was done with Nazir. 

"Ah, there you are. Congratulations on your first minor contracts. Did you meet our new muttering fool, yet?"

"Cicero?"

"Yes, Cicero. Who else?"

"I did, but we didn't talk much, since he had to perform his duties with the Night Mother."

Astrid rolled her eyes.

"He annoys me already," she said, shaking her head.

Elias nodded, agreeing to avoid confrontation. She seemed harsh on the man. Elias had quietly laughed at him and his funny persona too when he first met him, but Astrid seemed to be mean to him for the sheer fun of it.

"What's going to change now that the Night Mother is here?"

"Very little. You have my word on that. The Night Mother represents a chapter in the Dark Brotherhood's history that has long since been closed. Today we live by our own rules. We're the last Sanctuary in all of Tamriel, and only by forgoing the old ways have we survived for so long."

Elias was skeptical. Wouldn't it be the opposite? Maybe the reason why they were the only Sanctuary left in Tamriel was precisely because they abandoned their traditions. How can people take them seriously when they get their contracts out of rumors? 

Elias did not understand Astrid’s logic. The Nord lady did seem to relish in the attention and praise she was getting for being the leader of the Sanctuary, though. 

“My only worry,” Astrid continued, “is our little « Keeper ». I'm not sure what Cicero expects to gain by bringing the Night Mother here, but he'll soon learn this is my Sanctuary."

tHiS iS mY sAnCtUaRy. Gods, Elias hated her so much. “We get it, blondie,” he thought, “ you’ve got a superiority complex. Want me to call you mistress and kiss your feet, while we’re at it?” 

The way Astrid just completely overlooked Sithis and the Night Mother, speaking as if she was above them, completely disregarding the traditions… Elias could not believe the disrespect, the audacity of this woman. Who did she think she was?

“Yes, of course,” the Breton answered, trying not to grimace. 

“Enough of this foolery, now. We've got some business to discuss."

"Do you have another contract for me already?"

“I do indeed. You must go to the city of Markarth, and speak with the apothecary's assistant. You'll probably find her in The Hag's Cure, when the shop is open. The girl's been running her mouth, wants an ex-lover killed. She's apparently performed the Black Sacrament. Her name is Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out."

“Understood. I will be on my way to Markarth tomorrow.”

“Yes. Have a bath and a good night’s sleep. I want you to be ready. Be professional, represent us well, and get the job done. Since it's your first contract, I'll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She'll be generous, I'm sure. They always are.

Elias took a long, well-deserved bath before collapsing into his bed. He was tired, yet sleep did not seem to come for he was too excited: he was looking forward to going to Markarth the next day, actually. He had not explored that part of Skyrim yet, and it seemed wonderful to look at, from what everyone told him. Hopefully, Muiri would give him a good reason to eliminate her target. Elias did not think he had it in him to kill innocents again. He was also looking forward to speaking with Cicero again. He thought about him and his love for the Night Mother and realized that such devotion for the Brotherhood, although a bit unsettling, was bound to lead him to dislike Astrid. Or doubt her, at least. 

Elias smiled to himself, realizing he might just have found the perfect ally in this Sanctuary.

Chapter Text

Elias leaned his hands on the wooden table in front of him, and locked eyes with Astrid.

“So,” the Breton said, “what do you say?”

Astrid pursed her lips and crossed her arms on her chest.

“Hmm…” she pondered. “This is not a bad idea, actually. I usually prefer to send my associates alone during their contracts, as a way of proving their worth in a very… direct way. However, since you did so well on your latest contracts, I am not worried you will carry out this one just as beautifully. And having the fool away from the Sanctuary for a couple days… Well, I certainly would not mind it.”

“So, it’s a yes?”

“Aye. Go ask him. And don’t forget to take note of every suspicious behaviour you notice.”

Elias smirked. His plan was working, so far. He had asked Astrid if he could bring Cicero with him to meet Muiri and receive the contract. He pretended to share the woman’s opinion on the jester, and told her he found his behaviour suspicious, and would like to keep a close eye on him. Astrid had also, coincidentally, noticed strange behaviour from the man, such as “muttering to himself” or “speaking to the corpse as if he was conspiring with her”, to quote her words. 

Obviously, Elias did not care one bit about Cicero’s behaviour. He wanted to keep him close for the complete opposite reason: to make him his ally, instead of Astrid’s. 

He headed towards the man’s chambers. Instead of sleeping in the dormitory with the rest of the guild’s members, they decided to give him his own room, at the other end of the Sanctuary. It was very humid and cold -probably due to the gaping hole on top of the stone wall next to the bed. The man was sitting at the table in the center of the room, writing in what seemed to be a journal.

“Good morning,” Elias said as he knocked on the wall in front of him him due to the absence of a door. Cicero turned around.

“Oh, hello, hello!” he answered as he got up and walked towards him. “So very good to see you again. Elias, is that right?”

“Yes. I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Would you like to come with me to Markarth to meet my client for my first big contract? Since you’re the Keeper, I would assume you have some experience with these kinds of things. It would make me more confident and more comfortable to be with someone else. I asked Astrid, and she said yes.”

Make him feel important. Flatter his ego. This should work.

“Oh, well, since our lovely… mistress has agreed, then yes. Cicero would be honoured! When are we going? And where?”

He did not fail to notice the change of Cicero’s tone when he said the word “mistress”. This was a good sign.

“We meet the girl in Markarth. We’re leaving now.”

Elias hopped on his horse’s back when they were both outside the Sanctuary.

“There’s enough space on her back for the two of us,” he said as he looked down at Cicero. “We can travel like this to Falkreath, and then get a carriage there to go to Markarth.”

Cicero agreed and hooked his foot on the stirrup. Elias reached out his hand so the jester could grip it and lift himself up on the horse’s back. He was surprised at how strong his grip was, almost making him lose his balance when he jumped.

“Hold tight,” he told him as he asked Nin to go forward. Elias felt a slight shiver in his tummy when he felt the man put his arms around his waist, securing himself in place. Let’s just say it had been a while since she had been touched by someone other than Mjoll or the girls -or a freshly killed body. They rode in silence, but very fast, and they arrived at their destination only a couple minutes later. They quickly found a carriage rider who was willing to take them to Markarth, paid him, and then sat in the back of the ride. The weather was rather warm, and not too windy: perfect for riding. Nin was following slowly behind them, stopping here and there to munch on some flowers, then trotting to catch them back up. The usual when Elias used carriages.

“Now,” Cicero said once they were settled, “where were we last night before you left?”

“I was telling you about the fact that I’m all new to the Brotherhood, and I know nothing.”

“Oh, right! Cicero remembers, now. I was telling you about my duties as Keeper. So, tell me, now. What can Cicero teach you about our precious little family?”

“Well, first of all, I have to admit I’m not too sure about the origins of it all. I was raised being told of the Dark Brotherhood as nothing but a legend to get naughty children to behave. I didn't even know it was a real thing until they contacted me…”

Cicero had his mouth open, and was staring at Elias.

“Ha! Surely you're pulling Cicero's leg!” the Imperial exclaimed before laughing.

“I swear on my life. I was raised in an orphanage with very little access to the outside world… the real world. Most things in life, I learned them as I go and explore.”

“Fascinating,” Cicero said in awe. “You must at least know of Sithis, then?

“Barely. I know about the tale of the beginning of creation, I know Sithis is a kind of soul born out of Padomay… but that’s about all I can tell you.”

“Well, there is that, at least. Sithis is...A bit like the cold of space, or terror of midnight. Sithis is all those things. He is... the Void."

“What do you mean by the Void?”

“Well, the Void is… Nothing. Simple, utter nothingness. The Void is a space that always existed, before the creation of Mundus. Filled with everything, but nothing at the same time.”

“I see. And what of the Night Mother? Astrid said she birthed the children of Sithis and killed them to earn his favour… something like that. Tell me about it.”

“Astrid was right about this part, at least. Indeed, the Night Mother is our Unholy Matron. The undying spirit of a great woman who birthed the children of Sithis. And killed them. In his honor."

“And her corpse has been preserved for all this time?”

“Yes! Thanks to the Keepers who have taken care of her, for years and years, without fail. Right now, Cicero is Mother’s Keeper, like I told you yesterday. Oh, Cicero takes care of our Lady's body. Oils it, preserves it, keeps it safe. Makes sure nobody disrespects our Matron's coffin. But I am not the Listener. Oh no. There is no Listener. Not yet! But some day, some day, some day I pray that one will come to hear her say... The words." The jester was chuckling.

“Wait, a Listener? What’s that?”

“Oh, I see Astrid did not tell you about this part… Not surprising... Well, the Listener is the only person the Night Mother speaks to. It is the highest honor attainable by a member of the Dark Brotherhood. Of course our Lady is dead, so she doesn't talk with words, since her lips are... rotted. But inside the Listener's head. I hear it's... intimate. Ah, but there has not been a Listener in years. Our Lady has not chosen Cicero, and certainly not Astrid. Or... anyone. But some day..."

Whomp, there it was. That little bitterness when mentioning Astrid.

“Does that mean the Listener was traditionally... the leader of the Brotherhood?”

“Cicero isn’t sure ‘leader’ is the most appropriate word to describe the Listener’s role within the Brotherhood... But, yes, in a certain way.”

Elias smiled. He was getting there. Slowly but surely.

“Is this why I can usually detect a slight... dislike for Astrid whenever you talk about her?” Elias tried to keep his tone light, amused even, to make sure he had Cicero’s trust.

The Imperial sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Is it that obvious?” he said before chuckling. “Cicero simply... doesn’t understand. Rejecting the old ways, all the traditions as if they were nothing... Unacceptable! Shameful! The Brotherhood would have never existed without them. She calls the Brotherhood her family, but completely fails to recognize its origins, what kept it alive in the first place... She would be nothing without it. Nothing but a common bandit, roaming the lands like a bunch of feral skeevers hungry for blood...” 

The jester was now on the edge of his seat, and his cheeks were starting to flush, revealing how passionate he was about his words.

There we go. It’s out. He said it. Elias pressed his lips together, trying to keep his smile from widening too much.

“Funny you should say that,” he started, “because this is also the first thing that came to my mind when I was first introduced to the Brotherhood. See, I’m not one to worship anything or anyone heavily, but I still have a basic sense of respect for the divines. And it seems to me as though the Dark Brotherhood’s creation in itself was of divine nature, with the Night Mother and Sithis… It just seems absurd to me that she would reject the importance of these deities. That’s just... disrespectful.”

“I could not agree more!” The man spoke in an excited, jubilant voice. “By Sithis, I knew I wasn’t crazy…”

Ha! Well, that remained to be seen. 

“But tell me now,” he continued, “how did you end up a member of the Brotherhood? Cicero wants to know!”

With a wide smile, he leaned forward slightly and tapped his hands on his knees, eager to hear Elias’ tale.

“It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time.” 

Cicero was staring at him, still smiling from ear to ear. Elias glared back. He noticed the man’s hair slightly lifting up and flowing with the wind, behind his ear. Elias never noticed he even had hair before. He seemed to only see his hat whenever he looked at his head. But Cicero did, in fact, own some: some very bright red, almost crimson shoulder-length hair, straight as a needle. He was keeping it tucked behind his ears, which could explain why Elias had never really seen it before. The very low light of the Sanctuary probably did not help either. However, outside, in the sunlight, it was very visible and, dare he say, quite beautiful to look at. In the wind, it looked like a flickering flame.

The Breton forced himself to focus back on the question, and looked down at his feet instead, not wanting to creep out his potential ally with his staring.

Elias told him the whole story: from his visit at the Aretino residence, to the “We know” letter, to the abandoned shack. He omitted telling him about his whole idea of destroying the Brotherhood from the inside, of course. They were not exactly there yet in their relationship.

Cicero proved himself to be a very good and active listener, smiling and nodding at him, asking him clarifications and giving bright reactions to the actions he described. It made the conversation pleasant, and the flow more natural, as if he was talking to a friend. Elias was not that easily fooled, however: he knew the man was an assassin behind his sweet, clownish attire, which to him would mean an inherent lack of empathy, a lack of feelings for others. Of course, these kind of empathy-less people tend to fake their emotions around others to gain their trust, and to be perceived as relatively normal people. They are not fools either. Nevertheless, Cicero’s emotions seemed truly genuine. It could have meant two things: either he was a pro manipulator, or a bad assassin. However, to have been chosen as Keeper, he could not have been that bad. Hmm… This man was a mystery on two legs, no less. A walking, headache-inducing cognitive dissonance. 

“I’ve only been given three little contracts, yet,” the Breton continued. “The first one was rather easy, since I was already planning on killing the poor man anyway. He was a beggar gone mad, and it was just unsafe for him to remain in this world.”

“A good soul for Sithis! The Dread Father would be proud. And what of the others?”

“The third one was challenging…”

He interrupted himself. Maybe right now was too soon to confess how unfit he felt as an assassin. The man could very well take his morals and emotions as weaknesses. Hee had to change his route:

“... because she was never alone. I ended up choosing to slip a delayed-effect poison in her drink. This one has next to no taste, which is perfect for this kind of kill.”

“Oh! Poisons are fun! What effect did it have? Choking? Burning? How I would have loved to see her face as she realized what happened!” He giggled. 

Awesome, Elias thought, a sadist. Another fun little assassin quirk he could not relate with. He enjoyed a bit of suffering if he felt as though the person deserved it, but never more than a couple seconds, a minute at most. More than that and it’s just second-hand pain.

“It’s a painless poison,” he answered. “I assume it killed her peacefully during her sleep, later that night. I was not there to watch.”

“How unfortunate! This is the best part of the job!”

“I personally prefer the whole planning that precedes the act.”

Because all the other parts are terrible.

“I see,” Cicero replied. “Elias likes playing detective! Using his wits and canniness! Cicero has a lot of respect for your type of assassin, oh yes! Sure to please our Mother too.”

Hee forced a smile. If that was how Cicero saw it, he was fine with it.

“Your turn, now,” the brown-haired man demanded. “Tell me how you got in.”

The jester grabbed his chin and knitted his brows, his eyes to the side. After a pensive sigh, he finally answered:

“Cicero doesn’t have many memories of the times before the…” He interrupted himself. “The times of my debut in the Brotherhood.” He looked back at Elias and smiled. Not one of those wide, creepy smiles he saw from him before, but a small, almost shy smile. His hands seemed agitated. “I was still a child. Not even eighteen yet. Cicero had always been drawn to these sorts of things, it was quite a logical sequence of events, really. Feels like I’ve been there all my life.”

His tone seemed to have lost its usual enthusiasm, and instead gave place to a softer, more melancholic one.

Elias realized he just hit a sensitive spot, without intending to. He took note. It needed not to be forgotten for future reference.

“How old are you now?” he asked him, suddenly realizing he never really thought about it before.

“37,” he answered quickly, avoiding his gaze. 

His answer made sense. Honestly, Elias did not know what he expected. The man could have been 16 or 70, he would not have been surprised. 

“And how old is Elias?” the Imperial enquired, looking back at him.

“24.”

“Ah, the young days. Do use them well.”

They spent the rest of the ride snacking on some of their provisions, and gossiping about the other members. Small-talking. The redhead just seemed happy to have changed the subject, as he had regained his jester-esque passion. He was still pleasant to talk to, but a bit too talkative for Elias’ taste: if he was not speaking, he was singing, or whistling. It would probably drive him insane in the long-term, but it was fine for now.

Some additional passengers entered the carriage once they were a bit more than halfway there, which caused Cicero to move next to Elias on the bench, leaving the one he was using for the young Nord couple.

Soon after that, Elias started noticing Cicero’s eyes getting smaller, his lids closing on their own, and him jolting awake each time, fighting to stay conscious.

“Take a nap,” he said to him. He could not help but to smile at how familiar this sentence sounded: carriage rides used to have that same soporific effect on Mjoll.

The Imperial man rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“I think I will have no choice but to do it,” he answered while he turned his back towards Elias’ side and brought his legs up on the bench. “May I use Elias’ lap to rest my head?”

“Sure.”

Oh, such a familiar feeling, once again. Instead this time was an oddly caped red head which rested on his thighs, as opposed to the usual chestnut curls of the lioness. 

It surprised him how comfortable Cicero seemed with physical contact, especially with another man. Elias was used to the men of Skyrim being overly masculine, almost in a performative way, which he found unbearable. Usually, they mistook Mjoll for his wife, which was probably why he never had anyone using slurs on him, even though he didn’t bother making efforts for looking “straighter” than he was. It was a whole other story at the orphanage he grew up in, though.

Whatever. It’s not as if he gave a fuck about it, anyway. 

He looked down at Cicero and was surprised to see how peaceful he looked, his hand resting on his chest, slowly lifting up and down to the rhythm of his breathing. Elias wished he could be as calm, but his heart told another story. He kept thinking of the client they were supposed to meet. “Please”, he prayed internally, “may she give me a worthy murder.” 

The sun was almost fully gone when they arrived at the Markarth stables, but they were still early enough for the shops to be opened still. He woke Cicero up with a jerk of his leg. They thanked the carriage rider and headed to the large doors of the old city of stone. Although Elias had visited numerous Dwemer ruins in the past, he was always amazed at the Deep elves’ architecture. To think all these tall, imposing structures with such small intricate details were nothing but stone before… it was still blowing his mind, after all this time. In the entrance of the city was a modest marketplace with an entrance to the inn to the left, a general store to the right and two stalls in the middle of the stone floor. Behind -and on top of- the market area seemed to be an infinite maze: stairs, stairs, so many stony stairs, bridges, and inclines! They asked a woman at a jewelry stall for some direction to The Hag’s cure, which she happily gave. After following the path next to the river and going up a couple stairs, they finally found the shop. 

"No, no, girl,” they heard a gravelly voice say as they entered. “It's the picked spider tongue and then the decayed taproot. Do it the other way, and your cure turns into a poison."

"There's just so much to memorize,” a soft, sweet-sounding voice answered. How am I supposed to remember what goes where for every single herb?"

"You will. Until then, you'll taste every potion you make before you sell it."

A quite old white-haired woman turned around and faced them. Her face was darkened by heavy black makeup. She lit up when she noticed Cicero and Elianne at the door.

“Customers!” she said as she approached them. “Welcome to The Hag’s Cure. A little bit of old Reach magic can cure whatever ills you…”

“Oh, we don’t doubt it!” Cicero answered, theatrical as usual. “We are not here for a cure, however, but rather for… someone.”

“Muiri.” Elias added, “We’re looking for Muiri.”

“Oh. Yes. The girl is in the back, at the alchemy table.”

They headed towards her and waited, both not knowing who should talk first. They were far enough from the older woman to talk without being heard by her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she said as she looked up from what she was working on. She was a small, thin woman with short brown hair, and piercing grey eyes. A pretty little thing.

Elias looked at Cicero, like a child looking at their mother to let her know they want her to talk in their place.

“The Dark Brotherhood has come, Muiri,” the Imperial said with a softer, lower voice.

“The Dark Brotherh... Oh. Oh! I... my goodness, you're really here! The Black Sacrament. It actually worked?"

“Obviously,” Elias answered with a sarcasm only he understood. “Now tell us what you need.”

"What I need? What I need is for Alain Dufont to die! I want him hunted down and murdered like the dog he is!"

Cicero jumped up and down and clapped his hands -as silently as can be done. Elias felt his heart increasing in speed. Like the dog he is . That was a good start.

“I love this job, I love it!” Cicero replied cheerfully. “Do tell us more, dear.”

“I didn't know it when we were... with each other... but Alain is actually the leader of a band of cutthroats. Bandits. They're holed up in some old dwarven ruin - Raldbthar. It's near Windhelm. They use it as their base. It's where they stage their raids. I want you to go to that ruin, find Alain Dufont, and kill him. I don't care about his friends. Do whatever you want with them. But Alain has to die!"

Elias silently sighed in relief. A stupid bandit. Most of these assholes were hostile at the sight anyway. This was so much better than what he expected. This kill was going to be fun. He answered Muiri, trying not to sound too excited:

“Why exactly do you want him dead?”

“Well… I went to Windhelm to see the Shatter-Shields. They were old and dear friends, and... in mourning. Friga was killed recently. Murdered... I met Alain in the tavern while I was... drinking my sadness away. He was handsome, and charming. He said I was the "beautiful lily" of his dreams. Alain made all the pain just... go away. But it was all lies! Alain used me. He ruined my name, destroyed my friendship with the Shatter-Shields... Do you know why Alain was in Windhelm? He heard about Friga's murder. He wanted to befriend the family, in their grief... and rob them blind. Alain used me to get close to my friends. And now they all think I'm some kind of... monster. Alain Dufont took my life. And now I'm taking his."

Elias nodded, satisfied. 

“It will be done.” 

"Excellent. Once Alain is dead, I'll pay you. In gold. I've saved up a bit. I hope that'll do. But, well... There is one more thing. If you're interested?"

Oh, gods. What now?

"If you can... I want you to kill someone else, as well. You don't have to - not as part of our deal. But if you do... I'll pay you even more. It's Nilsine Shatter-Shield, in Windhelm. If Nilsine dies, too... I'll make it worth your while."

By Mara. She had to ruin it. Elias knew of Nilsine. The poor girl just lost her sister Friga to the butcher… Isn’t the death of one daughter enough for the parents? 

“Why?” he simply asked.

"Don't you see? I was like a daughter to Tova. A sister to Nilsine and Friga. But the family refuses to believe my innocence. No matter what I say. Couldn't they understand that I was used? That I was grieving for Friga, too? No... they treated me like garbage, threw me away. With Nilsine dead, maybe then Tova will realize what she's lost, hmm? Maybe then she'll see that I was just as much a daughter as the others. And if not, may she drown in her own tears."

Cicero was chuckling, his mouth wide with a deep smile. Elias stood there in shock, trying hard to not let his mouth drop to the ground. This was the worst, pettiest, most bullshit-filled reason to kill he had ever heard. 

Do people in Skyrim not have any concept of death? Of how absolutely irreversible it is? Of how painful it is for the loved ones? Elias was the one with more than a thousand deaths in his record, and yet he seemed to be the only one shocked at this situation. What is wrong with people?

“Is there anything else, dear?” Cicero asked.

"I planned to kill Alain myself, you know. Nilsine, too. But lost my nerve. I even brewed a special poison, Lotus Extract. Maybe you could use it? Just coat your weapon with it. Then... you get the idea."

She handed them a small brown bottle which Elias took and put in his potion satchel.

"Make them all pay for what they've done to me..."

After some polite goodbyes, they headed towards the exit. Once outside, Elias looked up to the sky, letting the wind and the cold night air hit his face. He sighed. He wanted to shout, not even a dragon shout, but just a pure, raw scream. A very human one. The plan was so perfect… Why did she have to add Nilsine to the equation? Why did this poor girl need to die?

Elias looked down at his hands: they were shaking. He slowly directed them towards his pockets. They were wet, he could feel them gliding across the stalhrim surface. He lifted her head up and felt the world spinning for a moment.

No. Oh, no. No. Not now. Not now. Not now. Not. Now. Please. 

“Elias?” he heard Cicero say. “Are you alright?”

Chapter Text

Elias looked around him frantically, trying to find an exit, an escape, somewhere to hide, but he could not find anything. He settled for the stony stairs in front of the shop; He sat down on them and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. Elias thanked Mara there wasn't anyone in the area to witness him being so vulnerable, but there was still Cicero. He felt his presence next to him, sitting down too. He was trying to visualize his respiratory system to regain his breath, but the fool was distracting him. Elias could feel his face getting hotter by the second, and some beads of sweat rolling down his neck. He wanted to cry, out of both anger and embarrassment.

"Elias is hyperventilating" Cicero said in a surprisingly calm and soothing voice. His pitch was lower than usual.

"Yes," he managed to say between two harsh breaths, "I… I need… focus."

"Breathe with me," Cicero said, still looking very relaxed. 

Elias opened his eyes, slightly confused, and looked at him. Maybe that would help. It always worked with Mjoll.

"One," the redhead said as he inhaled slowly, "and two." He exhaled.

Elias tried to follow his pace. He felt his heart beating like he had just ran a whole mile, and his limbs trembling, but he tried to focus his attention on Cicero's lips counting to the rhythm of his breathing.

One, and two. One, and two. One, and two. 

He focused on the task, and started feeling his heartbeat slowing down, eventually. It was still fast, way too fast, but better.

"You've got it," the Imperial said, "keep going."

And he did. When the world stopped feeling as though it was spinning around him from the lack of carbon dioxide, he spoke:

"I think I'm good."

Elias was surprised by how not-awkward the situation had been. Whenever he panicked in front of someone other than Mjoll, everyone seemed to just do everything they should not be doing: touching him, telling him to "calm down", or starting to panic themselves, as if one was not enough already. Cicero did none of that. If there was one person he would have expected to react wrong, it would have been him, since he was always so theatrical and exuberant. But no, he remained calm the whole time, gave Elias space and even offered to help. Useful help. (No, Lydia, tapping on my back like I'm a 3000-pound baby trying to burp after a milk is, in fact, NOT helpful). 

"Is there anything else Cicero can do to help?"

"A hug", he wanted to say out of habit but retained himself. It was usually part of the routine with Mjoll: when he finally felt in control again after an attack, he liked to receive affection. It was a way of grounding himself, being able to feel something he knew was real, being able to feel familiar textures, smell familiar scents. However, Cicero was not exactly what he'd call familiar. Not yet, at least. It would have probably just startled him up all over again.

"No, but thank you," he simply said instead. He looked down. "I… feel a bit embarrassed."

"Oh, please don't!" Cicero answered, waving his hand away. "Those things were a daily occurrence for me, not that long ago. Cicero knows how it feels."

There he was again, showing some kind of empathy. Weren't assassins not supposed to feel that? Or, then again, maybe he was just very talented at faking it. Elias wanted to know more.

"You… know how it feels?" he asked, to confirm his doubts.

"Well, spending several years alone in a Sanctuary with the Night Mother's corpse… It does... things to a brain. A lot of things." 

"Wait...Several years?"

"Yes, well, Cicero was alone with Mother for a long time…"

"But, why?"

"It's… complicated. The war with the Thalmor spoiled a lot of things for everyone, I guess… But the Dark Brotherhood took a pretty big blow, in Bravil. One day, years later, Mother's crypt was simply… desecrated. The whole Province was, and still is, ravaged by strife. Nowhere there is safe, at present. So Cicero brought our Lady to her new home. Here, in Skyrim! This is the only Sanctuary left, you see. Such was my... honor. As Keeper."

Elias furrowed his brows and pursed his lips, confused. He knew the Thalmor war was the reason behind this sudden corpse relocation. He was not aware, however, that the fool waited years, waited until it was almost too late to move. Why? Why did he spend so much time hiding alone with the Night Mother if he could have moved sooner? What was the point?

"But why did you have to wait until the crypt was destroyed? Why didn't you move to the Falkreath Sanctuary sooner?"

The redhead was looking down, and his mouth twitched. He waited a moment before responding:

"It's… As Cicero said before, it's complicated. I do not wish to speak about this, if you don't mind."

Elias smiled internally. That was the sensitive spot he hit briefly, earlier. Spending years in isolation with a long dead woman as only company…  Just the thought of it made him shudder in fear. Not having anyone to hold on to, not having anyone to speak to, no one to distract you from your thoughts… No wonder Cicero was mad.

"All that to say," he continued, "I recognize what you just went through, a couple minutes ago."

"Oh, right. Yes, I imagine this whole situation does… things... to your brain.”

Battling a legendary dragon in Sovngarde and reading Black Books did their fair share of "things" also. 

"Some experiences leave scars on the skin," Cicero said as he pointed his finger on the mark Elias had on his left lower jaw. This one was made by a draugr. Or was it a skeleton? He could not remember, since he had so many of them. It's one of those things you just stop counting when they occur too often.

He looked down at Cicero's finger near his skin. "But most of the scars are invisible," the fool continued. "Because they're inside of here." He pointed at his head.

"Exactly," Elias answered enthusiastically. "The scars heal but they don't fade away. Just like when the smith makes a sword: the harsh heat of the fire shapes the iron into something completely different. It’s still iron, but it’s in another form now. It is reborn through the fire. Just like us humans are, in a way, reborn from the pain."

"Yes, that's a good analogy! Some experiences just leave you…"

He paused, searching for the right word. Elias chimed in to complete his sentence, but Cicero found what he was looking for at the same moment, making them say it in unison:

"Changed."

Elias smiled at their synced response.

"Changed, yes," Cicero replied, smiling back.

Well, at least now he knew they both had something in common. Both of their minds were broken. Broken and clumsily stitched back up, just enough to be somewhat functional.

Cicero started to appear somewhat less crazy, in Elias’ mind. He was still a complete freak, but at least now there seemed to be reasons behind it. 

"If I may ask," Cicero said, "what was it that triggered Elias so badly? Did the woman say something she shouldn't have?"

Just the fact that she asked to kill Nilsine Shatter-Shield too.

"No," Elias lied."It's…"

He bit the insides of his cheeks, focusing hard to find something, anything that could have made a good excuse. There was no way he would let Cicero witness him having emotions towards a person. Not even just a person, but a potential victim. 

He remembered what Astrid had told him in the abandoned shack: “You understand that the only thing that matters is you following my orders. To kill.”

He could not allow them to see he was hesitating to kill a person. The Dark Brotherhood members killed when ordered to, no questions asked. Like dwarven spheres: they did not care who you were, or what you did. They see you, they kill you. Simple as that.

Maybe Cicero could understand. Maybe the man respected Elias’ honour code when it came to killing. But maybe not. And in this case, he did not want to risk it.

"Yes?" Cicero asked as he raised his eyebrows, waiting for Elias to answer.

Quick, quick, quick, Elias, think! He looked down, then noticed his potion satchel at his waist.

"The lotus extract," he finally said. “It reminded me of… something. I would rather not talk about it.”

He had no idea if it was credible, but it was the best lie he could manage on the spot.

“No, of course not,” Cicero answered, “but Cicero wanted to know what triggered it, so we can try to avoid it in the future.”

Elias thought it was probably just to avoid any inconvenience in the future, but he liked to pretend it was because he cared. 

“So, what now?” the Breton asked, changing the subject.

“Well, Elias will go carry out his contract and Cicero will go back home. I might as well buy new oils for Mother since I’m out.”

“Wait, you aren’t coming with me to Raldbthar for the contract?”

“Oh, I don’t think it would be appropriate. The Keeper is not supposed to take contracts. It is part of the rules. A small sacrifice to make to be honoured as the Keeper.”

"But this is MY contract," Elias protested, "not yours. If you just come along with me, you're not carrying it out for me. So it doesn't count. Right?"

"Hmm… No, I suppose not. Yes, you’re right, Cicero can accompany Elias for his contract! I can just sit back and watch while you kill. Oh, yes!" He stood up. "That will be fun!"

Yeah. Nothing like watching your associate commit a good murder. That's what fun was all about.

"Where do we start?" Cicero asked energetically.

Elias took out his map.

"She said it was near Windhelm."

He finally found it on the map and pointed at it with his finger. It was not circled, which means he had not visited it yet. He always circled the areas he visited on his map, simply to keep track of where he had been, and to not waste time exploring the same areas more than once.

"It's quite far away," the Imperial said.

"Yes. More than a day of travel."

He could stop midway at Heljarchen hall for the night, and see his girls. Also, hopefully, ask if a letter from Mjoll had arrived while he was gone. However, he did not feel comfortable bringing Cicero home with him. Everyone would question where in Oblivion did he come from, and why he is dressed as a jester. Even Elias was still clueless about that. More importantly, they would wonder why he was hanging out with him in the first place. He found it odd to introduce him to them as the guy he was trying to befriend to have an ally to help him destroy the Dark Brotherhood from the inside. Speaking of which, he was starting to doubt his plan even more. Yes, Cicero shared his dislike for Astrid, but not for the Brotherhood in itself. It was the opposite, actually: poor fella was quite the fanatic, and it was probably his only home. He definitely had to rethink his plan.

"We should stop for the night when we're about halfway there," Cicero said. He pointed to the middle of the map. "Maybe around here?"

"In Whiterun," Elias said as he studied the area where the redhead’s finger laid. "Yes, good idea."

Heljarchen hall was not too far from Whiterun. Two hours at most, probably less if Nin was fast. He could ask Cicero if he was fine with splitting ways for the night when they would get there.

"Should we stay here for the night and get moving tomorrow morning?" Cicero asked.

Elias looked up at the sky. It was getting dark out, and he was starting to feel tired anyway. "That sounds good," he replied. "I will go get us rooms at the inn. It shouldn't be that far away from where we entered the city. You can go get Mother's oils now, before the shops close."

"Brilliant! Cicero will go, right now! I will meet you back at the inn."

After getting lost and losing track of direction more times than he would have liked to admit, Elias finally found his way back to the tiny marketplace in front of the city gates. He easily found the Silver-Blood inn. He went in and paid for two single rooms. Then, he decided to order some ale and sip it gently in the big leather chair, next to the fire. Cicero walked in a couple minutes later with a bag full of oils and ointments he had never seen before. He gave him the key to his room so he could go put down his bags, and then come back to the hearth with him. He ordered some mead and then sat in the chair next to him.

"Oof," Cicero sighed, "what a day!"

Elias almost laughed. No bandits, no wild beasts, only one little panic attack that had been quickly tamed… that was quite a relaxing day for him, compared to the usual.

"Not the worst," he simply answered. "Tomorrow might be more eventful. If we travel by ourselves, we have a much higher risk of meeting hostile bandits, or wild wolves, maybe even giants. So, probably a lot more killing."

"Oh! Yes, yes, yes! Cicero will finally kill again! It's been so long…"

"That long? I thought you would be allowed to kill by being Keeper, just not for contracts."

"Oh, but I am! I am allowed! Last time Cicero killed was on his way to the Falkreath Sanctuary… Ha! Those mudcrabs didn't stand a chance!"

"So… yesterday?"

"Yes, brother."

"And you think it's been so long?

"Well..." he giggled. "Yes. According to Cicero's preference, at least."

"Wow."

"Oh, but creatures aren't as fun as men and mer. You can't talk to them, can't savour all the little… emotions."

This was precisely why Elias preferred killing beasts over people, but to each their own, he thought. 

"Well, if we run into a group of hostile people, they're all yours, dear Cicero."

"Oh, you are too kind, Elias!"

This was not exactly the kind of situation in which he was used to being called "kind", but he took the compliment nonetheless.

"Cicero should probably sharpen his blade, though…"

The man gripped his dagger and was about to unsheath it, when Elias reached for his arm to stop him.

"Not here, Jester. This is an inn. People might want to kick us out if we just randomly whip out our blades."

The fool laughed. "Silly Cicero!" he said as he shook his head and clicked his tongue against his palate, "I got too excited!"

Elias pulled back his arm towards him and winced in pain, the sharp movement having made his dragon fire burn rub against the inside of his armor. He had almost forgotten about it, but the sting was a very clear reminder, now.

Cicero raised an eyebrow and looked at Elias’ arm.

"Are you hurt, dear brother?"

"Oh, it's nothing, just a bad burn that takes a lot of time to heal. The way I moved my arm just made it scratch against my clothes, I guess."

Cicero quickly got up and grabbed Elias’ arm (the non-injured one), yanking him up from the chair.

"Come with me so I can have a look at it," he said as he walked towards his rented room, dragging Elias behind him.

He followed, a bit confused, but too lazy to resist.

When they arrived in his room, he closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Come," Cicero said, patting the spot next to him on the bed.

Elias did what he told him. He started detangling the cords that kept the top of his armor in place. He quickly got frustrated, as he always did when he was taking off his armor alone.

"Help me out, would you?" he asked Cicero, pointing with his head to the mess of knots and strings on his elbow.

With unsure hands, Cicero managed to untangle the knots of the first elbow. Elias turned his upper body towards him, giving him better access to the knot on his other side. He was surprised to see Cicero's face up this close, not having realized earlier that the position they were in forced them to be very close to each other in order for the man to work the strings on his shoulder. He took advantage of his gaze being fixed on the knot to subtly stare at him at the same time. His face was really interesting to look at. Elias had noticed it already a long time ago, but it was even more flagrant with his face so close to his like that. He finally was able to point out what he had always found weird about the jester’s face: his laugh lines. They were so deep, so defined, a feature he usually disliked, but it just suited him so well, for some reason. They drew attention to his lips, which were so pink and pouty. It reminded him a bit of a duck's beak. Again, not something he usually liked on people, but Cicero just seemed to pull the look off so well, so effortlessly. Had he ever been with a man with lips like that? He wasn’t sure.

"Done!" Cicero exclaimed as he let go of the strings on Elias' armor.

That phrase seemed to have brought him back to reality. Was he just daydreaming about Cicero’s lips? He almost wanted to slap himself. Really? His mind went there? The poor fool was dressed -and acted- as a jester. A fucking clown. Why was he even thinking of him in this way?

“Thanks,” he said as he took off the top piece of his stalhrim armor, trying very hard to repress the thought he just had. It hurt his burn badly, but he embraced the pain, as if it was his punishment. His upper body was now bare, and he quickly started to feel his skin getting goosebumps from the cold air. He unwrapped the bandage he had put on it this morning while biting his tongue, forcing himself not to whimper from the pain as the fabric was ripping bits of skin away. The injury was now fully exposed, blisters and all.

“By Sithis, Elias!” Cicero said, gawking at the burn. “How did you do that?”

He shrugged. “Dragon.”

The redhead looked up at him. “P-pardon me?”

“I know, I wasn’t careful enough. I should’ve tried-”

“Elias battled a dragon?” he asked, cutting him off. “And survived?”

He closed his eyes and tried to visualize a positive image. Heljarchen hall. Nightshades. Bubble baths. Sweet rolls. Mjoll’s hair. Lucia’s stupid pet rabbit. 

He did NOT want to think about Alduin. Not today. He had already managed to stop a panic attack from blooming earlier, and he was not ready to do it all over again.

“Several, actually,” he replied to Cicero. “But it’s not…  It’s not that impressive for me. I mean, it’s easier for me because I have a special kind of… affinity with them.”

“An affinity with dragons?” Cicero asked, his eyebrows furrowed. “Did Elias raise them or something?” He laughed at his own joke.

Elias chuckled a bit too. He tried to imagine what a dragon farm would look like, but he was not able to picture it. It would probably need to be the size of Skyrim in its entirety. 

“No, I did not raise dragons. That would be pretty inappropriate since they’re my kin, in a way. We share the same kind of blood, and the same kind of soul.”

“Oh!” Cicero exclaimed as he clapped his hands. “I have heard of your kind! When I read about Skyrim, and the Nords’ history, they mentioned someone like that that they idolized, who they strived to be. A mortal who shares the blood and soul of dragons, sent on Nirn by the divines, with a blessing of Akatosh. What were they called already? Cicero cannot remember the name…”

He smiled slightly, surprised but relieved the Imperial knew about it, even if just a tiny bit. “It’s called Dragonborn. Or Dovahkiin, in the dragon tongue.”

“That’s it! Dragonborn. Dragonborn! Elias is a Dragonborn! How wonderful! How absolutely incredible!” He was standing up, now, almost jumping in place. “Does it mean you can shout? Oh, please, show me! Show Cicero how you do it!”

“Calm down there, Keeper boy. I’m not a circus freak. And I'm not going to shout inside an inn. Or inside any building, for that matter. It’s too powerful.”

“Right, of course. Cicero is sorry, dear brother. Did not want to offend you. Poor Cicero just got very excited. Dragons are quite… fascinating. Beautiful in their own horrific way.”

Elias nodded, pleasantly surprised by his description. He has always had that opinion, deep down, but always kept it secret. He was so used to people calling dragons “horrible” or “a curse”... He did not disagree, but he always saw something more in them. His dragon blood might have been the reason. Anyhow, he was glad someone else finally saw something positive in those beasts.

“Now, let us take a closer look at this burn, shall we?” Cicero said, approaching him. He grabbed his arm very gently, the cold feeling of his leather gloves against Elias' skin almost making him shiver. Cicero rotated the arm towards his face, very slowly, to get a better look at it.

“Looks like a bad, bad second degree burn,” he declared after a moment. “You’re lucky Cicero just went out for some oils and ointments! I might have just what you need…” He went to his bag of supplies and took out a little pot. “This salve will do the trick.” 

He opened the pot to reveal a brown-ish, sort of caramel coloured cream. It smelled strong, but it was not an aggressive odour: it was herbal, maybe even a bit flowery. Cicero took off a glove and used his now naked fingers to dip in the salve. Elias pushed his arm forward, signifying to him he was ready. The Imperial grabbed it with his gloved hand, and slowly, so very slowly, spread the salve onto the burn with his fingers. Elias flinched at the touch, this spot of skin being still so sensitive. It did not hurt as bad as he thought it would. Cicero was so gentle, he could barely feel any pressure. He looked at him as he slowly massaged the area. The jester’s mouth was half-open, his eyes fixated on his work. A few seconds later, he looked up to meet his gaze, and Elias immediately looked away, feeling shy all of a sudden. He had no idea why. His burn, however, was already starting to feel better. It felt cold on his skin, which was soothing.

“There you go,” Cicero said as he fumbled in his things again. He finally took some bandages out. “This salve works wonders on damaged skin. Cicero uses it on Mother sometimes, when some spots get too bad.”

Elias felt weird knowing he was using the same skin care product as a corpse, but it worked well, at least.

Cicero got near him again, slowly wrapping the bandage against the burn. He wrapped it gently, but still tight enough for it to stay still. He honestly could not have done it better. 

“Done!” he said as he finished tying off the ends. He walked back to his bags to put the salve away and wipe his hand with a rag before putting his glove back on. “It should help with the healing process, and reduce the pain.”

“Thank you, Cicero” Elias said as he admired his new bandage, sincerely grateful for his help.

The Imperial waved his hand away. “Of course! It’s just normal for Cicero to help his fellow Brotherhood members.”

The Breton smiled. He felt like yawning, fatigue starting to get to him. He knew it was time to leave for his room and say good night, but he did not feel like quitting Cicero. Again, he was not too sure why. It was true he was not a fan of solitude, but why he wanted to be around Cicero in particular, he had no idea. He took a deep breath and forced himself to do what was wiser.

“I’m going to sleep now,” he said as he picked up his armor top from the ground. He put it on without tying it.

“Yes, yes, of course!” the redhead answered. “Let me help you put this back on.”

He let Cicero lace the strings again, and then turned to him when he was done.

“Maybe I can shout for you tomorrow, on the road. If it’s necessary. Maybe.”

The imperial smiled so widely, Elias thought his lips were going to rip apart.

“Cicero cannot wait, then!”

The jester winked, and Elias’ heart skipped a beat. 

After wishing him good night, he left the room and silently scolded himself. Gods damn it, has it been that long since the last time he’d been touched? A stupid clown was making his body react. Clearly something was wrong. Maybe he was due for some help. Human help.

Not only that, but he was starting to realize that he quite appreciated Cicero’s company. He had to be careful. Yes, he wanted him as an ally, but he had to be ready for anything: A betrayal, a revelation, a sudden out-of-nowhere urge to kill (you never know with assassins…). Investing too much emotions would make things harder. Make him weaker. He could not. He would not allow it. Well, he would try, at least.

Chapter Text

“Oh!” Cicero exclaimed before laughing like a maniac. “That was fantastic! Absolutely incredible! Oh, please, Elias, do it again, do it again!”

The Breton was staring at the wolf he had just froze in place with his thu’um. He had heard Cicero, but he remained focused on the beast, knowing the frost would not last forever, and he would have to finish the job with his sword.

“Wait,” he told him. He kept staring at the wolf, Cicero joining in on the task. A couple seconds later, he saw the animal starting to move again, signifying the effect of the shout was over. He leapt forward immediately, slashing his sword at the wolf’s neck, killing it instantly. “There we go.” 

“Good kill,” Cicero said as he watched Elias use the beast’s fur to remove the blood off his blade. “Can you shout in other ways? Oh, Cicero wants to see!”

“Wait a bit. Shouting requires energy. Kind of like magicka, but... just for shouts. I need to wait a bit before shouting again. And yes, I can do a whole bunch of stuff, other than freezing things.

“Like what? Can you slash their throat from a distance? Or make their brain explode?”

The redhead was giggling, getting excited. Elias wondered if he would ever get used to him finding joy in such gory, violent murder themes. Maybe one day, but not today.

“... Not exactly,” he replied. “I can weaken enemies, disarm them, burn them with my breath, make them flee, things like that. But there is usually no blood involved. I can also run real fast. Oh! And here’s my favourite thing. Watch.”

He backed down, placing himself a bit further behind the animal’s corpse. He closed his eyes and waited for his shouting energy to recharge.

“What now?” Cicero asked, behind him.

“Hold on,” he answered, still focused. “The energy’s almost all back, now. Be patient.”

“Alright, alright! Cicero will wait right there! You shout when you are ready!”

There, he could feel it coming back to him. He opened her eyes, made sure his gaze was fixed on the wolf once again, then started to shout.

“Fus...Roh-Dah!”

The corpse was projected several feet into the sky, flying away like it got stuck inside a windstorm. 

Elias smiled, proud of his achievement. Well, he did not really view it as an “achievement”, per se, since his dragon soul just made it natural for him. But he was still impressed by the power he had within him, even after all this time. 

He looked at Cicero. The Imperial was still staring at the wolf’s body, now bouncing on the grass due to the harsh landing, several meters away from them. His mouth was open and his eyes were wide. He looked back at Elias. The Breton maintained his gaze, waiting for him to say or do something, but he just kept staring, looking completely dumbfounded. Just as Elias was about to ask what he had thought of his thu’um, Cicero bursted out laughing. Not one his usual creepy, high-pitched laugh, the one that makes him sound like an asylum patient. No. This laugh sounded so genuine, so pure, so… sincere? It seemed it was also highly contagious, because Elias could not help but to laugh too. He watched the man writhing as he choked with sounds of joy, and he laughed harder, joining him. He was not too sure what they were laughing about, but he honestly did not care.

“By Sithis,” Cicero said as he regained his breath, wiping his eyes, “I don’t remember the last time I laughed like that!”

“But what is it that made you laugh so hard?” Elias asked, the corners of his mouth still tugging upwards, not completely recovered from the laugh attack.

“Cicero simply was not expecting that… the way the wolf just flew so violently…” He chuckled. “But please, do not misunderstand poor Cicero. It was very impressive! And I would love for you to do it again sometime! Not now, of course. Elias needs to rest his voice. Cicero will be patient.”

The Breton chuckled slightly in response. Seeing a dead wolf fly away so suddenly could be funny, in a way, indeed. Honestly, he was just glad to have seen the man show such glee. The smile had not left his face yet, and his eyes were still shining bright. Elias hated to admit it, but happiness suited the jester’s face so well. He did not want to take his eyes off of him, but he forced himself to. So what if he looked good? So did Mjoll. And Elias never got distracted by it. He was probably just emotionally exhausted, making him weaker and more vulnerable to distractions. He needed to toughen up. There were many more enemies ahead, and he was already injured on the arm. He needed to focus.

“Thank you, Cicero. We should get moving.”

They jumped back on their horses. They acquired one for Cicero at Markarth’s stable earlier this morning. A beautiful grey male with dark spots covering his sides; it was Elias who chose it. They had not found a name for him yet, but the Imperial did not seem to care about it anyway. 

They had been riding for more than an hour when they heard the wolf in the distance and decided to stop to take care of it. They still had a long way to go.

The trip had been rather calm, so far. They had not talked much other than commenting on their surroundings, and Cicero singing. Again. Elias was fine with it, but he truly wondered if the man ever went silent for more than two minutes in a row. Now that they were back on the road, it started all over again. 

“Do you ever shut your mouth?” he asked the jester, absent-mindedly.

Cicero stopped and turned his head towards him. Elias just realized that his words came out a lot more abrupt than he intended.

“Wait, no,” he said, “I didn’t mean that in a rude way, I just-”

“Oh, don’t worry, brother!” he answered, cutting him off. He giggled. “You are right, Cicero has a hard time staying quiet. I did not realize it could annoy Elias.”

“No, it’s fine,” he rushed to say as he was starting to feel bad, “I was just wondering.”

“Yes, of course. Well, Cicero simply… prefers not to hear the silence!”

“What’s wrong with silence?”

“Ah, nothing to be concerned about. Cicero is just…” He sighed. “Tired of hearing it.”

“Didn’t know it was possible to hear silence.”

“Well, when it’s been your only companion for years, you start to hear it, believe poor Cicero when he says that.”

Oh. Right. Elias just remembered about his time in isolation with the Night Mother. He knew it must have been terrible to spend years alone, with no company, but the silence or the noise were not things he had considered when imagining this. They weren’t even things he noticed or thought about, in general. However, bringing it up made him curious, and he thought of his home. It was definitely noisy. Pretty crowded also: two kids, a steward, a bard, and a pet rabbit. Probably the polar opposite atmosphere of Cicero’s life in the past years. A life he wouldn’t have wanted at all. His Sovngarde and Apocrypha trauma looked like a walk in the park compared to what the fool went through.

Elias waited a while before answering, as if talking about silence just summoned it.

“I guess, when you put it like that, I’ve been taking my noisy home for granted.”

“Hmmm…Well, Cicero doesn’t find the Falkreath Sanctuary that noisy…”

“The Sanctu-...oh! No, I wasn’t talking about the Sanctuary, I was talking about my other home. The one where my family lives.”

Cicero’s forehead wrinkled as he knitted his eyebrows. “But isn’t your family the Brotherhood?”

The Breton had to restrain his eyes from rolling. He knew the members of the Brotherhood considered themselves family, even going so far as to calling each other “brother” and “sister”. He would have probably found this very cute and endearing if it wasn’t coming from an association of murderers. To him, it just made it even more creepy.

Cicero being the most hardcore member of a guild he had ever seen, he was, of course, no exception to the rule. 

“Of course,” Elias lied, “The Brotherhood is my new family in a way.” He wanted to vomit just uttering these words out loud. “But, I still have my… initial family. Like, the one I had before entering the Brotherhood.”

“Ah… Ah! Right!” The redhead laughed. “Cicero has been in the Brotherhood for so long, he almost forgot about… that kind of family!”

Elias didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or laugh at that remark. However, it did make sense coming from someone like him. He assumed it would be pretty common for assassins to form their own semblance of a family among their peers.

“Tell Cicero about your other family. Are they… blood-related? Biological?”

Elias found it funny how he said that, almost as if it was uncommon. 

“No,” he answered. “I don’t have any blood-related family members that I’m aware of since I grew up in an orphanage.”

“Ah! Yes, I remember Elias told me that yesterday. So what is your family? A wife and kids? A husband and kids? Just a wife? Just a husband?”

He almost choked at the mention of a “husband” or “wife”.

“Uh, none of these options,” he answered. “I have two daughters, but no husband and no wife. They were two homeless orphan girls that I helped during my adventures and… grew attached to. So I decided to adopt them. Give them a home.”

“Oh, so Elias is a single father! How sweet! But… dear brother, how old are your children?”

“Lucia is 6 and Sofie just turned 11.”

“Oh, they're no babies! Cicero was 11 when he did his first kill. A stupid bandit who wouldn't leave poor Cicero alone! Ah… yes. A fun time."

The jester peered at his dagger to his side, almost with nostalgia in his eyes. Elias found it quite unsettling to know the man had been a killer since childhood, but he also understood that it was sometimes necessary to survive, depending on the circumstances. He found it safe to assume his childhood might not have been easy...

"Well,” Elias continued, “my girls have never killed, as far as I know, but I make sure Gregor teaches them how to defend themselves."

"And Gregor being whom?" Cicero asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The housecarl of the manor I bought for us. He protects them and the house, and trains them everyday. They also live with Oriella, a bard who teaches them music, art and anything she deems important. I trust her for that. Her and Gregor share the housework when I am not around."

"Oh! I see. So they are not left alone when Elias is away for adventuring! And, most importantly, killing!”

"...Well of course I don’t leave them alone. I may not be able to carry out my parent role perfectly since I’m always away, but at least I can give them a roof to sleep under, food, fresh clothes, a bath, an education and safety."

Cicero stayed silent for a moment, looking in the distance, then directed his gaze at Elias.

"I hope they are grateful, brother," he said.

"Yes," the Breton answered, "they always tell me how lucky they are to have me."

The redhead looked down for a moment.

"Cicero wishes someone would have done the same for him, when he was a child."

Elias tilted her head to the side and furrowed his brows, looking at Cicero. Was he about to reveal something to him? He did not expect him to share anything in that regard, especially since he shut down so abruptly the day before, when he asked him how he got into the Brotherhood. Was it this easy to make him open up? To talk about his family?

"Wait," Elias started, "were you also-"

"An orphan?" He cut him off before laughing loudly. "No, Cicero was no orphan. But he sometimes wished he was."

Okay, what the fuck?

“But you had parents, right?”

“Parents? Oh, I guess they could be called that. If they were even there.”

Just as Elias was about to ask for specification, Cicero started speaking again:

"Ah, but it doesn’t matter. The past is beyond Cicero, now. No more thinking of this."

And he closed himself up again, as easily as he had opened. Elias was even more confused than he was before. So, the fool had a life before the Brotherhood, a family of some sort, with parents. What could they have possibly done to him to make him become the mad man he was now? He was not even sure he wanted to know. The more he learned about him, the more logical it seemed that he was a fool.

They both kept quiet for a moment, as they trotted along on their horses, the atmosphere now being a bit awkward. Cicero was not even singing or whistling. It felt odd.

“I was wondering,” the Breton tempted, “why you dress as a jester instead of the official guild’s uniform.”

The Imperial scoffed. “It is a long story. Not relevant for Elias to know. But Cicero… does not feel right without this outfit. It is part of me now.”

He wasn’t willing to elaborate on it further, and Elias was fine with that. 

Another moment of silence.

“Sing for me,” Elias demanded. 

“Cicero thought Elias was tired of hearing him singing earlier.”

“I was not! I was just wondering why you never stopped. But I don’t mind it. Yet. Believe me, I’ll let you know when I want you to stop.”

They spent the rest of the ride exchanging turns in singing songs from their hometown, or singing together the most well-known ones. Elias enjoyed it a lot: it was nice to spend a moment having fun, not worrying about everything, as usual. They had to stop a couple times to take care of wild bears or wolves, but it was quite a calm ride. When they passed Fort Greymoor, Elias told Cicero of his plan to split ways for the night and, while the Imperial did not seem to understand why Elias would waste so much time just for that, he did not argue. Elias had agreed to meet him back in Whiterun in the morning.

It felt weird to ride alone for the last hour or two when he had spent the entire day with someone, but he still welcomed the silence nonetheless.

When he arrived home, he was surprised to see a horse already tethered at the little stables in front of the house. They had a visitor? As he approached the creature, he started recognizing it. Tosh! It was Mjoll’s horse (Named after Akatosh). He got off Nin, settled her down at the stables next to her equine friend and rushed to the front door. He felt her stomach churning inside, and his heart was beating so hard, he could feel the vibrations throughout his entire body. He did not know whether he was scared, excited, or both. He finally opened the front door, and saw the lioness at the dinner table, playing cards with the girls. The Nord woman turned her head towards Elias, smiled, then immediately got up, running to him. 

“Mjoll!” the Breton exclaimed as he embraced her friend. It was hard to explain what he felt in that moment. Part of him naturally calmed down at the woman’s touch, but another part of him still felt extremely clenched, weirdly nervous. 

“You received my letter?” Elias asked her, his face buried in the Nord’s hair. She could not be that mad at him if she ran towards him and hugged him like that, right? Whatever the case, she did not completely abandon him, and he was glad to have that, at least.

“I did,” Mjoll answered, still hugging him tight. “We need to talk.”

Elias slowly left her embrace, and barely had time to speak before he was attacked by hugs from his daughters.

“Papa!”

“We missed you, Papa!”

“Did you bring us anything?”

He found a sweet roll and a creme treat in his bag of provision and gifted the pastries to them.

“You girls finish your treats and card game with Mjoll. I will have a bath while waiting for you. Then I’ll need to talk to her in private.”

“It’s for the wedding,” the lioness added, “a secret”.

They all agreed and went back to what they were doing. Elias took his time washing himself up, trying to let the hot water calm his mind down, but he was simply not able to relax. Of course, Mjoll couldn’t have taken it this badly… but she still came in person to give a response to him, which meant it would be a pretty serious discussion…

He was sitting in the tub, his arms wrapped around his legs, looking mindlessly at the bubbly water when the door opened. Elias turned his head to see Mjoll entering the bath chambers. The Nord woman closed the door behind her and sat on the edge of the tub Elias was in.

That didn’t bother him in the slightest. His lower body was hidden by the opaque water, but even then, after adventuring together for so long, there was no bashfulness in seeing each other’s bodies anymore.

“Hey,” he said softly, looking back down at his reflection in the water.

“Hey.”

Elias sighed. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Frankly, me neither. That’s why I came in person. I wasted so much parchment paper just trying to write an answer and then re-doing it over and over again…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop. You do not have to say sorry to me.”

“I know, I'm just… I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking...”

Mjoll let out a sigh too. “The Dark Brotherhood, Elias, do you realize? They’re even worse than the Thief’s Guild… They’re murderers… pure and simple.”

“I’m very much aware, now... And I hate them as much as you do, believe me.”

A long moment of silence, each one of them staring down, unable to maintain eye contact.

“And now you’re stuck in their ranks.”

“I am. I… I don’t know what to do, Mjoll… I feel like it’s too late… I don’t think they’d let me leave since I know where their headquarters are located, I know stuff about them…”

“No, they won’t let you out alive, that’s for sure. Your choices are limited now. Either you continue your life being an assassin with them. Either you carry out your plan. Destroying them from the inside. Either you try to flee from the Province. And even then, I can’t guarantee they won’t find you.”

It was not as if he did not know that already, but hearing Mjoll saying it to him just made it feel so much more real. He felt his eyes starting to burn and his throat tightening. He felt absolutely terrible.

“Mjoll, what have I done?” Elias asked as he let his face fall to his hands. “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know if my plan will work, if I will even be able to carry it out…”

The lioness reached out her hand to stroke Elias’ wet hair. “We’ll figure it out together, Elly. I will not leave you alone through all of this. I promise.”

The Breton let his friend fondle his hair, while he kept his face hidden in his hands, ashamed of himself. They remained like that for a long time. Elias was thankful for Mjoll’s patience. 

“I’m not blaming you for it,” he said, “but I’m sure you’re judging me.”

“Am not! Elly, you’re my best friend. You’re the strongest, bravest person I know. You’ve had it rough, it wasn’t easy. But you pulled through. You’re doing the best you can with what you have, and I will never judge you for that.” She removed her hand from Elias’ hair and put it under his chin, lifting it up so he could look her in the eyes.”

“Never, you understand?”

Elias nodded softly, but his face was still stuck in sorrow. Gods, he loved this woman so much. What would his life be without her?

“Now, tell me everything, so I can try to help you out.”

He did tell her everything. He described the Sanctuary, the members, his dislike for one member in particular (hint: it was Astrid). He also described the journey he took for his three minor contracts, and did not omit to tell her the guilt, the incomfort he still felt about those murders. Finally, he told her of Cicero. Mjoll remembered him from the other day, when they met him on the road near Loreius Farm. She was astounded, just like Elias was, to know he was actually an assassin, and his mother was none other than the unholy Matron, the wife of Sithis. Elias also told her about the man’s dislike for Astrid, and how he thought he could be an ally… and he also told her of the major doubts he had about this strategy.

“But,” Mjoll said with her brows knitted, “if you team up with the fool to destroy Astrid… You’re going to lose the leader… but the other members remain. And since they seem to follow the bitch’s every move, they would all just turn against you and Cicero.”

“Yes, that’s what I realized, earlier today. Even if we win against the rest of the members…”

“The fool remains.” 

“Yeah. And I don’t think he plans on destroying the Brotherhood… Quite the opposite, actually.”

“So you’d have to destroy him too.”

A shiver went down Elias' spine. Destroy Cicero. He could not tell what exactly, but something felt wrong with that thought.

“I…” he started to say, but interrupted himself.

“Don’t tell me you grew attached to the mad man,” Mjoll said with a slight chuckle.

“No, no, of course not!”

Staring contest.

“I do not believe you, Elias Lamand.”

You knew it was real when Mjoll called you by your full name.

“He’s an assassin,” she continued, “a murderer… If you want to destroy the Brotherhood to make this world a better place, that means him too.”

“I know, I know! Damn. I would destroy the fool too. Of course, I would.”

He had literally never felt less confident in a statement before, but that would have to do.

“When the time is right, you should contact me again. I can help you fight the other members. And I have friends in many places throughout Skyrim who can help. We could even ask the Penitus Oculatus… They have been trying to eliminate them for years...”

“Mjoll, I really appreciate the help, but I would prefer you take care of that before anything else.”

He pointed towards the Nord’s belly.

“Right, of course…”

“Listen. We will remain in contact. I will write to you or visit you as often as I can, and I will tell you everything. I will consult the Penitus Oculatus or other allies by myself. But, please, for the love of Mara, you need to stay home and rest. No unnecessary travelling, and ESPECIALLY no fighting. I don’t want Sofie to knit a baby blanket for nothing, that yarn was expensive, you know…” 

Elias smirked, which made Mjoll chuckle. They finally agreed to this compromise and decided to not talk about this anymore for the remainder of the evening. Elias tried to enjoy the rest of his evening, playing cards with his friend and daughters, before letting Sofie braid his hair once it was all dry, as usual. It was actually one of the things that annoyed him the most when he was away from home, not to have Sofie with him to deal with his hair. The girl always managed to pull them up and away from his face in just the right way, not tight enough to hurt, but just enough to stay in place when the wind blew through it. It made him fit in more with the Nords in terms of look, and it made the girl happy, which was a win-win situation all around. 

Later that evening, he put the girls to sleep with a false tale of his latest adventure. He went to sleep himself not long after, completely drained from the latest events. He felt incredibly relieved that Mjoll knew and was by his side, but he could not stop thinking about the last step of the plan.

Destroy Cicero.

He did not want to kill Cicero. And that was EXACTLY what made him confused. This mad man was a murderer, a danger to society. The kind of person Elias would have normally slayed without any hesitation, no question asked. So why was it any different with him?  Why was the thought of killing him so uncomfortable? More than uncomfortable, it seemed… wrong. Painful, even. Was it because he took the time to talk to him? Because he had been nice to him? No, those were not valid reasons! He was not better than any other assassin. He was just as bad as the others. No matter how entertaining he could be.

Elias had no choice. He had to toughen up, and be a big boy. Forget his emotions, forget his biases. He had to do it. Hee needed to.

The words were still ringing inside his head, and he could not stop hearing them:

Destroy.

C

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Chapter Text

If there was one thing that remained stable and did not change throughout Elias’ life, it was his moral compass. Mean people are bad people. Nice people, good people. Killing bad people okay. Killing good people no no. Simple, right?

So, according to this logic, the only way he could kill and make it feel good, make it feel satisfying, was if he killed something or someone that he felt deserved to die. Killing a beast or someone hostile, out of self-defense, for example. Killing a tyrant. Killing someone who kills for fun and with no honour. Those were good kills. 

Cicero, being part of an assassin's guild, could fit perfectly in the last category.

And yet, Elias did not feel like he had it in him to kill the fool. He did not know why, and it was driving him nuts.

Even though they were quite good company, he did not feel as though it would be too hard, emotionally, to kill the other members of the Brotherhood. It would sting, but he knew what they stood for, and that it was for the greater good.

So why did killing Cicero feel so different in his mind?

It was not because he doubted her abilities to win a fight against him. Sure, the man was an expert, probably one of the best he had seen with a dagger, but that's all he was. A man . A dragon shout to disarm him, another to throw him away, and boom. Job done.

Could it be because he pitied him? Maybe when he had first met him. Elias saw him as nothing much more than a fool. A poor psycho who had been pushed too far. However, the more he got to know him, the less pity he had for him. Instead, he felt a weird kind of admiration for the man. Not for his profession, but for the fact that he survived all these years in isolation, alone. Also, Elias kept thinking about Cicero’s journey from Cyrodiil to Skyrim, still alone, carrying a box containing a coffin that was twice his height, and probably four times his weight. He succeeded. He arrived at his destination, alive. If that did not mean determination and strength, then Elias did not know what did.

He hated to admit it to himself, but he came to the conclusion that it was probably because he quite liked him. He was fun to be around, and had been nothing but nice and warm to him from the very beginning. Objectively speaking, it was hard for him to dislike someone like that.

Part of his mind kept screaming: "BUT HE'S AN ASSASSIN! A MURDERER! AN EVIL PERSON!", but it did not seem to compute fully. As much as he tried, he was simply not able to dislike him. 

What was happening with him and his sense of judgment lately? 

It was still very early in the morning when Elias and Cicero left Whiterun. The Breton was seriously lacking sleep, having tossed and turned in bed with anxiety eating him alive, the entire night prior. He still had no idea what he was going to do after the contract, and how he was going to interact with Cicero from now on. When he saw him in front of the inn earlier this morning, he thought he was going to throw up from his stomach clenching so hard. He tried to act normal, as he did from the beginning, simply because he had no idea how else to act. He did not feel like starting a fight with him, nor would he even know how to -and, anyway, he still needed Cicero to view him as an ally for the moment. The only solution was to let him speak, let him say something, reveal something that would revolt him. Anything would do. He just wanted to hate him. He needed to hate him. 

They were now trotting along towards the contract's location. Cicero was humming songs. As usual. However, there seemed to be something different in his voice, a weird shift from his usual high cheery tone. He sounded almost sad.

"Everything good, Keeper Boy?"

"Hmm, yes. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know, you sound a bit… sad."

"You think so?"

"Yep."

"Well Cicero is not sad , per se. Just a bit worried about Mother, is all."

Elias tried not to roll her eyes. Or laugh.

"I'm sure she's fine. There are like seven people at the Sanctuary to keep her company and oil her and do whatever you do with her usually."

"Yes, Cicero knows that! But it just seems strange to be away from her for so long!"

"Yeah, I haven't thought about that."

Elias was still finding Cicero's devotion to the Night Mother hard to understand. How can someone feel so close to a corpse? And how can you take pleasure in killing real living people without any second thoughts and yet have such a strong bond with a lifeless thing? Of course, the poor fella was mad, but still. He did not understand that. And probably never would.

"You do seem very devoted to her, indeed," Elias said.

"Of course I am! The Night Mother is the reason the Brotherhood exists. She is our matron, our authority, the vessel for our contracts. How can we not worship her?"

He had a point. It was odd that he was the only one in this Sanctuary who truly did seem to care for the Night Mother. All the others probably would not have even mentioned her, if it wasn't for Cicero moving into their Sanctuary. Maybe worshiping was a big word, but even just respecting the Night Mother or acknowledging her would have already made more sense.

"What Cicero fears most" he continued, "is that she has already chosen a Listener while I was away…"

"Well, we would know when we'd come back. Being chosen as Listener seems to be a pretty big deal… Surely they'd tell us right away."

"Well, yes, the Listener needs to say the sacred words of the Night Mother to the Keeper, when they are chosen. Otherwise, it cannot be deemed official. Argh, but Cicero wants to be there when it happens! Cicero doesn't want to keep the Night Mother waiting! What would she think of me?"

"Come on, Cicero, The Night Mother cannot possibly have a negative opinion of you. You take care of her better than I care for my children. You are the reason her corpse is so well preserved, the reason it's still here in the first place… I'm pretty sure she will forgive you for helping an initiate on a contract and being away for a couple days."

Cicero sighed.

"Yes, I suppose. Thank you, sweet Elias for recognizing Cicero's hard work."

He offered him a shy smile in return. "Do you think anyone at the Sanctuary is actually… worthy of being the Listener?"

The redhead paused for a moment, staring down at his horse's mane, looking lost in his thoughts.

"Hmm…" he finally answered, "Well they all seem to be good assassins... But none of them seem to care for our Mother very much. Such a shame! Alas, at this point, Cicero just wishes she could choose one. Anyone! Cicero trusts Mother's choices. If she chooses one, it will be the right one.”

Elias’ thoughts moved around rapidly inside his head, and all the pieces of the puzzle seemed to come together: Cicero wanted to be the Listener. And probably still does. All those years in isolation with the Night Mother, all those precious oilings and rituals to preserve her corpse, all this love and admiration… Of course, it was normal since he was the Keeper, but his adoration for her, and his obsession with her finding a Listener, there was something more to it. It all made sense, now.

However, the real question was: How in Oblivion did the Night Mother not make him Listener yet? Who can possibly be more worthy than Cicero for such a title?

"Cicero…" Elias said, staring at him. He waited for him to turn his gaze towards him before continuing. "You deserve to be the Listener."

His face somehow went from surprise, to joy, to indignation, and finally to laughter in less than a couple seconds. A whole face journey. "Oh, brother! Cicero is just the Keeper. If the Night Mother found me worthy, she would have talked to me already. Don't you think?"

Then the Night Mother was a fucking dumbass, is what he thought.

Elias shrugged. "Maybe she is just waiting for the right time," he answered instead. "But if I were her, I would have chosen you already a long time ago, no questions asked."

Cicero chuckled. "Elias is being too kind," he said. "But Cicero is just doing his duty. As best he can. That is all."

Poor man was too humble.

They remained silent for a few minutes after that. Elias remembered what he had told himself this morning: Try to find a way to hate him . It seemed he just did the exact opposite, complimenting him about his hard work as Keeper, and him being so nice and humble about it… Why did he have to be so nice and soft with him? All the time? That was not the right way to make him hate him!

Eventually, Cicero started to speak again, changing the subject:

"We are starting to get very close to the victim, brother."

"Yes. We should be there by the time the sun starts to set."

"Oh yes! Cicero cannot wait. It’ll be fun! Oh, so fun!”

Elias’ entire face scrunched up. Dwemer ruins were not exactly what he’d consider “fun”. With all the mechanisms and gears running all the time, they basically felt like a giant cooking pot, roasting him alive. They are also home to the worst enemies. Not necessarily the hardest to eliminate, but the most annoying, according to Elias. Those damned spheres with their stupid spikes… Gods, he hated them so much. Hopefully the other idiots using the place as their headquarters would have already taken care of them…

Elias expressed these thoughts to Cicero, which then started a whole discussion on Dwemer ruins, and the Dwemers themselves. The Imperial being from Cyrodiil, he never had the chance to visit their ruins before. He thus had lots of questions for Elias -who was basically an expert on them after having spent so much time in Solstheim and Skyrim- which helped pass the time on the little bit of travel they still had to do to get there.

Cicero got excited when they finally started to see it, the gigantic stone and metal ruins perched on top of a snowy mountain. They let their horse next to the river, before starting their ascension on foot. Elias thanked Mara her stalhrim armor was so resistant to the cold, because it was definitely getting a lot more chilly.

“Aren’t you gonna get cold with just your jester outfit? We’re pretty up north.”

“Oh, Cicero will be fine. Besides, we’ve got quite the mountain to climb. I’ll get warm from the physical effort.”

“If you say so”.

As they approached the Great Lift, Cicero stopped and motioned for Elias to sneak behind it with him. He drew his dagger.

“We’re probably going to start seeing bandits soon,” Cicero whispered. “How do we proceed?”

Elias looked up at the ruins. 

“We can use height as an advantage. If we can gather them all at the top, I can shout and send them all flying.”

That idea seemed to please Cicero a lot.

“Yes, yes! Cicero loves that. We’ll have to be quick on our feet. Once we get close, we bolt upstairs.”

They continued the path very slowly, hiding behind any part of the environment they could to not be seen. Hiding behind a tall tree, just before the staircase, they looked at each other. Elias gulped a draught of stamina before whispering:

“On the count of three?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. One, two, three!”

The Breton dashed from the tree to the stairs, pushing the bandits out of his way as he did so. He did not even stop to look at them or watch his step: he just kept running forward, his mind almost blind to everything else happening around him. When both him and Cicero finally reached the top, an archer was waiting for them, his bow stretched ready to trigger. As Elias ducked, just in time, Cicero kept running, and was able to get behind the man while he was reaching in his quiver. A quick, fierce slash on the throat later, the man was already falling to his knees. Elias had no time to watch: He turned around and saw the three other pieces of scum hurrying up the stairs. “Come on, come on, come on, get to me”, he thought. One of them was clearly ahead of the others, though. He’d have to keep him there while waiting for the others to catch up. The bandit was double-wielding swords, was scaringly quick, and Elias was already out of breath. He doubted he would be able to dodge the next hit, but Cicero came back from behind him at this moment and heavily wounded the bandit’s arm, making him topple backwards. This was just the right amount of time needed for the others to catch up, and Elias used the remaining of his strength to give one powerful unrelenting force shout. From this height, they would all die straight from the impact. He sat on the stairs to catch his breath and Cicero joined in.

“Amazing teamwork, dragonborn,” he said.

“Yes, that was great.”

It truly was. Had Cicero not been there, he would have struggled a lot more. Damn, that little man was quick! And he did not even seem out of breath. Honestly, he just kept on impressing him. It also reminded him that he needed to start working on his cardio again. He was a bit rusty.

They finally got up and passed through the giant golden metal doors, and entered the ruins.

Elias could see Cicero was enjoying the sight, looking all around him with round eyes and a huge smile, but he remained quiet. He, too, had spotted the man sleeping on the bedroll not too far, near the fire machine. They approached him, with very little steps. Well, Cicero’s steps were bigger and more self assured. He was obviously better than Elias at sneaking.

When they got near him, the Imperial unsheathed his knife and pierced right through the heart, his strike sharp and true. Elias covered the bandit’s mouth with his hands as soon as the dagger pierced the skin, to make sure his screams would not alert the other ones of their presence. Alas, as careful as they were, it did not work.

“Is someone there?” They heard as they stepped away from the man. There seemed to be more than one footstep. Shit.

“I can shout again”, Elias whispered to Cicero, “I’ll disarm them, then we attack”.

Cicero nodded, and Elias had time to grab a little vial of poison from his satchel.

“Poison,” he said as he poured it on the tip of his sword, and the remaining on Cicero’s dagger.

“Ha! There you are!” a bandit said as he peeked through the opening near the fire machine.

Elias threw the empty vial at his face, hoping it would get his eye. He was not sure if it did but the man screamed and slowed down his pace to touch his face, which then allowed Cicero to bolt towards him and pierce the little bit of flesh on his arm that his armor wasn’t covering. The man screamed even louder from the wound and the poison entering his system. They let him fall to the ground. The poison would do its job. They already had a new mob of four, no, five other bandits ready to attack. Perfect.

“Zun Haal Viik!” 

The thu’um was able to hit all but one of the men, which was already pretty good. This one dashed towards Elias, and he was able to hit the bandit’s skin with his poisoned sword just in time. Another one down. When he looked back at the mob, Cicero was already taking his dagger out of one of them’s throat (Seriously, why don’t they think to cover this area when they make armor?). Only three of them left. Not too bad. They could manage.

While they staggered to find back their weapons Elias was able to push one of them into the fire machine. Once he was burning alive, Elias only had to strike once hard to end him, since he was not in a state to resist. Quickly, he turned around and ducked the other one’s attack just in time. Cicero was busy with the last one. Good. Two against two now. Elias had no trouble defeating the one after her: he had a big sword, but he was slow with it, and the shocks from Elias' enchantment on his sword were enough to distract him. Cicero fought longer, but he too ended up winning. He wiped the blood off of his dagger on his last victim’s fur armor and smiled. With his face still splattered with the blood of his enemies, that was quite a creepy looking smile. 

“Oh, that was a good one!” he said before laughing.

They continued on their way, still sneaking, until the path split in two directions. Two metal gates. The one in front of them seemed empty, but the one to their right was obviously not: There were voices and footsteps coming from there. They even heard “Alain” being said. So, this is where the asshole was hiding. They could go through that door and combat in melee directly, but it seemed risky. They were starting to get tired, and there seemed to be a lot of men there. The best way would be to range-attack. A powerful attack that could take them all at once. But what? An exploding fire bomb, maybe. Elias still had enough energy to cast a basic flame spell. But no oil. He rummaged through his knapsack and remembered he still had a couple scrolls in there. Of course! A scroll of hysteria. The mob would just go berserk and attack each other to death, doing the job for them. He would have to use a LOT of energy to cast the spell correctly though. He’d be drained afterwards… but it was worth it.

He told Cicero of his idea and they came up with a plan: Elias will read the scroll and gather the energy from their spot. Then Cicero will get in front of the gates to get the bandits’ attention, and have them unlock the doors. Then, Elias makes a step forward and releases the scroll’s energy onto them.

They followed their plan to the letter and the spell worked amazingly. 

A bit too amazingly, though… 

Elias had transferred too much of his energy into the spell. As chaos started to hit the mob, he felt his legs weakening and he dropped on the ground. Without even having the time to realize it, he got sick, and emptied what seemed to be the entire content of his stomach on the stone floor. He tried to get up but his muscles wouldn’t allow him to move and his vision was so blurry, he could not see anything but weird shapes and colours moving. 

---------------------------------------------------------

Elias opened his eyes slowly, confused. What bed was this? It looked to be made out of stone. He rose his head, slowly also, and saw Cicero sitting on another bed, next to him.

“You’re back!” he said, smiling.

Back? Was he gone? Oh, he meant “back” as in “back to consciousness”. He had probably fainted. Why, though?

“What happened, already?” Elias asked as he lifted himself up to sit on the bed. He was a bit dizzy, but it really was not that bad. He remembered reading a scroll. Killing bandits in this dwarven ruin. But it was still a little blurry.

“You collapsed after reading the scroll of hysteria. To kill Alain Dufont and his goons. Remember?”

Ah! Right, he remembered now. Alain Dufont. The contract. The Dark Brotherhood.

“Yes,” he answered. “Yeah, it’s coming back now. I transferred too much of my energy into the spell. It happened once before also, but I did not faint. Magic isn’t my strong suit, I’m still not perfectly in control.”

“It doesn’t matter, dear Elias, it worked very well. There is just one little thing, though…”

Oh gods. Of course.

“What now?” he asked with a sigh.

“See, the last one alive in this beautiful mayhem was our man. Well, your man. Alain Dufont. Now, he is to be killed by you and you only, since it is YOUR contract. Cicero was able to wound him enough to stop him from attacking, but he is still alive… I tied him up on the table over there, with rope I found in their things.” 

He pointed towards the table at the end of the room, and there he was, indeed. Obviously unconscious.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Elias said as he got up.

Seeing this man’s body so incredibly damaged did not particularly upset him. He was used to it at this point. However, the more he looked at him, the more he started wondering…

“Are you sure he’s still alive?” he asked Cicero.

“Well, he was still breathing a couple minutes ago, brother.”

Elias leaned towards Alain’s chest and tried to look for a breath he could hear, see by his chest moving or feel from the air coming out of his mouth. There was nothing.

“He’s not breathing,” he told Cicero.

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” the Imperial said as he pushed Elias away and took the man’s arm, putting his fingers on the veins of his wrist, desperately looking for a pulse. “He was alive when I checked on him not long ago!” He then quickly leaned forward to do as Elias did before, looking for signs that he was breathing.

“Cicero, he’s dead…” Elias said as he put his hand on Cicero’s shoulder.

The jester mechanically sat down on the stone bench in front of the table. He brought his hands to his face. They were shaking.

“So that means…” he started, his voice slightly muffled from his hands covering his face.

“That means he died from natural causes,” Elias said.

“But I was the last one to strike him!” Cicero yelled. “I killed him! I stole your contract!”

“No you didn’t! Besides, you know I won’t tell anyone anyway!”

“Oh, but it doesn't matter! The other members couldn’t care less about that! But the Night Mother… Oh, Cicero has broken her rules, my sweet poor mother!” He dropped his head on the stone table.

“Cicero, stop it! It could have been anyone else’s strike that caused him to die.”

“But I was the last one… It is my fault. I have taken a life that wasn’t mine to take. I have disappointed Sithis and the Night Mother…” 

Elias could now hear the redhead’s breathing going faster, more laboured. He was still shaking.

Uh-oh.

He grabbed the man’s head and forced it back up, turning it towards him:

“Stop! Stop that, right now! If the Night Mother is wise, she will see that it wasn’t intended. She will see all the efforts you made to preserve this man and let ME give the final blow. You did everything you could. It wasn’t your fault. If the Night Mother knows you’ve broken her rule, then she also knows it was an accident and you did your best to prevent it.” 

Cicero’s eyes were watery. He kept his gaze fixed on Elias' eyes. He was still shaking and hyperventilating.

“Breathe with me,” Elias ordered him with a tone he tried to keep soft. He could see Cicero nodding, very minimally. The Breton took his hands off of Cicero’ face to give him space.

“One, inhale. Two, exhale. One, inhale. Two, exhale.” 

He just kept going. For how much time? He could not tell. Cicero was obviously trying hard to follow but some retained sobs were distracting him. Clearly, this wasn’t going to be enough. He was still breathing very fast, and his face was losing colour. He was expelling too much CO2. Quickly, Elias found his knapsack, that Cicero took the time to place next to the bed, and found what he was looking for: The breathing bag. It was a simple paper bag he had made to help when his hyperventilation got too bad. He had not needed it in a while. He ran back towards Cicero and handed him the special bag.

“Breathe inside this. It’s gonna help you re-absorb the CO2.”

Cicero looked confused, but did as he was told. While he breathed in the bag, Elias searched in his satchel for a calming potion. His own creation. He always kept one, just in case. It wasn’t perfect, but if anything, its lavender odor was comforting. He offered it to Cicero, and he gulped it down without questions, before re-placing the bag in front of his mouth.

Elias sat on the table next to him and patiently waited, for there isn’t much else to do when this happens.

Again, he lost track of the time but he eventually noticed a lot of improvement in Cicero's breathing, and he put the bag away not long after.

Elias did not dare speak yet. He wanted to give him space, give him time. After a moment of silence, Cicero sat up and faced Elias. Sat on the table, he was a bit taller than the jester, standing.

“Better now?” he asked.

Instead of answering, Cicero put his arms around Elias and trapped him into a hug. He froze at first, not expecting it, but quickly reciprocated. The Imperial was warm against him -a bit sweaty though, but he was probably worse. Elias lay his head on the man's shoulder and had a little sigh of contentment. He closed his eyes and tried to enjoy this little moment of complicity and understanding he had with his new friend. And it felt good.

Chapter Text

"Nightshades," Elias murmured, his cheek still on Cicero's shoulder.

It took him a moment to realize, but that was exactly what Elias was smelling, very faintly, on the jester's clothes. Other than sweat and blood, of course.

Out of all the different smells, why, why did he have to smell like his favorite flower? It was as if this bastard did it on purpose. Well, to be fair, nightshades were basically the Brotherhood's emblem. These plants were all around the Sanctuary, and Gabriella told him that it was, for most members, their murder signature: they would usually leave a couple on their contract's corpse. It made sense, since they are part of the Black Sacrament. And basically known to everyone who has at least a basic knowledge in alchemy to be the most common poisonous flower. It was also true that Elias had odd favorites when it came to plants. Out of all flowers to choose from, why was he so drawn to the poisonous one? Of course, he was a sucker for all things purple, and the smell was nice, but mostly it was because it reminded him of dragons: beautiful, but deadly.

"What did you say, dear brother?" Cicero asked softly.

Elias lifted his head up. He didn't realize he had said it out loud. A bit embarrassed, he looked back down.

"I just said you smell like nightshades."

"Oh, well, yes, Cicero does use a lot of oils on Mother who smell similar to this. The scent gets stuck on my clothes… Is this bothering Elias?"

The Imperial was looking at him, a slight trace of worry in his eyes. His very, very tired looking eyes.

"No, no! Of course not. I love nightshades." 

Cicero smiled and looked down, his eyelids closing slowly.

"You need some sleep," Elias said as he gently pushed Cicero back so he could get off the table without crashing into him. The jester's arms, which were still around his waist from the hug, slipped off of him as he got down, which made him realize how much he liked them there.

They both went to the back of the room, and each got into a stone bed, on opposite sides of the room. Cicero fell asleep almost instantly, but Elias wasn't ready to go back to sleep yet, since he had just woken up from a long nap. Instead, he decided to take care of the corpses. He emptied their pockets to see if there was anything interesting he could find, but there was nothing much more than a couple of gold pieces. He then dragged them all to the same room corner, as far away from the beds as possible. A morbid but necessary task if he wanted to avoid being woken up by the smell of rotting flesh. After some snacks, he finally got back into bed for the night.

He looked up at the high ceiling and sighed. He wasn't too sure how to process everything that happened on that day. Cicero having a panic attack in front of him… What kind of intense display of vulnerability was that? It was like the psychological equivalent of seeing someone naked, as though he revealed a new part of himself to Elias. They were square on this aspect now, at least. And yet, it left him even more confused than he already was about him. Who is this man? Who is Cicero? How does he function? What does he want? And why is he so damn difficult to read?

The next morning, it was Cicero who woke up first. Elias knew, because he could hear him sing from the other room. A clear sign he was back to normal. He followed the voice and found him sitting at a table, sharpening his ebony dagger. A book was open on the surface, which he closed as soon as he saw Elias, which made a sharp, snapping sound. It was rather small and bound in leather. A journal, perhaps?

"Good morning, sweet Elias!" he said as he took back the whetstone, continuing his sharpening work. "Slept well?"

How can some people be so energetic and uptight at such early hours? 

"Yeah," Elias muttered as he wiped his eyes, trying to suppress a yawn, "how about you?"

"Yes, yes, of course, Cicero slept well. And while Elias was still asleep, I thought about our next move!"

Oh, right. The contract. Getting paid. He had been so focused on Cicero's breakdown from last night; he almost forgot he was on duty.

"Cicero took the liberty to consult your map, in your bag," he continued, "and since Windhelm is so close to here, you should probably be on your way now. That would leave you the afternoon to observe the girl and plan your kill, lucky you! What was the girl's name again? Nellie? Naomi?"

"Nilsine," Elias answered with a small voice, trying not to let out too big a sigh. "Nilsine Shatter-Shield."

"That's right, Nilsine. Well, while you're on your way to take care of her, Cicero will go back to mother at the Sanctuary! And tell her the job is done! And… Tell Astrid also, of course. We will meet back at the Sanctuary in a couple of days, when you will be back from Markarth. Oh, you’ll be well rewarded, I'm sure!"

“Yeah, I’m sure I will be,” he said with forced enthusiasm as he sat at the table, next to Cicero. He couldn't care less about the money, right now. But a true assassin would.

 “Did you finally come to terms with the fact that you did not kill Alain Dufont or are you still worried about it?”he asked the jester.

“Oh, of course, of course!” the Imperial said as he waved his hand away, signifying it was not a big deal anymore. “Cicero thought about it and… realized that Mother would know. Elias was right. The Night Mother knows poor Cicero didn’t mean to kill your contract! Of course, she does. Mother sees everything. Doesn’t she?”

“Of course, she does.”

He smiled, then turned his body sideways towards Elias.

 “Cicero was wondering how your arm is healing,” he said, changing the subject. Elias had not put on the top part of his armor yet, and was still shirtless. Dwemer ruins were just way too humid and hot to sleep in full armor.

“Very well,” he answered, a wide genuine smile forming on his face, “thanks to you. The little bit of salve you gave me worked like a charm. I’ve been applying it every day since and it keeps getting better.”

Cicero reached towards the Breton’s arm, and very slowly, with the tip of his fingers, rotated it towards him so he could have a better look. The cold contact of his leather gloves gave Elias a slight shiver, and he could see goosebumps starting to form on his skin. He looked at Cicero’s eyes to see if he noticed it, but he seemed to be too focused on observing the healing injury.

“It seems much, much better, indeed,” he said before looking up at Elias. “Does it hurt when I touch it?” 

Elias shivered again when he felt the soft leather running across his burn.

“No. Only if you were to put pressure on it”

“Really? Because it seems Elias got tense when Cicero touched it. Maybe it is still too sensitive…”

“No, no, don’t worry. I’m just cold is all.”

Lie. He was sweating like a pig mere seconds ago.

“Oh! Yes, it is very cold," the Imperial said. "We should get Elias back in his armor. Cicero will help with the lacing!

They went back to the room where the beds were. Elias put on the top piece and let Cicero lace the sides with his small, skilful hands. He laced them tight, which was perfect: when Elias has to do it himself, he can only use one hand, which makes it more complicated, and the knots end up being looser than they should be.

After that, they both gathered their things, preparing to leave. They said goodbye when they arrived to where they left their horses, each going their separate ways: Cicero to the Sanctuary, Elias to Windhelm. Supposedly . Mere minutes after he left, he ordered Nin to stop. He just stood there, in the middle of the path, letting the cold air hit his face and making swirls of fog whenever he exhaled. Who was he fooling? He knew damn well, from the very beginning; he would not be able to kill Nilsine. Not that he cared that much about her, but the thought of Tova and Torbjorn Shatter-Shield losing not one, but TWO daughters, the entirety of their offspring… No. Absolutely not. There were limits to what he was willing to do to fit in that stupid assassin clique. Maybe he could just… talk to Nilsine and Tova? Make them understand that everything that went down with Muiri was but a misunderstanding? Oh, but it would not work, for they would probably ask how Elias got that information! Could he lie and say he heard it from rumors? Overheard Muiri’s conversation with a Dark Brotherhood associate? Hmmm… No, too much of a stretch.

Elias made his horse turn around and rode back towards Heljarchen Hall. No, he would not kill Nilsine. Well, not today, at least. After all, it was just an optional bonus, Muiri said it herself. And she did not give him a deadline. He could simply tell her that right now wasn’t the right time, but he’d do it eventually. Right? Maybe pretend he had business to do with the Shatter-Shields first and needed them in a good mood. Yeah, why not? It’s not like it would be of Muiri’s concern anyway.

—------------------------------------------------------

The next few days were long and boring: just a bunch of traveling. Alone. From Raldbthar to almost Windhelm, then a turn back to go home, at Heljarchen Hall. Nice evening with family. A good night's sleep. Heljarchen Hall to Markarth. Getting paid. Lying to Muiri about killing Nilsine another time. Muiri being disappointed, but believing the bullshit. Going to the inn for the night. Remembering the last time he was there with Cicero. How he treated his wound. How he always helps him with his armor and how actually helpful he is. Wishing Cicero was there. Feeling dumb for wishing Cicero was there. Suppress, suppress, suppress. Sleeping while feeling guilty. Getting ready to leave Markarth. Debating going back home another time for the night before going to the Sanctuary. Opting for the Sanctuary directly, because he was too fed up with traveling. Arriving at the Sanctuary. Wishing he could just blow the place up right now and run and never have anything to do with them anymore. Opting not to. Walking down the stone stairs. Seeing Astrid walking towards him.

“Ah, you're back,” she told Elias, a soft smile on her face. “So, how went your first real contract? A bit more exciting than what Nazir's been offering, I'd wager."

The Breton paused, trying to think of an appropriate response.

“I did what had to be done,” he finally said. Which was true. He didn’t need to know about Nilsine. 

"Of course, dear. Of course. And, from what the fool told me, you handled yourself quite well. Speaking of which. How was it, travelling with him? What did you observe? Tell me everything.”

“Well, you were definitely right about him being mad. And loud. He seems to be very passionate about his duty of Keeper. He loves the Night Mother more than anything. But you already knew that.”

“Yes, those aren’t news. But what of his fighting? How does he handle himself?”

“He…” Elias paused, looking for his words, but then realized he could be completely honest on this point. “He’s amazing. Honestly. For someone with no armor whatsoever who uses a simple, non-enchanted dagger… He’s scaringly good. Probably the best I’ve ever seen.”

“Hmm…” Astrid said, her eyes widening. “That’s good to note. Thank you, Elias. But now, I need your assistance with a matter of a more... personal nature."

“Is something wrong?”

 "You see, since Cicero arrived, his behavior's been... Well, erratic would be an understatement. I do believe he is truly mad, like you just told me. But it's worse than that. He's taken to locking himself in the Night Mother's chamber, and talking. To someone. In hushed but frantic tones. Who is he speaking with? What are they planning? I fear treachery."

Typical Cicero. Probably just talking to his “poor sweet Mother.” Nothing to worry about.

“Astrid, the man is mad, what did you expect? You're being a bit... paranoid.”

 "Maybe so, but healthy paranoia has saved this Sanctuary before, and my gut's telling me that demented little fool is up to something."

“And what do you want me to do about it? 

"Dear brother, I need you to steal into that chamber and eavesdrop on their meeting. It'll be no use clinging to the shadows. They'll see you for sure. No, you need a hiding place. Somewhere they'd never think to look. Like inside the Night Mother's coffin."

“P-pardon me?” Elias stuttered in disbelief. 

“You heard me right. The coffin.”

Isn’t it Cicero that’s supposed to be mad? What kind of ridiculous idea was that?

“But that seems so... disrespectful,” Elias said, pleading with the tone of his voice to find another plan. Not only was it disrespectful, it was also disgusting and utterly useless! Cicero wouldn’t be conspiring with anyone. He was obviously just talking to the Night Mother out loud. What a waste of time…  

"Be that as it may, we have no other choice,” Astrid replied. 

“Who would even want to conspire with Cicero?”

"That's the real question, isn't it? The jester enters, seals the door, and the conversation begins. So someone must be waiting for him inside. Any one of us could enter that chamber silently. Unnoticed. But who amongst us would dare conspire against the Sanctuary? The very thought breaks my heart."

“But what do you think they’re conspiring against?”

“Isn't it obvious? As the Night Mother's Keeper, he believes he's entitled to the rule of this Sanctuary. Cicero will cite our independence as the need to revert to the Old Ways. He'll claim we're undisciplined, unruly. Heretical, even. Ironically, the Night Mother could prove to be just as much a victim. The queen in a fool's twisted game of chess."

Poor little Astrid is scared she won’t be the leader anymore and become irrelevant. Boo-fucking-hoo. This would actually be the wisest thing Cicero could do. He’d be entirely in his right.

“Now go! Before they meet,” Astrid said as she led Elias towards the stairs, not even letting him decide whether he wanted to actually do it or not. “I’ll help you get in."

He could not believe it. Hiding in the Night Mother’s coffin…Who in their right mind would hide there? That was vile. 

“Step in,” Astrid ordered when they arrived in front of the big metal box. Elias had but little choice. He closed his eyes and blocked his nose, not wanting to see nor smell the atrocity of rotting flesh behind him. He jumped when he heard Astrid close the coffin doors.

“There we go,” Elias heard the Nord say from outside. “I’ll stay close in case there’s anything wrong. Don’t forget to report back to me with whatever you learn.”

He heard another smaller sound of a door closing, meaning Astrid had left the room. Elias was now alone with the corpse. Oh gods, what kind of situation had he gotten himself into? If Cicero sees him there, he’d kill him. The little trust they had built together on their little journey would be gone. Vanished. All that hard work for nothing. 

Elias dared to start breathing through his nose again, scared he’d suffocate otherwise. The smell was not as bad as he expected. It just smelled like oil. Not particularly pleasant but not terrible either. Tolerable.

How long had he been stuck in there? 20 minutes, 40 minutes? It felt like an hour. He thanked Mara he wasn’t claustrophobic, because he’d already be dead by now. Thankfully, he felt comfortable in small places. However, that wasn’t the problem. He was bored out of his mind. “Come on, Cicero, come so I can leave,” he thought.

As if answering his prayers, the jester walked in the room not long after, humming his stupid songs as usual. The sounds were getting closer to Elias. He could feel his palms getting sweaty already.

“Are we alone?” he heard Cicero say softly with his little high-pitched voice. “Yes... yes... alone!” he said before laughing like a mad-man. “Sweet solitude! No one will hear us, disturb us. Everything is going according to plan. The others... I've spoken to them. And they're coming around, I know it. The wizard, Festus Krex... perhaps even the Argonian and the un-child… What about you? Have you... spoken to anyone?”

Clearly, the poor fool was simply talking to the Night Mother, just as Elias thought. But the mention of a plan? That was weird. Was it simply the plan of going back to the old ways? Putting Astrid back to her place?

“No... No, of course not,” the Imperial said after a long silence. “I do the talking, the stalking, the seeing and the saying! And what do you do, huh? Nothing! Not... not that I'm angry. No, never! Cicero understands. Heh. Cicero… always understands... And obeys… You will talk when you're ready, won't you? Won't you… sweet Night Mother."

Poor Cicero… What was it that the Night Mother wasn’t seeing in him? This man was the only worthy person here to be chosen as Listener.

Poor Cicero. Dear Cicero.

Elias quickly covered his mouth with his hand to keep himself from screaming. Did he just hear a voice inside his head saying “Dear Cicero”? It was so loud and so clear! That never happened to him before. Did he just imagine it? 

Such a humble servant. But he will never hear my voice. For he is not the Listener.

Either madness was contagious, or he truly did hear a voice inside his head. The only other person here with him was Cicero and that wasn’t his voice. It sounded slow, raspy, almost draugr-like. And it clearly came from inside. What in Oblivion was happening? Psychosis? Oh, wait now! He already had anxiety problems, was it not enough mental disorder already?

"Oh, but how can I defend you?” Cicero said, his voice clearly coming from outside the coffin, like at the beginning. “How can I exert your will? If you will not speak? To anyone!"

Oh, but I will speak.

That voice again! Inside his head! How could he make it stop? He tried to block his ears with his fingers, but it didn’t work, since the voice was inside .

I will speak to you. For you are the one. Yes, you. You, who shares my iron tomb, who warms my ancient bones.

Oh. Oh. OH. OH! No. No, no, no, no, no. Nope. Elias suddenly realized whom the voice belonged to. What it meant. Oh no, this couldn’t be.

I give you this task - journey to Volunruud. Speak with Amaund Motierre.

Elias could feel his face getting wet, and his nose all snotty. He couldn’t help the tears from escaping his eyes. How could this happen? Why him? Why, why, but why him? Out of all the people in this Sanctuary?

"Poor Cicero has failed you. Poor Cicero is sorry, sweet mother. I've tried, so very hard. But I just can't find the Listener." The jester hit the coffin with both his hands as he screamed these last words, making Elias’ heart double, no, quadruple in speed inside his chest.

Tell Cicero the time has come. Tell him the words he has been waiting for, all these years: "Darkness rises when silence dies."

Without any warning, the iron doors of the coffin opened by themselves, making Cicero fall backwards with the impact, and completely revealing Elias.

Shit.

He was paralyzed. He tried to speak, but the emotions just blocked his throat. He could see Cicero’s face distorting as he stood back up and realized what was in the coffin. Who was in the coffin.

"What?” he said, grimacing as he got closer to Elias. “What treachery! Defiler! Debaser and defiler!” He was screaming in his face. Elias could see, feel his anger, his indignation, it was palpable. “You have violated the sanctity of the Night Mother's coffin! Explain yourself! Speak, worm!"

He wasn’t touching him, but the way he looked at him, the way he called him “worm” as if he wanted to spit in his face, it made Elias feel like he had him by the throat, stuck to a wall, and could kill him with a simple increase in pressure.

“The Night Mother spoke to me!” he managed to say through his tears. “She said I was ‘the one’."

That wasn’t what he wanted to tell him first. He wanted to tell him that he was forced to hide in here, that he didn’t want to, that it was Astrid who made him do it! But that skank could be anywhere, could hear him say it. 

Cicero’s eyebrows furrowed.

“She spoke... to you? More treachery! More trickery and deceit! You lie! The Night Mother speaks only to the Listener! And there is... no... Listener!"

That was the voice of a broken man. The anger of a mad murderer.

“She said ‘Darkness rises when silence dies’," Elias said in a hurry, wanting to appease Cicero as quickly as possible, so they could talk about it.

The muscles in the man’s face slowly softened.

"She... she said that? She said those words... to you? Darkness rises when silence dies"? 

Elias nodded. He wiped his tears. Cicero seemed to have gotten calmer. Good.

“But those are the words,” the jester continued. He was looking at his hands. They were shaking. “The Binding Words. Written in the Keeping Tomes. The signal so I should know. Mother's only way of talking to sweet Cicero... Then... it is true!” He looked at Elias, a wide smile forming on his lips. “She is back! Our Lady is back! She has chosen a Listener!” He put his hands on Elias’ shoulders. “She has chosen you!” He threw his head back and laughed. A deep, high-pitched laugh, so intense it made him shiver. “All hail the Listener!" he started screaming as he got away from Elias and danced with jester-esque passion.

“By Sithis, this ends now!” Astrid said as she kicked the door open. “Back away, fool! Whatever you've been planning is over!” She went towards Elias. “Are you all right? I heard the commotion. Who was Cicero talking to? Where's the accomplice? Reveal yourself, traitor!"

“I spoke only to the Night Mother!” Cicero answered before Elias could say anything. “I spoke to the Night Mother, but she didn't speak to me. Oh no! She spoke only to Elias! To the listener!"

"What? The Listener? What are you going on about? What is this lunacy?"

"It's true, it's true! The Night Mother has spoken! The silence has been broken! The Listener has been chosen!"

Cicero continued laughing as he exited the room and walked towards his bedroom. Elias followed after him, but was quickly stopped by Astrid who grabbed his arm. 

"When I heard Cicero screaming, I knew you'd been discovered.” she said. “I feared the worst. Are you all right?"

“Yes, I'm fine,” Elias answered, making a conscious effort to sound normal. He just wanted to get this conversation over with, so he could go talk to Cicero.

 "Then what in Sithis' name is going on? Cicero spoke to the Night Mother, but she spoke to you? Is this just more of the fool's rambling?"

“It's true. The Night Mother spoke to me. She said I was ‘the one’.”

If Elias sounded so unsure of himself and in complete confusion, that’s because he was.

 "What? So Cicero wasn't talking to anyone else. Just... the Night Mother's body? And the Night Mother, who, according to everything we know, will only speak to the person chosen as Listener... just spoke. Right now… to you?"

“I…Yes."

He was just as clueless as Astrid on that point.

“By Sithis. And... what did she say?"

Oh, that he remembered. The names were still resonating inside her brain.

“She said to speak to a certain Amaund Motierre, in Volunruud.” 

"Amaund Motierre? I have no idea who that is. But Volunruud... that I have heard of. And I know where it is."

"Yes, me too. Took care of a bunch of draugrs there, once. But… what now? Should I go to Volunruud? Should I talk to this man?"

"Hmm? No. No! Listen, I don't know what's going on here, but you take your orders from me. Are we clear on that? The Night Mother may have spoken to you, but I am still the leader of this Family. I will not have my authority so easily dismissed. I... I need time to think about all this. Go see Nazir - do some work for him. I'll find you when I'm ready to discuss the matter further. This is all just too much, too fast. I need time to... to think..."

Astrid left the room, leaving Elias alone. He sat down on one of the stone benches in front of the coffin. He let his face fall forward into his hands. 

He was the Listener. The fucking Listener . What was the Night Mother thinking? Out of all the assassins in this guild, she had to choose the one who wanted to destroy it. How was that making any sense? Couldn't she see that? If she was able to speak through Elias’ mind, couldn't she sense his emotions, his intentions?

This was insanity. There were no other words to describe the situation. Travelling on top of green goo through Apocrypha's realm seemed like a normal, comforting memory compared to what was happening at the moment.

And what about Cicero? He went from being friendly to him, to wanting to kill him, to almost worshiping him in a matter of minutes. What kind of relationship did that leave them in?

The rest of the night was mostly a blur. Elias knew trying to control his anxiety symptoms would be useless. He just let them come. The hyperventilation, the tears, the shaking, the thoughts running around in his head… He did not have the strength to fight them. When everything finally calmed down, as time went by, all he could manage to do was to lie down on the cold stone floor in a fetal position, letting his body and mind fall asleep from exhaustion.

—-------------------------------

“Listener?” a voice asked.

Elias opened his eyes, took a quick glance at the room he was in and remembered where he was.

“Hmmm?” He grunted as he tried to sit up. Gods, his back and hips were killing him. He did not intend to fall asleep when he lay down there yesterday, but it seems his body simply needed to quickly shut down.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?” the same voice asked, slightly amused. Elias’ vision finally focused, and he saw Cicero crouching next to him.

“Cicero!” he exclaimed in relief as he threw himself in his arms, making the poor man lose his balance and fall on his butt. 

“Oh! Listener!” the man said as he hugged Elias back, laughing half in amusement, half in confusion. “What is it?”

Elias took a last sniff at the man’s musk impregnated in his clothes before getting himself away from him to look him in the eyes. “Cicero, I am so sorry! It’s Astrid who forced me to go inside the coffin and spy on you, I didn’t want to do it but she insisted and then I couldn’t get out and I was scared and—”

“Hey!” Cicero interrupted him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Slow down. Cicero can’t understand if you talk so fast.” His voice was so soft, so gentle. Deeper than usual.

Elias took a deep breath and continued. “I didn’t mean to get inside the Night Mother’s coffin. It’s Astrid who forced me to. She wanted me to spy on you because she thought you were conspiring with another member, when really you were just talking to the Night Mother’s corpse. She didn’t even let me say if I was okay with it or not, she led me there directly and closed the door on me. I told her it was disrespectful… and I told her you weren’t conspiring with anyone! But she had none of it. I didn’t even have time to change or say hello to the other members when I arrived, she led me there right away!”

“Oh, I know, dear Elias, I understood what was going on when Astrid arrived. Cicero knew it was weird when he saw you there. I… got angry. I could not believe it. Cicero… screamed at you. Cicero is sorry, Listener, so very sorry!”

“No!” he said harshly, “No, you are not the one who should apologize! You were right to be angry. You didn’t know. And about the Listener thing-”

“Oh, yes!” he cut him off again, “Cicero can hardly contain his joy ever since he heard the news! A Listener… We have a Listener! You! Sweet, dear Elias! Oh, are you excited? Things are finally looking up!”

He was all jittery, like a child who had been offered too much candy. Elias let him calm down before he continued.

“Yeah, I don’t… I’m just… I am confused, Cicero. I did not expect that. At all… She started talking while I was inside the coffin and I couldn’t believe it… I mean… me?”

“Oh but do not be so humble, my Listener! The Night Mother chose you for a reason; I'm sure! She is part of you now. You get to hear her voices inside your head! The rest of us should be so lucky."

“Yes, but what does a Listener do exactly? I just… hear her voice? That’s all?”

"Oh, the Listener, well... listens! The Night Mother speaks to you. Guides you on your path. But when the Night Mother speaks, the Listener must obey. You must! For her word is the will of Sithis. And Sithis is the Dark Brotherhood incarnate. She will tell you about the contracts received through the Black Sacrament. Tell you where to meet them, and everything!"

“That’s what I thought. She did tell me of a client that I need to meet, in Volunruud. I told Astrid about it, but she’s not exactly thrilled by the idea. She asked me to get work from Nazir in the meantime, while she thinks about it. Personally, I think she’s scared. Scared of losing her position of leader.”

“...And scared to go back to the old ways. Hmph. Of course she is. She should be. Dismissing the new Listener’s words like that… Shameful! Unacceptable! Oh, she is going to regret this. Mark my words.”

Cicero stared into nothingness, his eyes red from rage, his upper lip almost twitching from anger. He looked like an animal ready to strike.

“Oh well,” he said, and his face immediately returned to jester mode, “in the meantime, let’s get you some contracts from Nazir. And get you some breakfast! Elias must be starving. And then you can tell Cicero everything about your trip to Windhelm and back to Markarth!”

It seemed that moment officially marked the time when Cicero and Elias became inseparable. As much as Elias protested, Cicero did everything for him: he cooked for him, brushed and braided his hair (not as good as Sofie but oh well), sharpened his sword, refilled his potion satchel… When Elias got his two new contracts from Nazir, they spent the entire next three days planning them together. They had more than three maps on the table, notes and notes of potential situations, they had read books about vampires (since one of his contracts was afflicted with such a disease) and they curated some of the best poisons, for any kind of situation. They spent time at the alchemy table together, Elias gladly sharing his knowledge of the herbs with Cicero, and the jester suggesting he teaches him how to fight with a dagger in exchange. The passing of time seemed to have been warped, when Elias woke up on the fourth day and realized how much time had passed since he last went home to Heljarchen Hall. He found it hard to believe how pleasant spending time with Cicero was, how easy and natural it felt to talk to him, joke with him, do everything with him. Teamwork had never felt so useful, so fun, so rewarding, for they both learned so much from the other. They were Keeper and Listener, like Sithis and the Night Mother, like darkness and light, an unbreakable team that seemed to form an entity of its own.

Elias packed his things and got ready to go back to Heljarchen Hall for a night, and start one of his two contracts then. It was still early in the afternoon, so he could be there by the evening if he left not long after. However, there was something in the back of his mind ever since he was chosen as Listener, something bothering him that he wasn’t able to talk about, since he couldn’t find the words for it. There was something about Cicero acting almost as a servant to him that was making him feel uncomfortable. It felt wrong. It felt… weird. He had to tell him about it, and he had to do it now, otherwise he wouldn’t stop thinking about this during his trip.

He took a deep breath and walked towards Cicero’s chambers.

Chapter Text

Elias was just about to knock on the wall next to the entrance of Cicero's room, since there is no goddamn door for this poor Fool's room, but the jester came out at the same time, almost bumping into him.

"Oh, Listener!" he said, then chuckled, "you startled poor Cicero!"

"I'm sorry," Elias answered, his tone devoid of any kind of energy. "I'm leaving for my contracts in a couple minutes. But before I do, can we talk?"

"Of course!" Cicero said with his usual exaggerated enthusiasm, "but Cicero was about to go get a bath. Tending to mother leaves Cicero's hands all greasy and sticky. Can we talk after?"

Elias sighed. "Sure," he said to him.

"I will be right back! Wait for me here!"

He sat down on the bench at the table and untied his hair from the messy bun he had improvised earlier. He started running his fingers through his hair, detangling it as best he could without tearing it all out. 

He still could not believe it. Listener. The Night Mother had chosen him to be the Listener. Out of all the people in this Sanctuary. He was the worst assassin the world had ever seen. He did not even want to be here. So, why? Why was he the chosen one? What did the Night Mother possibly see inside him that made him worthy? Maybe it had something to do with his dragon soul. He could not think of anything else that would make him worthy. 

Elias mentally reenacted the small speech he had planned for Cicero. He felt his stomach clenching and his palms getting sweaty as he imagined an instance where the jester would not understand. The fifth tenet of the Brotherhood was protecting him, and he knew Cicero took these rules very seriously. Probably the only one in this sanctuary who even acknowledged them... Yet, Elias still could not help but to be terrified of him. He never knew if he should feel like a piece of meat in front of a cave bear or like the safest person on Nirn, when he was around him. No matter how much time they spent together, opening up to each other, sharing stories and scraps of their past lives, he still was not sure if Cicero truly trusted him. Or, if he fully trusted Cicero, for that matter. Nonetheless, no matter how dark his gaze could get whenever the redhead told him about his gruesome murders, and how much genuine joy killing people got out of him, Elias could not help but to enjoy his presence, the warmth and comfort he made him feel whenever he was around. How did that make any sense? Cicero reminded him of the sea, for you never know when it can rise from its peaceful sleep to a wrathful unapologetic storm that will engulf anything that dares be in the way. Elias assumed it was simply how things were supposed to be when your friend is a psychotic assassin who unironically dresses as a jester. 

Although, all of this already being pretty scary, what he feared the most was losing their friendship. If he was to lose his only friend in the Brotherhood, he did not know how he could survive. It was not as if the jester had already took Mjoll's place in Elias’ heart. Those were two very distinct, completely different friendships. However, to pretend it did not fill an immense void inside him would be a lie.

When Elias’ fingers finally started gliding fluidly in his thick brown hair, he took a small section on the top and started dividing it in three strands to attempt to make a braid. He was not sure he remembered how to do it exactly, but he played around with the strands and tried whatever he could think of to weave them together. It didn’t look good, and his arms were getting tired. Sofie tried to teach him once, but she quickly got discouraged at how bad of a learner Elias was. He laughed at himself internally. How he could take care of several bandits, wolves, even trolls by himself without a scratch, but could not, for the love of Mara, put his hair in a simple braid was a mystery to him.

He started hearing that familiar high pitched voice echoing on the stone walls. "tra la la, tra la lee, da da dum dum, dee dee..."

He turned towards the sound and saw Cicero walking through the door. Elias’ eyes widened and his hands dropped to his side when he noticed the lack of clothes on Cicero’s upper body: he had his usual jester outfit, minus the motley and the boots. His hair was still wet, some water dripping on his light, bare skin. Elias’ gaze got fixated on a droplet, and followed its path down his chest to the bumps his abs formed on his stomach, until it disappeared on the hem of his trousers. Why did he always imagine Cicero to be thin and lanky when he was just as strong as him, if not more? He had no idea, but he was still surprised to see how muscular Cicero was under his usual outfit.

Elias exhaled, suddenly realizing he had stopped breathing, and looked back towards the jester's face. A deep smile deformed his mouth.

"Cicero is back, sweet Listener, and clean!" he exclaimed when their eyes met. 

He sat down next to Elias, his legs on each side of the bench, in order to face him. "Let me do it," he said as he brought his hand to Elias’ hair and untangled the mess that was supposed to be a braid. 

The Breton felt his face getting warm and his heartbeat getting faster as Cicero’s gloved fingers grazed his scalp. He started dividing Elias’ hair in strands above his forehead and weaving bits together, just like Sofie usually does to him -he knew he was doing them right just from how tight and familiar it felt on his head. However, he wasn’t used to being face to face with the braider, as Sofie usually stood behind him when she styled his hair. This felt so… intimate? This is another thing Elias found surprising about Cicero; how unafraid he was of physical touch and proximity, especially with another fellow man. The Breton was used to the Skyrim men being so emotionally cold and distant with each other, performing masculinity in such a strict way, unapologetically shouting the f slur to whoever didn’t follow the rules. Elias had been a victim of it a few times, but he couldn’t care less about how other people perceived his manliness or lack thereof. There were many things he was self-conscious about, but his gender expression and sexuality weren’t one of them. 

Elias couldn’t help but to think of how ostracized he would be if Cicero acted with him like this in public. Would Cicero even care? Was he even aware ? And was he… like Elias, when it came to sexual orientation? Well, was he even… sexually oriented in the first place?

Oh, for the love of Mara, why was he even thinking about this?

"What is it you wanted to talk about?" Cicero asked as he leaned closer, and this was enough for Elias to be taken out of his weird thoughts. “Does it involve sneaking and stabbing? Oh! Please, say yes!”

There was sheer excitement in his voice, and that creepy smile of his came right back to his mouth. Typical Cicero.

Elias did not know where to look. It felt weird to stare at Cicero from so close, but he couldn’t help it. Those plump lips, that sharp nose, these naked collarbones, that little trail of red hair under his belly button… Gods, why did he need to be such a beautiful bastard?

He forced himself to look away before speaking. "I wanted to talk about this whole... Listener thing."

Cicero chuckled.

"Cicero thought he already told you everything you needed to know about the subject" he answered, his head tilted to the side, fingers still working the braid.

"I know, but I meant... About me , being the Listener."

"What about it?"

The redheaded Imperial kept staring at Elias, not flinching. The Breton looked down and sighed.

"Cicero..." he started, their gazes meeting again. "I know you wanted to be the Listener yourself. I know it meant a lot to you."

And he deserved it. Elias did not understand how the Night Mother could fail to see that. But he could not tell him. It would hurt him too much to know.

"Yes." He stopped weaving for a moment, but kept his hands on Elias’ head, and he looked down. "I did," he continued, "I did indeed. I tried to listen. Tried so very hard. But the Night Mother never spoke to poor Cicero. The silence became almost... maddening. Oh, but that was then! This is now! The Night Mother chose you for a reason I'm sure! Cicero trusts Mother more than anyone. She made a good choice! Oh yes, she couldn't have chosen a better one!"

He giggled and continued his handy work. The braid was now expanding pretty far towards the back of Elias’ head, which forced Cicero to get even closer to correctly reach it. 

Despite the disturbing proximity, Elias forced his face to remain the same, not completely satisfied by the jester’s answer.

"Cicero enjoys being the Keeper," he added, as if sensing his uncertainty. "Yes, truly, it is better this way."

Cicero took out a ribbon from the pocket of his trousers and tied the end of his work with it. He was so close to his face as he tied the knot behind Elias’ head, their noses could almost touch.

Elias could feel his stomach coil, but he did his best to ignore it. He was still unsure about Cicero’s response. There was one more thing he had not talked about yet. 

"And what about us?" Elias asked. Without letting the redhead answer, he continued: "I know we are Keeper and Listener. But I meant... What about Elias and Cicero?"

The jester brought his hands back to himself and leaned back slightly, looked into Elias’ eyes. " What about Elias and Cicero?" he repeated.

"Well, I… I don't want you to be nice to me or to remain my friend or... to take care of me just because I'm the Listener."

He felt his heart doubling in speed. There, he said it. There was no turning back, now. He added:

"I just don't want you to forget who I am, I guess."

Cicero scoffed lightly. "Sweet Elias..." He leaned his face closer to him. "You have been there for Cicero when no one else was. Who was it that convinced Loreius to help Cicero when his carriage’s wheel broke in the middle of the road? Hmm?” 

He brought one of his hands under Elias’ chin, lifting it up so he was forced to look at him. Elias felt like he had forgotten how to breathe.

“Who, in this sanctuary, took the time to talk to Cicero, and showed interest in him?” Cicero continued, his voice becoming slightly more aggressive. “Who spent days traveling with Cicero?” He tightened his grip on Elias’ chin. “Who spent hours asking questions to Cicero about the Night Mother, Sithis, The Void?”

The Breton’s breath became ragged, and he had become hyper-aware of how dry his lips had gotten as he tried to swallow.

"Who went to check on Cicero, wishing him good morning and goodnight every day he was there?" He had now brought his other hand on Elias’ knee, and he seized it with a firm grip, holding him in place. Elias truly thought he was going to suffocate. The heat was spreading, not only on his face, but on his entire body. He wasn’t sure if he was scared or…

"Who told Cicero about their insecurities, their fears of this very sanctuary we're living in? Risking their reputation in this Brotherhood… to confide in Cicero?" The Imperial continued, loosening his grip on Elias' chin, his thumb slowly caressing the area, so lightly it was barely noticeable, but Elias certainly didn’t miss it.

"Say it," Cicero demanded, his face now dangerously close to Elias’. The Breton closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. He struggled, unable to ignore the loud thump of his heart menacing to explode inside his chest.

"I did," Elias managed to say, his voice weak, almost trembling.

"Yes," the jester murmured, "You did. Elias did. You think Cicero would have forgotten that? You take poor Cicero for a fool?" He tightened his grip on Elias’ face, and leaned his face even closer than they already were. Elias did not answer, for it seemed all the words remained stuck inside his throat. 

"You might be my Listener," Cicero continued, in a whisper, "but you will always remain my sweet, sweet Elias."

The way Cicero said Elias’ name, so close to him, it sent a shiver down his spine. He sounded so sultry, so intimate, so… non-platonic. Elias couldn’t deny his attraction anymore; his entire body urged him to fill in the last gap between their faces, and let his lips touch Cicero’s, to feel him, to taste him. Fuck , it had been a while since he had touched another man and it showed, his bodily reactions could confirm it, and Cicero seemed so inviting, so willing to be close. But was he really? Was he just toying with him and his feelings, his attraction? 

No, no, no. Elias couldn’t take the risk. His pride couldn’t handle it if he was to get rejected. Just as he was slowly starting to back away, the sound of footsteps approaching in the distance made him jump, thus completely escaping Cicero's grip.

They both turned around, getting away from each other, and saw Veezara standing in the doorframe.

"Good evening," he said, "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Elias stared intensely at the Argonian, not sure if he was enraged or relieved by his presence.

"Oh no!" Cicero said, "Not at all! We were just discussing the duties and responsibilities of the new Listener! But we were done."

"I was looking for Elias," Veezara answered, looking in the Breton’s direction. "I had a slight problem while I was enchanting my blade, and I knew you'd be able to help.”

Elias stood up from his seat, still staring into the yellow eyes of the Argonian. "Of course," he answered as he walked towards him. He turned around towards the redheaded man. "Goodbye, Cicero."

"Goodbye, sweet Listener."

Elias walked with Veezara towards the enchanting table. He heard him trying to explain his problem, but he was not listening. His mind was a thousand miles away, replaying this moment he just had with Cicero, over and over again. He felt even more confused than he was before talking to him. He did not know what to name the feeling he had. He kept thinking of how Cicero's breath felt against his lips, the strength of his hand on his leg, his face, the soft stroke of his leathered fingers on his skin. He kept thinking of how weak he felt in his grip, how breathless he was making him, and he grimaced, disturbed by his own bodily reactions. Stupid jester and his stupid pretty face, why did he make him feel that way? Elias was already finding it hard to believe a friendship was even possible between them, considering their polar opposite personalities and value systems, so being attracted to him felt even worse. Of course, he had always found Cicero good-looking, but in the same way he found his friend Mjoll good-looking. An objective kind of beauty that you recognize your friends to have, undeniable, but not interfering with your feelings. Right? Well, to be fair, Cicero had always made him feel some type of way when he got too close. But it was worse, now. The usual charm he always appreciated about the redhead was now starting to affect him. Much, much more than usual. Not only that, but now he couldn’t stop wondering about Cicero’s gender preferences. Elias hated it whenever he found himself thinking about that, since he knew it was none of his business what other people were into, but he couldn’t help it. All of his instincts were telling him Cicero wasn’t straight, but the idea of being wrong about it would make him feel stupid. And shame wasn’t an emotion he handled well.

He stopped in front of the enchanting table and turned his head towards Veezara when he realized he had stopped talking.

"I'm sorry," he said, "What was the problem again? I wasn't paying attention."

The Argonian shook his head and chuckled. He did not seem mad, fortunately.

Elias solved the problem quickly: Veezara had simply omitted a part of the incantation, hence the enchantment not working. When they were done, he thanked Elias and went to bed. He had a contract that required him to get up very early the next morning. 

Elias got out of the Sanctuary and found his horse outside, munching on grass. 

He rode fast, and the wind was strong. He kept looking down, trying to shield his face from the breeze -and from the world. He was not sure he was able to identify how he felt at the moment: part of him wanted to go back to Cicero's chambers and jump on him like a wild animal, rip off the rest of his outfit, taste his skin, his lips, and feel his hair between his fingers. However, the other part of him wanted to beat himself up for even daring to think of Cicero this way. His crazy jester friend, for Sithis' sake! He felt ashamed of his feelings, humiliated by how weak that unexpected proximity made him feel. Those feelings were reserved for the occasional stop at a brothel, when he can spend the night with the worker he paid, let it all out on them, and then never see them again, no strings attached. Cicero was, in fact, not a prostitute, but his dear friend, his colleague, and his metaphorical brother from The Night Mother. Not seeing him again was not a possibility. Even if he tried, he would not be emotionally able to be away from him, not after all the feelings he invested in their friendship already. 

He wanted to stop, just so she could hug Nin and cry on her soft fur, but he controlled himself. He felt ridiculous.

"Come on, Elias!" he mentally told himself, "It's only Cicero. A poor, yet adorable fool. Your good friend. He happens to be attractive. So what? You aren't gonna fall under his charm just for that! You're stronger than that!"

He raised his head high, looking straight in front of him. He was going to get lost if he kept his head down too long.

"So what?" he repeated to herself, slowly convincing himself he was overreacting. "So what? So what? So what? So what?"

He was almost mouthing the words at this point. He smiled slightly, content to have not fallen into a "I hate myself/pity me" moment. He was a strong, independent man. He knew it. He was the fucking Dragonborn, for Sithis' sake! The damn Listener! Thane of four cities already! Who was he to weaken himself down for a stupid man? Not only a man, but Cicero, out of all people?

"No," he decided mentally. He was not changing anything in his relationship with Cicero, sexual attraction or not. To Oblivion with this mess. They were friends, point blank period. Nothing else. Anyway, his attraction was going to fade away soon, surely. Probably. He hoped so, at least.

It was very dark when he arrived home, the moons being the only sources of light in this cold night. He hurried inside, but made sure to keep quiet to not wake anyone up. 

When he was ready to go to bed, he noticed a letter on the night table. He opened it and recognized Mjoll's handwriting. Elias could not help but to smile, as he read it. Any news from her was always welcome. She didn't write much, simply talked about what was happening in Riften and how it felt to be pregnant for the first time. Then, she asked Elias about the plan. How it was going, if he had any ideas yet.

He put down the letter, not wanting to see the words written down, reminding him of what he was supposed to do. He had spent so much time in the Sanctuary, especially with Cicero, his original plan seemed so far away… He had procrastinated thinking about it as much as he possibly could, but now he had to make a decision. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to do anymore. The only thing he was sure of, is that he wanted the fool to survive. Too bad if Mjoll didn't agree. The friendship he had formed with the jester already seemed too deep to be broken. 

However, if Cicero remained alive, but the Sanctuary was destroyed, what would he even do? What would he have to live for? He'd go completely mad, more than he already is, which could be extremely dangerous. Both to others and to himself. No, if Elias wanted to let Cicero live, the Brotherhood would still have to live too. But then, how could he possibly get out of it? Alive ? And what would he tell Mjoll? Ugh. If only he could just eliminate everyone else and let Cicero run the Sanctuary like he wants to, with the "old ways", find new recruits that will be good to him... And Elias would just peacefully retire and write down the contracts from the Night Mother and go give them the info once in a while. Cicero would understand, surely. Wouldn't that be perfect?

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that this plan wasn't so crazy after all. It would be hard, but do-able. The only problem was Mjoll. She wouldn't agree…. But Elias didn't have any other plan.

He took out some ink and paper, and started writing. He explained the whole Listener thing, his growing friendship with Cicero (which he pretended was fake, just to gain the fool’s trust), and his next contracts. He didn't have the heart to tell her about how he wanted to keep the Fool and the Sanctuary alive. Of course, he would, eventually. Just not yet. However, Cicero should probably be made aware of the plan, soon. So this whole mess could finally start to clear up.

Chapter Text

"The vampire gave me quite a lot of trouble", Elias told Cicero. He was lying on his back on Cicero's bed, his feet propped up on the stone wall in front of him. The Imperial was sitting at the table, not too far away from him.

"How so?" Cicero asked, without taking his gaze away from the piece of fabric he was trying to sew onto one of his motleys. Elias didn't know why he even bothered. If it were his, he would have thrown it away long ago, instead of fixing it multiple times and making it look like a whole patchwork.

"I don't know," the Breton answered, "vampires are just always trouble. No offense to Babette. And of course, I had to get his girlfriend too. With her dead man's smell all over me, she would've tracked me down pretty quickly, I'm afraid."

"It was two against one, then."

"Yep. And my dumbass forgot to bring cure-disease potions. I brought the cure-poison ones instead…"

"But did… did you turn?" 

"Almost. I was heading to Morthal after that anyway, so I was able to meet with Fallion, the guy who's like a vampire expert or something. He said I would still be fine with just a cure-disease potion, but if I waited a couple hours more, I would've turned."

"Oh, silly Elly. Always forgetting things… But, that's good news, then. I've heard it's… a painful experience."

Cicero had recently started calling Elias by his nickname. Elly. Whenever he wasn’t calling him “Listener”, that is. Elias enjoyed it more than he dared to admit.

"It is,” the Breton continued. “It happened to me once before. I went to Fallion as soon as I noticed but it was too late. He had to perform the whole ritual with the black soul gem at dawn, it lasted HOURS. It was terrible. But I hopefully got back to myself."

It was just another one of those traumatic events he could pull out of his collection.

"Thank Sithis you did! Who knows what would have happened if you didn't. Maybe you wouldn't even be here. And Mother couldn't have made you the Listener! You were saved for a reason, the first time. The Brotherhood needs Elias."

Oh yes, it does. Just not for the reason they think.

"I guess," he answered instead.

"And what of the other contract, hmm? The bard."

Elias closed his eyes so strongly, his whole face scrunched up, as if he was trying to erase that memory from his mind.

"Yeah, I don't want to talk about this one."

Cicero looked puzzled. "Why's that? It didn’t go well?" he asked, looking up at him.

Could he tell him? Could he ACTUALLY tell him the truth? Were they “there” in their friendship?

“It went well, it was super easy, it’s just…” Elias hesitated. 

“Yes?” 

He sighed. Fuck it, he’d tell him. 

“Well… It didn’t feel good. It just… didn’t feel like a satisfying death.” The man brought his legs back on the bed and rolled to the side, resting his head on his hand, in order to face the jester. “Do you ever feel this way, Cicero? Do you ever feel like the victims just… do not deserve to be killed at the moment? Like it’s not their time?”

Cicero chuckled slightly, still absorbed by his work. “No. But Cicero knows what Elly is saying.”

Elias felt a rush of heat, and his heart beating faster. 

“You do?” he asked, in genuine surprise.

“Of course. It is a common feeling for new recruits to experience. When they get in, they expect to be heroes. Act out the violent revenge of the shy, inexperienced quiet victims. Save the town from the monsters, and make the world a better place. Oh, but you soon learn it’s not going to be like that. It never has and never will be.” He paused and put down his needle. “You are used to being the hero, aren’t you? Dragonborn.”

Elias felt himself recoil almost involuntarily. Wow. That was a big hit, right in the chakra. 

He stayed silent, thinking of what Cicero said, and not knowing how to respond anyway. He was right, in a way. In a sick, twisted way Elias hated.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Yes I am. Yet, I never asked to be…”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Cicero cut him off. “You still are.”

The Breton was starting to feel tense. Where was he getting at? Cicero seemed to notice, for he laughed softly and said: “It’s not a reproach, Listener. Cicero knows your blood status has made you go through what most wouldn’t survive. I have seen the pain in your eyes since the day we met. Cicero does not want to offend the sweet Listener. I am just saying that you are biased. You are used to being put in the « good guys » position.”

“Are you saying we’re the bad guys, then?” He was smiling to diffuse the tension, but really he was dying inside. Cicero was dominating him in this conversation, and Elias hated it. It made him feel weak. He was several steps outside of the comfort zone, and it felt dangerous.

“See, this is what I mean.” The man stood up from the bench and started pacing around the room. “Elias is smart, Elias is strong, and a mighty good fighter. But Elias’ sense of morality is so…juvenile, so simple.”

Elias sat up straight, startled by that statement. He almost felt hurt, at this point. Cicero was straight-up saying he was dumb. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that?

Cicero stopped walking and sat next to Elias on the bed. 

“It’s like you see the whole world in either black or white. Things are either good or bad.”

“I mean…”

Was he wrong, though?  

“This isn’t how it works In Sithis’ eyes”, he continued. “There are no “good guys” or “bad guys” in the void, no right or wrong. Only souls. When a contract is sealed, a blood ritual is performed, the soul is bound to Sithis. Their faith is decided. Don’t you see, Listener? If they do not die by our hands, they will die by others’. It is a gift; an honor for us to be able to give them a worthy death.”

Elias was staring at the fur blanket underneath them. He didn’t want to look at Cicero’s eyes. 

The fool had a point. Once a person is named in a prayer for the Night Mother, it’s over for them. Someone wants them dead. In a way, the Brotherhood members are just a means to an end. Mere couriers in the grand scheme of life.

“You want to be the good guy, Elias?” Cicero asked after letting Elias ponder on his words for a moment. “Then be the good death. Give them the death you'd want to have."

It would be a lie to say Elias had never thought about his own death. Ever since he got out of the orphanage and set out to explore the world on his own terms, he knew death would hang around nearer. Much, much nearer. At times, he got so close to it, he could almost touch it, feel it with his senses. Yet, he never totally embraced it. Someone or something always yanked him back to reality. No, death didn’t scare him; He was friends with it. If it were to happen, he’d let it. He knew he’d be warm and safe there, at peace. However, he wouldn’t jump into it face first without a good fight. If he was still there, it was for a reason, he assumed. The future of Nirn’s inhabitants, in general, was mostly what kept him going at first. If he had to be gifted with dragon blood, then he’d use this power for good and save the world. Be the damn “hero”. But then, when Alduin and Miraak were destroyed, his reasons to stay alive narrowed, and became more personal. Sofie. Lucia. Mjoll. Aerin. Gregor. Oriella. Dawnstar, a town so boring and cold, but a town that welcomed him with open arms and where he decided to build a permanent shelter. Riding with Nin on a warm day. The warmth of a fire outside, when the cold becomes too harsh. Those hours spent at the alchemy table, when the mixture finally turns the right color, or gets the right texture. Waking up to the sound of his daughters laughing, playing, being happy and safe .

Those are what kept him alive. 

He finally dared to lift his head back up and look at the man sitting in front of him. “How would you want to die, Cicero?”

“Oh, Cicero doesn’t mind how he dies, really. The void will welcome me after, one way or another. Whoever’s doing it might as well have fun. Oh, yes! Fun!”

“And what do you consider as fun? I mean… killing-wise.”

“Well, Cicero always prefers deaths to be painful, but quick. Suffering can be fun to watch, of course, but not for too long. These souls belong to Sithis, after all, and there is no need to keep Him waiting. Oh, and with lots of blood! If possible. I just think the puddles look neat. It’s like a painting!”

This was an interesting answer that Elias did not expect. Cicero did enjoy watching people suffer, which made him a sadist. Yikes. Yet, he had enough self-control to not make it last too long. Out of respect for his beloved Dread Lord, sure, but still. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a bit of humanity deep inside him? A teeny tiny amount of empathy that remained?

Probably not, to be fair. But Elias liked to hope.

“And what about you, hmm?” Cicero asked. “What is Elias' good death?”

“As little blood as possible. That stuff stains. And stinks. And no suffering, if possible, unless they deserve it, like if I know they made innocents suffer. But no more than a couple seconds. Otherwise, I get triggered. I mean, I’ve also had my fair share of suffering in life, so I don’t need to see it in other people. It reminds me too much of my own.”

Cicero looked pensive.

“Cicero hears you, Listener. Understands what you’re saying… but disagrees. Cicero doesn’t hate suffering.”

Okay, freak.

“Pain can be unpleasant, at a surface level,” he continued. “But the right dosage can be rewarding. Transcending pain is a special experience. It opens your mind. Creates resilience. Makes you remember that you are alive. Really, pain can be quite beautiful.”

Elias felt his face getting hotter and his jaw clenching.The only thing pain had created for him was PTSD. It wasn’t special, it wasn’t beautiful, and it was insulting to him how much Cicero romanticized the concept. Was his trauma a joke to him? A fun little quirk?

“Yeah, well I’m gonna agree to disagree on that, if you don’t mind,” he said as he got up from the bed.

“Of course, Listener! To each assassin their own way. That’s the whole beauty of it. Where are you going, dear?”

Elias simply stayed silent and looked at Cicero for a moment. His company wasn’t pleasant today, and the Breton would not make an effort to be pleasant himself.

“I was going to ask you to accompany me to Volunruud, since Ass-trid finally decided to let me go. But I changed my mind. I’m going alone.”

On that note, he turned around and headed for the exit.

“Wait, Elly!” Cicero said as he hurried to catch up to him. “I am confused. Has Cicero offended you?”

“Yes, you did!” He said it as if he was congratulating a child for getting the right answer. 

“B-but Cicero didn’t mean to, Listener…”

“I know,” he cut him off. “But you did. Now, leave me alone, Keeper boy.”

Elias kept on walking and did not look back. He knew it was immature of him to leave Cicero without any further explanation, but he purposefully wanted him to be hurt. That’d teach him.

Elias arrived in Volunruud a couple hours later. Yes, he tortured himself on the way there by replaying his conversation with Cicero over and over and over again in his head, and overthinking everything that’s been said. What else was he expected to do?

When he entered, he was hit with the stench of dead draugrs. Of course, they were all dead. He and Mjoll had wiped out the entire place a while ago. The only thing he’d have to worry about would be to find this Motierre guy. At least, this one client actually came from the Night Mother herself. His request had better be good.

Now, where to find him? This place was huge, and there were several different paths opening up. Elias had always deeply hated split-paths. How the hell is he supposed to know which way to go first? Anyway, he chose to go left, and he was lucky because it seemed he had picked the right way on the first try. There was a wooden door at the end of the corridor, next to the dead draugrs, and he could hear talking behind it. He knocked, then opened it.

“By the almighty Divines,” a small, brown haired man said as he saw him enter. “You've come. You've actually come. This dreadful Black Sacrament thing... it worked."

It truly did work, this time.

“The Night Mother heard your pleas, Motierre.” 

"Yes, um... So it would seem. Well, I won't waste your time. I would like to arrange a contract. Several, actually. I daresay, the work I'm offering has more significance than anything your organization has experienced in, well, centuries."

Oh, gods.

“Go on,” Elias said, hoping the fear in his voice wasn’t showing. 

"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. For I seek the assassination of... ...the Emperor."

The what, now?

"It's a shocking request, I know,” the man added, as he noticed Elias’ eyes. They seemed so far away, trying to process the words. “But it is inside the purview of what you Dark Brotherhood types do. Isn't it? If history is to be believed? You must understand. So much has led to this day. So much planning, and maneuvering. Now you're here, as if the very stars have finally aligned. But I digress. Here, let me give you these. They are to be delivered to your, um... superior.” He turned his head towards the big brute standing at the other end of the room. “Rexus! The items." 

The buff man approached Elias and, without uttering a single word, handed him a sealed letter, as well as a beautiful necklace, ornate with a precious gem in the middle. Just by the look of it, it seemed to be worth more than his own life.

“The sealed letter will explain everything that needs to be done,” Motierre said. “The amulet is quite valuable - you can use it to pay for any and all expenses.”

Elias was still gawking at the necklace. This man was actually requesting them to kill the emperor. The emperor. Of Tamriel.

“Can I just…” he started, looking for his words. “Can you just tell me… why?”

 "In the year 3E 41, Emperor Pelagius Septim was murdered in the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. Cut down by a Dark Brotherhood assassin. His killing ushered in, shall we say, a necessary change in Imperial policy. There are those now who wish for a similar change. I am sorry, but that's all I'm at liberty to say."

“You do realize how… important this is? And how significant the compensation will need to be?”

"Oh, my furtive friend. When Emperor Titus Mede II lies dead, there will be gold... a fortune in gold. But so much more! It is said that the Dark Brotherhood, in recent years, has been in decline. That you lack the power, wealth, and respect of days past. Is it not so? If you do this, if you kill the Emperor... Oh, how the masses will fear and respect you."

It was time to leave, now. He needed to go home, quickly. Either that, or simply to wake up from that nonsensical nightmare. Elias’ soul and mind felt so far away from his body, it wasn’t too different from being in a dream.

Chapter Text

It felt good to be back in Riften. Not for the city itself, which was objectively terrible: it was swarming with thieves, and the streets smelled like a weird mixture between rotten fish and honey. But rather because of the many memories that were made there. Honeyside, the little house Elias owned there, was his favourite after Heljarchen Hall. It was where he lived permanently, with his daughters, before moving to The Pale. It was also where Mjoll lived. Elias was excited to see her in person again. It had been a while. He was, however, extremely nervous to tell her the reason why he was in Riften. And to introduce her to the person accompanying him. A deadly little jester man.

Elias was angry with Cicero when he left the Sanctuary to go meet Amaund Motierre, a couple days ago, but it was as if nothing happened when he got back. The Breton was aware that it had been his fault, it was him who had acted like a child. Yet, Cicero did not seem to have held any grudges about it. It was even him who apologized to Elias about it, when it should have been the opposite. How was it possible for this man to be so good to him? How could he thrive being a disgustingly violent assassin, yet be so respectful, gentle and nice with him? It made no sense. There was no way these two things could co-exist within the same person. It had to be an act. Elias always knew, obviously. He was no fool. But he had to play along so that they could be on the same side, when everything would finally end. He hated to admit it, but playing along was nice. And Cicero was damn good in this role. A bit too good, sometimes. After all, there had to be at least a minimum of things that were real in that friendship: His devotion, admiration and respect for the role of Listener was real, that Elias knew. Cicero also seemed to have these same kinds of feelings for him as a person, as Elias. That he could believe. But everything else was part of the act. It had to be. Elias refused to believe killers like him had the ability to feel anything more. Cicero was his friend, in his own scary way. As long as Elias was aware of it being that way, there was no harm in enjoying playing along. Right?

"Remind me, why do we have to go see your friend before we start?" Cicero asked, as they arrived in the city.

"Because if she sees us, she won't understand why I'm here and I haven't told her."

"I don't get it."

"I wasn't expecting you to get it either. Okay, let's practice one last time. What's our alibi?"

"We're getting this necklace evaluated by someone in the Thieves' guild because I found it in my mother's tomb and think it can be worth a lot."

"Good. And how did we meet again?"

"At the inn in Falkreath. Our paths crossed again, what a coincidence! And now we're partnering up for a couple adventures."

"Perfect. Let's go."

They arrived in front of the woman's house and Elias knocked on the door. Mjoll opened a couple seconds later.

"Elly!" she exclaimed as she hugged her friend tightly. "It's so good to see you! Oh, and I see you have company."

Mjoll stepped back from Elias' embrace and looked at Cicero.

"Yes, Mjoll this is Cicero, Cicero this is Mjoll. You guys have met before," the Breton said, "on the road, a while ago. I don't know if you remember."

"I do," the Nord said. "You are the man that was transporting his Mother."

"I am, I am!" Cicero replied with his usual enthusiasm. "And I remember you too, for Cicero never forgets a face. Mother and I are still very thankful for you and Elias' help."

"Speaking of his mother," Elias continued, "we're here because Cicero found an old necklace in her tomb that we think could be worth a lot. We're getting it evaluated by Delvin Mallory from the Thieves' guild. We just thought we'd say hi as we passed by."

This was quite the situation Elias was in. He was lying to Mjoll, while being aware that she knew he was lying. Really, the lie was more for Cicero. He had to believe that Elias was genuinely lying to Mjoll, so that he wouldn't know that Mjoll already knew. 

He would get a headache if he tried to think deeper about it.

Mjoll visibly tried to keep herself from grimacing. Her hatred for the Thieves' guild was not a secret to anyone, which was probably what caused her face to change. That, and trying to process Elias' lie through the subtle hints he was giving her by widening his eyes and lifting his eyebrows.

"Crazy how life is sometimes!" Mjoll answered after a second of hesitation. Thank Sithis, she got the hint. "Some people come back in our lives in unexpected ways."

"Oh, absolutely they do!" the jester answered, with a slight smirk only Elias detected.

"As Elias probably told you," Mjoll continued, "I'm not a fan of the Thieves' guild, but I know how to get to their quarters. You have to go through the ratway. The entrance is on the deck, under the marketplace."

"Oh, thank you so much for the information, dear Mjoll" Cicero said, "it will be of great help."

"You're welcome. Do you guys have a place to stay for the night?"

"We'll stay at Honeyside," Elias answered. "I still have one of the girl's old bed for the guest room. That'll do the job."

"Good idea. If you need anything, you know where to find me."

"Of course."

Mjoll and Elias stared at each other, trying to say so many things just with their eyes, since the jester was making it impossible for them to have an actual helpful discussion.

"I'll let you guys go now," Mjoll finally said to break the silence that was getting a little too long. "I have to go lie down anyway, i'm a bit nauseous."

Elias smiled and tenderly touched the lady's belly. It had visibly gotten bigger since the last time he saw her.

"The little creature is starting to make its presence even more known to your body, it seems. You take care, now. And say hi to Aerin from me."

After some goodbyes, the two assassins continued their path inside the city. They were able to get to the Ratway's entrance easily. Too easily. It was almost suspicious. Things got a bit more complicated -and stinky- once they were inside: the place was infested by repulsive skeevers. Both literally and figuratively: the drunk lowlives setting camp there didn't smell nor look that different from their rodent roommates. It would have truly been a challenge if it wasn't for the fact that Elias and Cicero were easily twice as skilled in battle as these guys. Not to mention that they always stayed alone or in very little groups. It was child's play.

"I think that was the last of them," the Breton said as he removed his blade from a now resting chest. Cicero was still holding the man's arms, but almost dropped it as the load got heavier now that Elias' sword was out of it.

"Almost got me there, Elly," he said as he pointed towards his chest with his eyes. "Look." He tilted the corpse forward and waited for Elias to come next to him. "See the wound on his back? You went through him whole. The blade could've gotten me too, if I didn't think of sucking in my stomach."

Elias looked at the wound on the body's back as Cicero dropped it on the ground. Odd. He didn't even feel like he hit it with full force.

"You are getting stronger, Listener."

Was he, though? 

"Or we're just getting better at working together," he answered. Before it started to get sappy, he continued: "Anyway, this wouldn't be a problem if you wore proper armor."

"But Cicero doesn't do armor."

"Well, Cicero should."

"I don't need it. I'm better when I can move fast, and be light on my feet. Besides, it feels odd to not be wearing the jester's outfit. Especially when fighting."

"Then at least wear something underneath the motley. Like a protective vest or something." As he said that, he remembered he had a couple of them that he didn't wear anymore. The one made with dragon scales was a bit too small for him anyway, which would probably be perfect for Cicero. But it was in Heljarchen Hall, his house in The Pale. Way too far. Dammit. 

"If you find me one, I'll wear it," the jester said, in a tone that clearly meant he was done with the subject. Fine then. "Their quarters must be behind that door. It's the only one we haven't opened by now, and we've been running in circles for hours."

Fair point. They headed towards the door down the little staircase and then entered a very wide and tall space. The walls were made of stone, and they curved at the top, which made it look like they were inside a half sphere. The place was pretty well lit for an underground space. They could see people sitting around tables, as well as a bar stand, as if this was the main place inside an inn. They followed the path on the little wooden deck to get to them.

Everyone looked at them from the corner of their eyes, but they didn't stop their conversations. Elias and Cicero decided to head towards the bar and ask the man behind it for directions.

"We're looking for Delvin Mallory," he simply said. The man behind the bar pointed to a pale, bald man.

They approached him. When he noticed them, he looked at them in confusion, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, now you must be lost,” he said. “Best ya scurry off while you’re able. The Ratway, well, it has a habit of swallowin’ up the uninvited. What’s a jester doing here anyway?”

Oh, how far back did Elias roll his eyes, you couldn’t even tell he had pupils. The lovely men of Skyrim, treating him like shit and doubting his skills. Of course. As for the jester comment, well… He did understand the confusion.

“The Dark Brotherhood requires your services,” Elias answered dryly. Gods, he could swear one day he would snap and actually slap someone in the face when getting answered like that.

Mallory stared at him for a second, and then his face softened.

“Oh. Oh I see. The new armor is… interesting. Well now, how is Astrid doin' these days? Tell her to stop by some time. We can have a drink. Catch up. Ah, but we can discuss that later, yeah? What does the Brotherhood need?”

What was it with everyone being so enamored with Astrid? Clearly Elias did not see what everyone else was seeing in her. 

He took the necklace out of his pocket and handed it to him. “What can you tell me about this?” 

"Let's see…” Mallory examined it carefully. “Where oh where did you get this? Don't answer - I don't want to know. This is an amulet of the Emperor's Elder Council. Specially crafted for each member. Worth a small fortune. Ain't somethin' you'd give up lightly. Look, it ain't my business ta tell the Dark Brotherhood its business, but if you killed a member of the Elder Council, you'd better belie-"

“Will you buy it?” Elias cut him off. He wasn’t interested in whatever conspiracy theory he was going to tell him, and he just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

"Buy it? This? An Elder Council amulet? Oh yes. Oh yes, indeed. Wait just one moment…” He took a piece of paper and a quill from the table he was sitting at and started writing. Meanwhile, Elias and Cicero looked at each other, communicating their emotions through facial expressions. “Here,” Mallory finally said as he handed them the paper. “It's a letter of credit. Usable, by Astrid only, for any service or item I can provide. As per our standard arrangement. You bring that back to your lovely mistress. With my regards."

Lovely mistress. Elias almost puked inside his mouth.

“Deal,” Elias said as he shoved the letter inside his pocket. He then immediately grabbed Cicero’s arm and started walking away, not even feeling sorry about skipping the goodbyes. The jester simply followed, a bit taken aback, but complying anyway.

"Why the hurry, Listener?" he asked when passed the door. They kept walking, retracing the path they took to get there.

"I just can't stand this place, these people…"

"Why? Because they're thieves?"

"Not particularly because of that. It's their attitude…"

"Hmpf. Yes, I know what you mean. Cicero never understood thieves, really... take someone's things BEFORE you kill them? And they call me crazy..."

Elias laughed. Dear crazy Cicero. There was no point trying to explain to him in more detail why he was uncomfortable, but it was fine with him. Cicero was there for him and was understanding. In his Cicero ways.

They took their time on their way back, since they had already taken care of all inconveniences earlier.

"I still can't wrap my head around the fact that we've been asked to kill the emperor." Elias said as he shook his head. "I mean, I know I've already told you like a thousand times already on our way to Riften, but now that the bald dude confirmed the value of the amulet, it just… It just feels a lot more real now."

"It does, it does! Oh, this is exciting! And so many new kills to perform before the big one… of course Cicero can't do them. But just thinking of it makes me happy. Such a huge contract, and especially now that we have a Listener… Ah! This is simply wonderful for the Brotherhood, truly."

It was. For them. For Elias' plan, however? Not really. That was a lot of new stuff to deal with. He was not sure anymore if he had to tell Cicero about the plan soon, before this whole thing happened, or after.

They continued their walk while sharing their ideas on how they would manage to assassinate the emperor. All their ideas were crazy, but then again, so was the situation. By the gods, Elias hoped they wouldn't choose him for that contract…

The sun was starting to set when they arrived at Honeyside. Elias' housecarl, Iona, was glad to see him, although it wasn't obvious considering her constant stoic face. Iona raised an eyebrow when looking at Cicero, but did not make any comment about him. She cooked them a meal, which was absolutely delicious, as always, and then left the duo alone for the rest of the evening. Elias appreciated that side of Iona: everything with her was quick, simple, right to the point. In this moment, it was exactly what he needed. He didn't want to have to explain again why he was there and why he was with a jester. Speaking of which, Elias was pleasantly surprised to see how well-behaved he was. He was always scared that Cicero would be weird or embarrassing when interacting with people other than the Brotherhood members or some victims, but every time it turned out totally fine. He was over-the-top and loud, but always very polite and charming. The fake kind of charm a killer would have, sure. Elias was very much aware. But at least it was passing well with people.

After eating, they went downstairs so Elias could show Cicero where he would be sleeping. However, before going in, the redheaded man got distracted by the alchemy lab.

"Quite the lab you've got there, Listener!" he said as he stopped in front of the tall shelf and looked at the hundreds of little flasks that were stacked there.

Elias smiled in nostalgia. He really missed the beautiful alchemy space he had inside Honeyside. He still had an alchemy table at Heljarchen Hall, but it was cramped in the small space between the wall and the staircase in the dining room, and there weren't many shelves.

"Yeah, I've always been a sucker for alchemy," he answered as he touched some of the flasks. "I wish I had that much space for it in my current home, but I decided to use the space to give the girls a proper bedroom and nice bath chambers."

The jester turned around to see what was on the other shelf. 

"More flasks," he said.

"Yeah, this is where I used to store my ingredients, but since I'm almost never here anymore, I just put my poison surplus here instead."

Cicero squinted, and then reached for something on the shelf. 

 "It seems you forgot one ingredient," he said as he pulled out a dried flower and held it in front of Elias.

A nightshade. 

The Breton chuckled. "Apparently I did."

Cicero smiled and then slipped the stem in Elias' hair. He could feel his own heartbeat picking up speed as he felt Cicero's hands so close to him, and his face getting warmer. He hoped the colour of his cheeks didn't betray him.

"It'd look better if it was fresh," he said as he looked away and nervously passed a hand through his hair, making sure not to yank the flower away.

Cicero shrugged. "The Listener is handsome enough to make anything look good." 

If Elias didn't redden before, now he definitely did. The heat spread throughout his entire face, so much he felt dizzy.

"Now, where am I going to sleep?" Cicero said while turning around as if what he said before was as trivial as stating the current weather.

Elias took a good second to mentally shake off what just happened, and then walked towards the girls' old bedroom, not far from where they were standing. One of the beds was still there, pushed to the back of the room next to a little side table. The rest of the space was just storage: Iona's additional weapons, some fishing rods, gardening tools, etc. Not the most hospitable room, but a room nonetheless. At least there wasn't a hole in the stone ceiling like back at the Sanctuary.

"There," he told him.

"Oh, this is perfect, Listener! Thank you, thank you, thank you for your hospitality."

"No worries. I suggest we go to sleep soon so we can leave extra early tomorrow. Hopefully, we'll be able to get there by night time."

"Yes, good idea. Cicero will see you tomorrow, then."

The Breton nodded. "Cicero will."

And on that note, he turned around and headed upstairs, getting ready for bed. He should have been thinking about the emperor's contract. And yet, he just had a stupid smile on his face and kept having the same thought: "Cicero thinks I'm handsome." He felt so stupid. But he couldn't help it.

Chapter Text

Elias’ eyes were closing on their own, and his butt hurt from riding all day, but they were almost there. It was way past midnight, and he and Cicero had been on the road since the early morning. They were both exhausted.

"Careful, Elly, you're gonna fall!" the red-headed man said in a mocking tone.

The Breton jolted awake, just now realizing he was seriously about to doze off.

"I'm fine!" he screamed as he tried to brush the sleepiness off his eyes with his hand.

He managed to stay awake for the next two minutes before they finally arrived. Getting off of Nin and walking around was helping him a bit at staying conscious, at least.

"I hope Ass-trid is sleeping," he said as he walked towards Cicero who was still tethering his horse. "I don't want to see her now, I just want to go to bed."

"And I don't want to see her regardless of how tired I am," Cicero answered. Elias laughed. Fair point.

They entered the stone door side by side, and walked down the stairs. They could see Astrid sitting up from the chair behind the map table and walking in their direction.

Of course she had to be there.

"Good, you're back," she told Elias, utterly ignoring Cicero. "Well, what did Mallory have to say? Is the amulet authentic?"

"Yes, and specially made for members of the Elder Council."  

"The Elder Council... Oh, now that explains quite a bit. Motierre, you naughty, naughty boy. Hiring the Dark Brotherhood to help you rise beyond your station. Delicious. Was Mallory willing to buy the amulet?"

"He was. Here's a letter of credit." He gave the piece of parchment paper to her.

"Splendid. Then we're ready to begin. Or, more specifically, you're ready to begin. After all, you're the one the Night Mother spoke to."

Oh gods, no…

"But I'm the only one the night mother speaks to," Elias protested. "I can't keep all the contracts to myself."

"Oh, I know. But I specifically want you for this one." 

Fuck.

"Now then," Astrid continued, "I hope you have something nice to wear. Because you're going to a wedding."

"A wedding?" Elias asked in confusion.

"Well, more like the public reception. It should be a lovely affair. You'll mingle with the guests, eat some cake... stab the bride. Oh yes. You've got to kill the bride. At her wedding. And they say romance is dead."

The Breton felt his stomach drop and he suddenly became very light-headed. All that mixed with the fatigue he was already enduring, his legs started to fail him and he toppled to the side. Cicero reacted immediately, and grabbed him from under the shoulder, so he wouldn't fall.

Astrid raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Too cruel for you, Listener ?"

"No, no," he answered, kind of in a daze, while he used Cicero's support to find back his balance. "It's not about that." 

"We've been riding since 5 in the morning," Cicero added, "the Listener was already on the verge of passing out before we entered."

Elias was well able to stand on his feet by himself after Cicero caught him, but he didn't want him to let go. He pressed himself against the jester, and was glad to feel him grip tighter.

"Yes," Elias answered, "I'm just very tired is all. So who's the target?"

"Her name is Vittoria Vici. She oversees the East Empire Company's business holdings in Solitude. The wedding is being held in that city, at the Temple of the Divines. Her death will cause an uproar, which is exactly what we want. Vici is likely to address her guests frequently, as is the wedding custom. Kill her when she does that, and I promise you a significant bonus. This is a public kill. How you do it is entirely up to you. Arrow to the throat? Knife in the belly? Your choice, so long as it's loud and messy. Because of the current political climate, people are going to assume the murder is related to the bad blood between the Legion and Stormcloaks. In any event, when Vici dies, it's going to be complete pandemonium. Best have your escape route planned out in advance."

Elias felt like he was about to throw up.

"And when is it?" he croaked.

"In four days. So you'll be leaving soon. Tomorrow should be good."

"Perfect."

"Off to bed now, before you pass out on me."

The Nord walked away, towards her shared bedroom with Arnbjorn. Elias felt very much awake now with his speedy heartbeat and his ragged breath. He waited until Astrid had closed the door to talk:

"Cicero, I'm not feeling too good."

There was no purpose in hiding his feelings about the contract to Cicero. It was obvious. He looked around, nervous, wondering what to do next. Cicero took him gently by the arm.

"I know, I know, Elly," he said softly. "Come quick, we'll get you some space.”

He quickly guided Elias towards his room and made him sit on the bed. The Breton let his head fall forward and caught it in his own hands, massaging his temples, trying to focus on his breathing. He didn't feel like he was going to fall into a panic, but he was on the very edge. He felt Cicero’s knee brushing against his as he sat down next to him, and this tiny physical contact was enough to make him want to throw himself into the fool’s arms. He wisely exercised some restraint, though. It seemed Cicero had read his mind, however, because he had placed a hand on Elias’ back, and stroked gently, in a reassuring way. It may not have seemed like much, but it really did help. Physical contact was always helpful to ground him. He focused on the feeling of Cicero's gloved hands on his back, the feeling of his knee against him, the sounds of his breath not too far from him, anything to stay in the here and now. When Elias finally felt a little calmer, he started speaking.

"This contract," he said with difficulty, his ego hurting with each word, "it's too much for me. A bride.. I just…"

"I know. It doesn't fit your code. As soon as Astrid said it, Cicero knew it was a bad contract for the Listener."

Gods, it felt good to finally be able to talk transparently about his feelings towards the contracts. 

"I wish I could give it to you.”

"Oh, Cicero really wishes he could have had that contract. A public kill, a wedding… Absolutely fantastic. Delightful. But the Keeper cannot take any contracts. To do so would be a betrayal to the Night Mother."

"I know and I hate this."

The red-headed man removed his arms from Elias’ back and held his hand instead.

"Look at me, Listener," Cicero ordered, although he didn’t need to since that last gesture had made Elias stare at him in surprise. "Remember what we talked about the other day. The good death. You know you can give it to her. If it isn't you, it's gonna be Gabriella. Or Festus. Or any other member. Do you really think they would hold back? Imagine how gruesome, humiliating and painful of a death they would give her. But her death is yours. You have the chance to make it as quick and painless as you want. I know it's the kind of death you give. You have the chance to make it good. Take it."

He was right. He was absolutely right. It must've taken him a lot of strength to be able to say that to Elias, knowing he would have made Vici's death an absolute bloodbath if it was his contract, and would have been delighted by it. He was able to take Elias' feelings into consideration, and respect them. That was… More than Elias could do himself, probably. Incredibly mature and wise. Just, who was Cicero? Honestly, the more he discovered about him, the more appreciation he had for him. If he wasn't completely exhausted, who knows if he would have been able to stop himself from kissing him.

"You're right, I know," the Breton said after a moment. He sighed. "And it's a public kill, I've never done that before, it'll need to be thoroughly planned and-"

"AND," Cicero cut him off, "we'll have the whole day tomorrow to plan it out. Now's not the time. The Listener needs to rest."

Indeed. However, the thought of letting go of Cicero's presence, even just for the night, seemed unbearable to him at this time.

"I… I want to stay with you," he simply said. An answer a bit more straight-forward than he would usually use, but he was too tired to worry about it.

"Alright," Cicero answered, not even looking surprised or annoyed. "We need to take off your armor top first."

Elias happily let him untie the laces on the left side, while he tried to do the right side. When they were done, he let it slip to the ground, and his top half was now completely bare. The cold, humid air immediately hit him, and he could feel himself getting goosebumps.

Cicero stood up and went looking inside one of his drawers. He came back with one of his motleys, and draped it around Elias’ shoulders. The Breton smiled as soon as the fabric hit his skin and warmed him up. Cicero went lying down on the other side of the bed, behind him, while Elias tried to put on the motley correctly. It was too small for him, clearly, but it managed to cover his whole arms and back, he just couldn’t tie the buttons to close it up on his chest. He was fine with that. He removed his boots and his armor pants at the same occasion. When he was finally ready, he blew on the last lit candle next to the bed, and curled up next to Cicero, facing away from him. As soon as he did, he felt the warmth of the furs being thrown on him. He then felt Cicero's arm wrapping around him, very softly, almost tentatively. Elias’ heart fluttered at the contact, happily surprised by Cicero’s audacity.  He pressed back on him, his back now directly against Cicero’s torso, a way to signify he was okay with the cuddling. It's not like they had much of a choice if they wanted to both fit inside a single bed anyway. Elias was embarrassed at how quickly he felt himself hardening in his underwear. Thank the gods, Cicero couldn’t see or feel it in this position… 

There was a part in Elias’ mind who was keeping him on guard, making him question Cicero’s intentions. Again. Like he did almost every damn time he let his mind wander. Was Cicero’s touch just supposed to be friendly or was it meant to be more? Was that… Non-heterosexual behaviour or was it simply Cicero behaviour? And even then, were these two options mutually exclusive?

However, he was so tired that night, his brain couldn’t afford to keep on wondering about that. All he was able to do was to focus on how warm Cicero’s body felt against him, and how their bodies fit so well together in the spoon position, it was like two pieces of a puzzle clicking together. With Cicero's hot breath blowing softly on the nape of his neck, he fell asleep quickly. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so secure for the night.

—-----------------

Elias woke up in what seemed to be the late morning, judging from the soft light that was entering the room. He felt warm and rested, which was something that hadn't happened in a while. He was lying on his back, and Cicero was still pressed against him, his arm on Elias’ stomach. The Breton smiled at the sight. Very slowly, as to not wake him up, he turned to his left, to face him. He was still sleeping. He looked so peaceful, so serene like that, which felt odd to see since he was usually the polar opposite.
Elias felt his pulse increasing and his skin getting hotter. It felt so incredibly intimate to see the fool like this, in such a vulnerable state. So physically close to him. His skin looked so soft and inviting, Elias just wanted to reach out and touch it.

"After all, why shouldn't I?" he thought to himself. They had already spent the entire night literally cuddling, surely he wouldn't mind a simple caress on the face.

With butterflies in his stomach, he slowly approached his hand from Cicero’s face. He let the tip of his fingers run softly across the fool’s temple and his cheek. Oh, it was definitely as soft as it looked. Fuck, when was the last time he had touched another man’s face? He felt like an innocent teenager touching their crush for the first time. It was only Cicero. Why was he feeling this way? 

Elias’ gaze got fixated on a strand of hair that escaped Cicero’s hat and laid on his face: he took it, with nervous hands, and brought it to rest behind his ear. Just then, he felt a slight movement in Cicero’s body, and the jester started to blink.

Whoops. He had woken him up.

When Cicero's eyes seemed to be able to remain open, he smiled.

"Good morning," Elias murmured shyly as he quickly removed his hand from the other man’s face.

Cicero rubbed his eyes and stretched his body. "Hi," he whispered softly, with still a twinge of excitement in his voice, his jester persona never really leaving him. "Did my Listener sleep well?" He put his hand back on Elias’ body, letting it rest in the dip between his hips and waist.

Referring to him as " my Listener", the weight of his arm on him, the nonchalance of this physical gesture, all of this just drove the butterflies in his stomach insane. He had to take a moment to breathe properly because he felt as though he was going to explode.

"Yes," he finally answered, although he didn’t feel brave enough for eye contact, "since my Keeper took such good care of me." 

There. A taste of his own medicine.

The jester chuckled. "Humble Cicero is only performing his Keeper’s duty, to serve the Listener. It is normal."

Was it, though? Was it really a normal thing for  Keeper and Listener to be as physically and emotionally close? Or was this just another case of  Cicero being Cicero? 

Whatever it was, Elias didn’t have time to ruminate about it any longer as he heard some noise, sort of like footsteps on stone.

"Elias?" a voice called in the distance.

It sounded like Gabriella. Elias was surprised at how annoyed he felt at this interruption, not wanting to let that special little moment with Cicero come to an end. He thought maybe he should get up and go see her. She would have probably noticed Elias’ empty bed by now. And probably went looking for him. Ugh.

Elias rose up from the bed and took off Cicero’s motley before tossing it on the ground.

The footsteps were coming towards them. Elias looked in the direction of what he thought was the door, but then immediately realized his mistake. Cicero’s room had no doors.

Fuck.

Before he had time to react, Gabriella was already at the entrance of the room and she started to speak:

"Hi Cicero, have you seen-" She interrupted herself when she noticed the Breton on the same bed as the jester. In nothing but his underwear. "...Elias." 

Oh gods, Elias could feel the warmth spreading all over his face. He wanted to be swallowed by the ground and disappear. 

He stood up and started walking towards the dunmer.

"Gabriella!" he said, feigning enthusiasm. "It's not what you think, I promise!"

Gabriella chuckled. "It's none of my business who sleeps with whom. I was just-"

"No," Elias cut her off. His hands were starting to get sweaty, and his heartbeat was getting faster. "I know, but this isn't what it looks like, we didn't do anything, we just fell asleep together, nothing more, I swear!"

"Elias," the dunmer said in a friendly, yet very firm tone, and she put her hands on his shoulders. "Even if you did, I don't care. I literally don't. We’re in the Dark Brotherhood. We kill people for a living, and you think I care if two men lay together? Please… You wouldn’t believe some of the things I saw during my career.”

“I-I know, it’s not about that, it’s just… It’s not like that.”

“Whatever you say.  I just wanted to see you to tell you about the wedding. Get dressed and we'll talk about it when you have time. I'll be in the dining area." 

And on that note, she turned around and left.

"Yeah, okay. Sure," Elias said, more to reassure himself than to answer Gabriella. He turned around and started putting his armor back on, still a bit shaken up by what happened. He wouldn't need it today since he wasn't going outside, but it was the only outfit he could wear to get back to his bed. He'd just put on the bottom part, at least.

Cicero was staring at him.

"What?" Elias asked.

Cicero shrugged. "Nothing." He was now sitting at the edge of the bed. 

When Elias was done with the pants and the boots, he looked back up at Cicero.

"Come now. Let's go eat."

Elias spent the rest of the day with Gabriella.She had gone to Solitude herself to scan the area, and prepare a plan of attack. She even drew a sketch of the area, to explain her ideas to Elias.

The man came to the conclusion that a long-ranged kill would be the best solution in this situation. As for the escape, he could make use of his invisibility potions. He knew he had a bunch of them at home that he was keeping in case of a situation like this, where he has to escape without being seen. When narrowed it down like that, it was actually a pretty easy contract. It's the moral part of it that was bothering him. He kept telling himself it was better if he did it rather than another member of the Brotherhood. He was the good death. He had to be. At least, he had to believe he was.

Other than the contract, Elias was also worried about Gabriella seeing him so close to Cicero. She didn't mention it or even vaguely referred to it when they were planning the kill together, but it was still in Elias’ mind. The other members knew he and Cicero were on good terms, but mostly they thought it was because Elias was "keeping an eye" on Cicero, like he had told Astrid before. They didn't know how close they were actually becoming. It could be problematic if they knew, they could start losing their trust in him, and start having suspicions. The plan would then be ruined.  Elias really had to make them think he was on their side about Cicero. Hopefully Gabriella just thought Elias took his internal spying duties to the next level. And hopefully she wouldn't tell anyone. Otherwise he was screwed.

Elias left the Sanctuary in the late afternoon, so he could stop at Heljarchen Hall for the night. He needed to grab some potions, but mostly he needed to mentally recharge, and spend time with his family. He just wanted to kiss his daughters, eat Gregor’s mediocre food, sleep in fresh smelling bed sheets he knew Oriella had meticulously washed... He just wanted home. His real home. When he got there, he wasn't able to fully enjoy himself though: he had that awful feeling, that guilt in the back of his mind about all the lies he had to tell them, all the things he did they would never approve of. Heck, he didn't even approve of them himself. But it was the price to pay to destroy the Brotherhood in the end, wasn't it? It was going to be worth it. It had to.

—------------------

What a beautiful day for a wedding! The sun was shining, but not too brightly, and the wind was very weak. There were people talking, laughing, just simply being happy. Elias had caught a glimpse of the bride earlier, and she looked absolutely stunning, especially with that contagious smile.

Today was not her day, however. The thought of ruining this ceremony made Elias want to scream. Scream, cry, and disappear.

He was sitting with his back pressed against the low stone walls, on the balcony on top of the other lower balcony where the newlyweds would go to give their speech in a couple minutes. There was a big, creepy-looking gargoyle behind Elias that was hiding him well. The potions were all ready, as well as the bow. All that was left to do was gulp down the invisibility potion, aim for the head and drop back behind the stones to drink the second one, the ultra strong one. Then, the escape. With the potion, it should be super easy. He knew he brewed it perfectly.

Suddenly, voices. Vittoria was starting her speech for the guests. It was time.

After waiting a couple seconds for the bride to have everyone's attention, Elias started. He took the potion, and immediately jumped back up, with too much enthusiasm it seems, because he heard a huge commotion behind him. In a confused panic, he turned around to look at what happened, and almost stopped breathing when he noticed the gargoyle behind him wasn't there anymore. With horror, he looked down, and saw the stone beast resting right where Vici was standing a couple of seconds earlier. The spouse was heavily wounded, his arm a bloody mess. Amongst the guests, pure chaos. What used to be laughter and happiness turned into horrific screams.

Elias was completely frozen in place, in shock and disbelief. He was trying to process what just happened. That wasn't part of the plan! However, it probably was a good thing, since it now looked like an accident. Maybe. Anyway, there was no time to stop and think, he had lost too much time already just gawking at the incident. He drank the second potion and bolted towards the stairs to escape. A bunch of guards had already started to make their way up there, so now he had to be three times more careful to not touch any of them. He managed to do it by waiting for the majority to pass. The potion would last long enough. He didn't remember much of what happened after: he ran. Ran and ran and ran, until his legs collapsed under him from exhaustion.

Chapter Text

"Here's Gaius Maro's travel schedule," Gabriella said, handing Elias a piece of paper.

The Breton took it and stared at it, without really reading it.

If he understood everything well, his next task was to kill the Emperor's bodyguard, Gaius Maro, son of commander Maro from the Penitus Oculatus. Because killing Vici at her own wedding wasn't enough, apparently.

Elias came back to the Sanctuary literally a couple minutes ago, he didn't even get time to go see Cicero, and he was already given another contract. Could he breathe?

"Where'd you get that?" Elias asked the dunmer while he shoved the schedule inside his pockets.

"I stole it. As per Astrid's demand, I got ahead on the plan while you were busy sending a bride to Sithis."

Great. Now he had no way of backing down, since they had already prepared everything for him. 

"Don't you guys deserve to have this kill?" Elias asked tentatively. "It seems unfair that I'm the one who gets to have all the fun."

Gabriella laughed. "Oh, how sweet of you! But no, don't worry, we all have other minor contracts to get done in the meantime. Enjoy this big contract while it lasts. Astrid insists that you carry it all out. I think it's her way of making you prove yourself. Or something like that."

Damn it.

"Yes, I understand."

"Now go study and get ready. I personally suggest you do it in Markarth. Seems to align well with the time and our position. But you do as you please."

After thanking Gabriella, the Breton headed immediately down to Cicero's room. He saw him next to the Night Mother's coffin.

"Hey you," Elias said when he saw him. He was trying to remain calm but he was actually so excited to see Cicero, he couldn't help but to smile like an idiot.

The Imperial turned around and his eyes lit up when he noticed Elias. "Listener!" he exclaimed as he started walking towards him. Elias’ smile grew wider as he started making his way towards him, too. 

He felt Cicero’s arms wrapping around his torso, and he embraced him in return, resting his head on top of his silly jester hat. He was so small for a man, especially an Imperial. It was actually kind of adorable. 

"I've missed you," he said, simply stating out loud what he was thinking. He finally felt safe enough with Cicero to be able to do it. That, or he just didn't care anymore. Either way, it felt good.

"Cicero's missed you too, sweet Elias."

The jester gripped tighter and tilted his body backward slightly, lifting the taller man up at the same time.

Elias was surprised  when he felt his feet lift up the ground. “Cicero, what-”

The jester  spun around, with Elias still in his arms, and put him down right where he was standing earlier. 

Elias stared at him in surprise, and couldn’t help but to giggle a bit. It was as though Cicero had heard his thoughts about him being small and wanted to prove that he was, however, still stronger than him.

Gods, he had made it look so easy -and Elias was in full armor, which probably added quite a lot of weight.

"So it went well, I heard?" Cicero asked.

"Not as expected at all, but yes, I guess we can say it went well. Vici died while making her speech and I escaped. So everything is in order."

"Yes, it's all that matters in the end. I had a feeling it wasn't your original plan when I heard of a bride getting crushed by a gargoyle."

Elias chuckled. "It happened so fast, I was just as surprised as all of you. Everyone is convinced it was planned all along, but it was honestly just the weirdest accident ever. I mean, what were the chances of a loose gargoyle being on top of the balcony right where she would stand? It's almost suspicious."

"It is weird indeed. But not for us to worry about anymore."

"Right. I've already been given my next contract."

"So I've heard. Was Gabriella able to bring back Maro's schedule?"

"Yes." Elias took it out of his pocket and showed it to Cicero.

"Let's see it." The Imperial read it carefully. "You should kill him in Markarth. If you leave tomorrow morning, you'd be there by night time. Then you have the whole day after that to do the deed."

"Yes, that's also what Gabriella suggested. The sooner the better, I guess."

He had gotten back to the sanctuary literally MOMENTS ago. He barely had time to recover from the last kill, and now he had to get going again? Ugh.

"Elly on the road again," Cicero said with a smile.

Elias laughed faintly. "I feel like that's all I ever do these days. I ride. I run. I ride again."

And I lie , he wanted to add, but stopped himself.

"Maybe that's why you have such a nice butt," Cicero answered with a smirk.

Elias looked at Cicero in confusion. He wasn't sure he heard him right. "I… what?"

"Cicero said that's why you have such a nice butt," the older man replied, louder this time.

Well. He didn't fucking stutter.

With heat spreading all over his face, Elias stared at Cicero with a slight look of amusement in his face, as if he was waiting for him to say he was kidding. But the jester maintained his gaze. Harder.

Elias looked away, unable to handle the tension, and started laughing.

"Well, first of all, you've never even seen my butt," he said as he gained back some confidence. Motherfucker was flirting? Ah, he could play that game too.

Cicero shrugged. "Seeing it covered is enough to know it looks good uncovered," he answered playfully before sitting down on one of the benches.

With his legs spread apart like that, and this cheeky little grin on his face, by Sithis, he looked so ridiculously attractive. 

Without really thinking, just following his instincts, Elias leaned forward towards him, supporting himself by putting his hands on Cicero’s thighs.

"Oh," Cicero said softly, a little surprised, but pleasantly so, it seemed, since he immediately started gripping Elias’ wrists.

The Breton’s heart skipped a beat at the contact, and he felt his stomach drop when he realized how close their faces now were to each other. So perfect for a kiss.

This seemed to be his wake-up call.

What the hell was he doing? Was he really about to kiss him? Gods, he wanted to, so bad, his whole body was aching to do it. But they were both out in the open, anybody could come in without warning. And he knew for sure he wouldn't be able to stop himself if he started…

No. Now was not the right time.

"You need to tend to Mother, mister Keeper," he forced himself to say as he slowly pulled his face away.

Cicero did the same, visibly reluctant too.

"Right," he answered. "I should get back to it now before all my oils dry up."

They both let go of each other and got up.

"By the time you finish up, it'll probably be around dinner time," Elias said, changing the subject. "I'll see you then?"

"Sure! You can start getting ready for your contract."

And he did just that. He refilled his potions satchel, as usual, and managed to find a map of Markarth, at the desk where they keep all of the paperwork. There wasn't much he could prepare in advance, since he didn't know where exactly the man would be, and when he'd see him. Mostly, he just sat around, staring into nothingness, asking himself if it was worth it.

For the 1000th time.

Why did he still have so much doubt?

He also thought about Cicero. No, not in any inappropriate way; He wanted to, but he really had to push these thoughts away, since it would just drive him crazy.

No, he kept thinking about how much their relationship had grown. They were getting closer. First, physically. It was undeniable now that they both enjoyed each other's contact. However, that didn't mean anything in particular. Like he had already told himself so many times, this was just… Cicero behaviour, it seemed. Also, now that he was thinking about it, he was also pretty affectionate with Mjoll. The only difference was that, with Mjoll, it undoubtedly felt like friendly, platonic love. It didn't leave him out of breath, with his heart racing as if he had just sprinted for a whole mile. It was different with Cicero. He felt like a 14 year-old with a crush everytime their skins touched.

Secondly, they had also grown much closer emotionally speaking. They had shared a lot with each other. Elias was able to talk to him about pretty much anything, now. Pretty much . He was still wondering when would be the right time to share his original plan with him. Every contract he got done with, he told himself it would be the last… But every time, he chickened out. And now, he was almost to the point of killing the emperor. This was getting out of hand… and he knew it would just keep getting worse. This one contract had to be the last. He had to share his plan with Cicero. One way or another.
Tonight. It had to be tonight.

They met back later to have dinner together, with the rest of the Brotherhood. Everyone was talking about Vici getting crushed by the stupid gargoyle, and Elias had to answer their stupid questions. He was so out of it, but he kept the act on. Cicero was rather quiet, which was very odd.

It was just an unpleasant moment, all over. Elias was the first to excuse himself, and he went right for the bath chambers. The soapy warm water would be well needed, and hopefully help his mind ease up. Alas, it didn't work. He kept thinking about the talk he told himself he'd have with Cicero tonight. It was time. He knew it, he knew it had to be done, since he had put it off for way too long already. But how would he even bring the subject up? By the time his fingers and toes were all pruned up, he still hadn't figured it out. He quickly dried himself up and put on some comfortable, loose clothing for sleeping.
He'd have to improvise. After all, there was no way the subject could be brought up casually. It was going to be a rough talk, but it was necessary.

He felt his guts twisting inside him at the realization of what he was going to do. When he walked towards the fool’s room, it felt like he was trying to run against a strong wind; It was as though all of his senses were trying to prevent him from doing it, pushing him away.

When he finally saw Cicero, sitting at his table and writing down in his journal, Elias thought he'd empty his entire dinner on the stone floor. By Sithis, it was happening.

"Good evening, Listener," the Imperial said, still writing.

"Hey," Elias simply said as he walked towards the table and sat in front of him.

Cicero closed the book in front of him, and looked at him.

"You look nervous," he told the Breton, knitting his brows.

You don't say.

"Is it because of your contract?" he continued.

"Yeah," Elias lied. "Yeah, I'm just… Out of it. Tired."

"Elias does look tired, indeed. Poor Listener hasn't had a break in a while."

He didn't realize it through his nervousness, but it was true he was exhausted.

Elias sucked in a breath. "Astrid seems to insist I'm the only one who should do the contracts related to the Emperor."

"Yes. Because Elias is good at what he does.” Cicero offered him a little smile. “But she forgets that the Listener needs to rest, to maintain his skills.”

It felt good when he complimented him. Truly, since Elias had personally seen how skilled Cicero was himself. His praise meant a lot. Yet, he never knew how to respond to it, as to not make it awkward.
He just smiled and looked away.

“If you want,” the red-haired man continued, “we can switch beds tonight. Here, you’ll be alone and calm, without the other members fussing around in the room. You will be able to have a good night's sleep, without any disturbances.”

That was a very interesting proposition, actually. It was true Elias needed to sleep well tonight since he was going to wake up early the next morning. It was also true that the other members would probably be very distracting, since most of them lived with a completely different sleep schedule.

“That’s very kind of you,” Elias answered.

Cicero got up. “You can go to sleep now. Cicero can tell you want to.”

He wasn’t wrong, but he still needed to keep him there so they could talk.

“Okay,” he simply answered as he walked towards Cicero’s bed.

Cicero followed him, and waited for Elias to get on the mattress before placing the furs on top of him.

“You’re tucking me in, now?” he asked, amused.

Cicero had a little chuckle. “Why would I not?”
He blew at the leftover candles in the room, leaving them in darkness. Elias was still able to feel his presence come back at his side, next to the bed.

“Cicero is gonna go, now,” he whispered, kneeling at the edge of the bed.

“No, wait,” the Breton ordered him. He had to tell him. It was time. 

He opened his mouth to speak, and his heart was beating so loud, he thought for sure Cicero could hear it.

“What is it, dear?” His voice was soft.

Elias wanted to tell him, but he didn’t know how. It felt as though there was a knot in his throat, preventing words from coming out.

“I…” Elias finally managed to let out, after a moment.

“Yes?” Cicero encouraged him.

The Breton could feel his hands getting moist, so much so that it was probably wetting the furs he was gripping. His whole body felt fizzy, and there was this annoying nausea that kept creeping back up.

“I want you to stay,” he said as he closed his eyes. Damn it. Although he meant it, that wasn’t what he was supposed to tell him. He just said the first thing that came to his mind. He simply hadn’t been able to get into the real subject.

“I can stay for a little while,” Cicero replied. Elias moved away towards the wall, to leave some room for him. Cicero took off his boots and slipped inside the furs. He was lying on his side, so that Elias and him were face to face. The Breton got hit with another wave of panic, and he didn’t know if it was due to Cicero’s proximity, or what he wanted to tell him, or both.

They were now both in silence, only the soft sounds of their breaths could be heard.

He could talk to him now. He was next to him, calm and ready to listen. It was the perfect occasion to tell him.

Elias opened his mouth, but immediately closed it.

Fuck. Why was it so hard?

He took a deep breath, or two, or three, and then forced himself to speak.

“Cicero, I was wondering…” he started. By Sithis, his heart felt as though it was going to jump out of his chest.

“Yes?” the Imperial answered.

“What do you think about…” he stopped, allowing himself to breathe before suffocating. “...about the Brotherhood? As it is now.”

Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods.

Cicero snickered. “Well, it would certainly be better without Ass-trid at the front. Her ways are a disgrace to the Night Mother, and it sickens Cicero that the other members are just blindly following her.” He sighed. “But we have a Listener now. A Keeper, a Listener, and the Night Mother’s body. And an important contract, the biggest one we’ve had in years and years. Oh, the Brotherhood as it is now is far from perfect, but it is on its way to be great again.”

Was it the answer Elias wanted? Honestly, he didn’t know. What exactly was he expecting? It was as though he never really thought about his answer, just how he was going to ask him.

“Cicero will make sure of it,” the man added to his answer, as if scared that Elias’ silence meant he was doubting him.

“How will you make sure?” he asked again.

Elias was imploring all the divines he knew at this point. Mara, Sithis, Akatosh, Dibella… please, someone, make this conversation end well.

Cicero didn’t answer right away. Elias couldn’t see well in the dark, but he could at least make out parts of the other man’s face, and he knew he was looking away.

“I just will,” Cicero said simply, looking back at him again.

Elias felt the fool’s hand finding his under the covers, not far from where their faces were, and he let him lace his fingers through his. It felt even better knowing that was his naked hand; He had somehow removed his gloves at some point, it seemed, and Elias really enjoyed the sweet sensation it was giving him. He was warm, soft, and strong. Elias never wanted to let go.

“Do you trust Cicero?” the older man asked, using his deep voice. His glare was hard, like his grip.

“I do,” Elias answered, and he was truthful. He didn’t know what Cicero meant exactly, and he hadn’t told him any details about his plan. However, it seemed like the few words that were shared were enough to create somewhat of an understanding. They were on the same page, on the same team. Something was going to need to happen. Sometime.
Knowing this was enough for Elias. At least for tonight.

“Don’t go,” he said, remembering how Cicero said he was only staying there for “a little while”.

“Cicero has things he needs to get done. I will stay for a moment. Just a moment. Until you fall asleep.”

That, also, was enough. For tonight.

Elias woke up a couple hours later, his hand wrapped around something, and his head directly touching something soft, light, but slightly spiky, and it tickled the tip of his nose. After a second, he realized it was hair. Red hair. The “something” he was holding was actually Cicero. He couldn’t help but to smile. He was surprised to see the fool next to him, since he remembered him saying he would just stay until Elias fell asleep. Either he came back later, or just fell asleep too and didn’t bother to get back up.

How Elias ended up big-spooning him, he didn’t know, considering they fell asleep face to face and hand in hand, but he wasn’t mad about it. His other arm was squeezed in between their two bodies and was starting to feel numb, so he knew he had to change position soon. He didn’t want to. He stayed that way for a while, mentally debating if he should move or not, but the decision was made for him when he felt Cicero’s body twitching under his hands. The older man turned on his other side, noticed Elias and smiled, still half-asleep. 

“Just a moment, eh?” the Breton asked in a whisper, gently mocking him.

Cicero laughed softly. “I changed my mind.” 

On a whim, Elias ran up the hand that was resting on Cicero until it reached his cheek. So soft at the top, but stubbly near his mouth, where hair would start to grow soon if left unattended. Cicero responded by putting his hand on Elias’ waist.

“It’s still early,” the Imperial said after quickly glancing around the room. It was still pretty dark indeed. “Are you getting up now, Listener, or do you want to wait a little longer?”

Elias thought about it. The earlier he left, the earlier he arrived. He could very well get up now. However, he didn’t really have a specific time he had to arrive at Markarth today. He could treat himself to a little more sleep… And a little more human contact.

“I could use some more rest,” he said as he curled up next to Cicero, his face against the older man’s chest, and using his arm as a pillow. Cicero kept his other arm around Elias, and pushed him tighter against his body. His clothes still had a faint scent of nightshade, and the Breton smiled internally. Our flower , he remembered. 

He woke up again an hour or two later, still in the same position. The room was a lot brighter now, which meant it was definitely morning. Now, he really had to get up. Of course, again, he didn’t want to, at all, but duty was calling. He also remembered what happened the last time they slept in the same bed; They basically got caught by Gabriella. Well, caught was a big word. They weren’t doing anything. Yet, it still felt like some form of intimacy was broken when the dunmer saw them together. He didn’t know how to explain it, but it had felt like she had interrupted something important.

He slowly tried to get out of Cicero’s grip, and stopped himself when he heard him.

“Elias…” Cicero said softly, but very clearly, his chin still resting on Elias’ head. It seemed he woke up before him.

“I’m here,” he answered.

He felt Cicero's hand moving up from his waist to his hair, which he slowly, so very slowly stroked, putting it away from his face. Then, he cupped Elias’ cheek with that same hand, so incredibly tenderly, as though he was afraid he'd break him if he touched him too hard. Elias felt paralyzed under his touch, scared to miss even a fraction of a second of his attention if he moved. When Cicero moved his leg was the moment when Elias noticed it was actually in between his. Cicero pushed it gently, which opened up Elias’ legs, turning him on his back. In one quick motion, Cicero turned his body towards him and ended up on top of him, astride Elias’ thigh. One of his hands was still holding Elias’ face, while the other was next to Elias' head, tightly gripping the mattress under them.

The younger man gasped at the sight of Cicero’s face now so close to his, his stupidly beautiful face, those beautiful dark eyes that seemed to bore into him, his sharp nose which was exhaling soft, warm air on him. Elias gripped the sides of the other man’s thighs and squeezed, unable to keep his hands to himself. Even through his thick trousers, he could feel how strong those muscles were under there. How lovely would they look uncovered, wrapped around his leg like that… The Imperial leaned in closer, so close his nose was grazing Elias’ cheek. His lower body followed, pressing harder against him, which made it impossible now not to feel the bulge in his pants, resting on the younger man’s thigh. There were butterflies in Elias' stomach at this realization, and he could feel himself hardening down there too, dangerously so. It also just hit him that this was quite a lewd position they were in right now; Not the type that was easy to justify if someone walked in on them. 

Just as he was about to translate this thought into words to Cicero, the fool moved his leg that was between Elias’ to the other side, now sitting fully astride him, while his hand that was on the mattress joined the other one to hold Elias’ face. He drew circles on the other man’s cheeks with his thumbs, and Elias had to close his eyes to compose himself. 

There was absolutely no way Cicero wasn’t feeling Elias’ arousal straining his pants, as he was sitting directly on top of it.

The younger man’s lips moved softly against Cicero’s cheeks as he uttered his name in a long exhale, while his hands went up to grab the jester’s waist. He was supposed to tell him to stop, that there wasn’t enough privacy in the room to get this close, but he found himself unable to. His entire body was begging to touch him, feel him, taste him, he wanted him so badly, so desperately, it was almost painful. Cicero let out a heavy sigh, and placed a kiss on Elias’ forehead. A quick, but strong one. The Breton was about to grab Cicero’s face and offer him his lips instead, when the fool suddenly turned to get off of him, and laid back down next to him, bringing his hands to rest peacefully on his own stomach.
Elias wasn’t sure how to feel. Half of him was relieved Cicero had stopped first, since he knew it was the wise decision to make, but the other half wanted to jump on him like an animal and continue what he had started. Instead, he just laid there, his breath heavy, and his head slightly cocked to the side to watch Cicero, watchful of his reactions. The Imperial’s eyes were closed, and his chest was rising and lowering fast, meaning he was probably out of breath too.

“Cicero shouldn’t keep the Listener from doing his duties,” he said simply as he looked back towards Elias.

“Right,” he answered before staring at the stone ceiling on top of him. He wasn’t sure what to say, or what to do. “Thanks for the blue balls” didn’t seem like the most appropriate response.
What the fuck had just happened, exactly?

Everytime they got closer, something always pushed them away, or they stopped it themselves. There clearly was a blockage, but he couldn't tell what, or even why .

It couldn't be due to the absence of privacy in the Sanctuary. Well, it definitely was a factor, but certainly not the main one. Two horny enough people would find a way to satisfy their needs somehow, even if they have to get out of their way to do it. They would have managed, he was sure of it.

So the blockage wasn't that, even if he pretended to himself it was.

His other hypothesis was Mjoll, but Elias had already made up his mind for a while; He'd let the fool live, even if it wasn't part of the plan he had established with Mjoll. Even if the Nord woman wouldn't agree, he didn't care. Not anymore, at least. He felt confident enough to defend his point to the end, if needed. It wasn't even a question in his mind anymore.

So what was it?

After what felt like an eternity, Cicero got up, and sat on the bench at the table.

“Go get ready,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic, but it was clear the jester persona wasn’t as strong as usual at that moment. “You’ve got a man to kill”.

Elias went upstairs to the bedroom to change into his armor and grab his things. Right before he was about to leave, Cicero stopped him in his tracks.

“Listener!” he called out. Elias turned on his heels to face him.

“I…” the smaller man started, but interrupted himself. He took a deep breath and continued. “Have a great trip.”

Really? That was all he had to say?

“Come back alive,” he added. “We… I need you. Back alive.”

“I will.”

Elias turned around and opened the door to be greeted with a sky that didn’t seem sure whether to be gray or blue. He looked at it for a while, wondering if he was going to get some rain or not on his way, but quickly realized there was nothing to do about it anyway.
“On the road again,” he thought to himself.

Chapter Text

Elias opened the door to the Sanctuary. He was back from a well-deserved day at home with his family, one he allowed himself to have after killing Gaius Maro.  

It was an easy kill, technically speaking. Emotionally too, surprisingly, which felt odd. When the arrow went through the man, the feeling wasn't guilt, as it usually was, but something new. It was hard to describe. Peacefulness? Contentment? Elias felt… calm. The problem, however, was that he should not have felt this way. Gaius Maro didn't fit his code. He didn't do anything to him, didn't deserve to die. Yet, Elias didn't feel bad once it was done. 

It was hard to admit to himself, but it seemed as though Cicero's words were really starting to have an impact on his thoughts. His perspective on the contracts was truly starting to change. He knew Maro would have died under someone else's hands, if not for him. He made it easy for him; It was quick, painless and quiet. He gave him his "good death". Elias felt a weird sense of pride, of fairness about this death.

Nonetheless, he felt weird about this change of perspective. Was he being too naively influenced by his new environment? Was it a change of heart that truly came from within him? He thought so, but he was afraid he'd realize later it wasn't. After all, himself from a couple months ago would be horrified from present day Elias’ thoughts and actions. It was unsettling to think about. 

"Who the fuck am I becoming?" he kept on thinking, and most importantly, "Why am I weirdly okay with it?"

He entered deeper in the Sanctuary and was immediately greeted by Gabriella.

"Ah," said the Dunmer, "at last. I've been anxiously awaiting your return." 

"I killed him in Markarth," Elias replied. "The letter was planted on his corpse, as you asked."

"Yes, I know. As does Astrid. You have done well, and have earned both your reward, and a bonus, as I may have mentioned."

"The reading from Olava?"

"Yes, that would be it." The dunmer handed him a shiny blue gem that looked like a sapphire. "Meet her in Whiterun and give her this token. She'll understand." She took a deep breath before continuing. "But you should know that we have a more pressing matter to deal with. It's... Cicero."

Cicero. Elias almost choked at the mention of this name. What the hell happened?

"What about him?" the Breton asked, trying to not sound as panicked as he actually was.

"There's been an incident. You should proceed into the Sanctuary. I'll let Astrid explain." 

Fuck. Oh, fuck. What had the poor fool done? Elias felt a pit in his stomach, and his limbs would tremble if he didn't force himself to tense up, so he could walk towards the other members in a seemingly normal way.

Cicero, what have you done?

As he went down the stairs, he could see Veezara sprawled on the floor, visibly wounded.

"Just try to relax, Veezara," Babette said. "Let the elixir do its work. You'll feel better, shortly."

"Ahhhh…" the lizard hissed in response. "Thank you, dear. You are most kind. The jester's cut feels as bad as it looks, I'm afraid."

The jester's cut? By the gods, what did Veezara do to upset Cicero that much?

"Damn it," Astrid cried out, "this never should have happened! We knew better. We knew better, and still we let our guards down. Agh!"

"I'll admit," Festus added, "even I'm having a hard time disagreeing with you..."

"What the hell happened?" Elias asked in a shaken voice, approaching the small crowd.

It was Astrid who answered him. "The fool went absolutely berserk! He wounded Veezara, tried to kill me, and then he fled. I KNEW that lunatic couldn't be trusted."

Elias’ eyes widened as the news sinked in. Cicero had officially snapped.

"Look," Astrid continued, "We've got to deal with this situation. You've got to deal with this situation. After all, it was your duty to keep a close watch on him. Did he say anything about this to you? Hinted at it in some way?"

Elias’ guts felt like they were twisting inside of him when he realized that yes, he did. The small conversation they had before he went off to kill Maro, the night before they almost lost themselves to each other's bodies. Almost.

"How will you make sure?"

"I just will. Do you trust Cicero?” 

“I do.”

So that was it. That was the beginning of the destruction of the Brotherhood. The plan had started.

The thought left him dizzy, and his heart pounding uncomfortably fast.

"No!" Elias lied. "No, if he did, I would have told you!"

Astrid held her face in her hands, exasperated. "Fuck," she swore, "this can't be happening."

Elias thought he should offer his help. "What should we do?" 

"I want you to find that miserable little fool and end his life!"

Oh. Of course.

"But first…" Astrid added, "find my husband. Make sure he's all right. After the attack, Arnbjorn flew into a rage. When Cicero left... Arnbjorn went after him. They disappeared into the wild. Search Cicero's room. Maybe there's something in there that would shed some light on where he might have gone. Let me know the minute you find something. I've got to see Veezara, and calm everyone down."

Elias bolted downstairs towards the man's room. The familiar stone room felt so cold without the jester in it, the man shivered when he entered. It wasn't long before he found a clue; Cicero's journals were neatly placed on his side table, stacked on top of another, as if he put them there intentionally for Elias to find them. He sat on the bed and opened the first one. He felt his stomach churning, and his face getting hot, as he looked at the man's crooked, childish handwriting. It felt wrong to be breaching his intimacy like that, but Elias knew he had to.

The first entry was titled "18th of Evening Star, 4E 186". Which was sixteen years ago. Sixteen fucking years ago. Elias was still a small eight year old child, growing up in an orphanage at that time. It seemed surreal to be reading this.

[https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/Cicero%27s_Journal]

He needed a moment to settle after reading the first two. He didn't read all of it, since it was mostly just records of the man's contracts. He did, however, read all other entries, where Cicero shared his thoughts about the Brotherhood. Judging by his writing, he just seemed so… normal? Nothing like the madman he is now. Of course, Elias knew it was probably the isolation with the Night Mother for all these years that drove him mad, but it still felt weird to have it confirmed. He used to be sane. A whole other person. It was hard for Elias’ brain to grasp. He met Cicero at a precise point in his life, and what happened before that was none of Elias’ business. Who Cicero was before that was also none of his business.

He took a deep breath and started the third one.

This one was juicy. It was during the time when he became Keeper. His poor pleas for the Night Mother to name him Listener… It almost hurt to read. He deserved it so much, so much more than anyone else, especially Elias. He could understand, feel his pain through his writing. Poor Cicero…

What caught his attention the most was the mention of a jester. It was his final contract before becoming Keeper. It still didn't explain why he dressed as one, though, but Elias picked up the fourth and final journal and hoped to find answers there.

This one was a tough read. He could clearly see Cicero's descent into madness taking place throughout the pages. The jester clothes and personality all made sense now; the trauma became a part of him. The jester became a part of him. The memory of him, of his laugh, of his blood, those were the last things keeping him tied to reality. So, he embraced them.

All alone in this Sanctuary with nothing but a corpse. And silence. Silence, silence, silence. It was heartbreaking.

Elias finally opened the last one.

He got so excited at the mention of a Sanctuary in Dawnstar, he struggled to finish the whole thing. Dawnstar was his city, his home in Skyrim. To think there was an old Sanctuary there all this time and he never saw it… It must have been well hidden. It also explained the gap between their first meeting at Loreius farm, and the second one in the Sanctuary. That's where he had been all this time. Surely, this was also where he fled.

The situation was perfect. A new Sanctuary…  They could rebuild it all from the start, Cicero and him, and run it like they did in the old times. Cicero would be happy. Elias could peacefully retire while remaining the Listener, only telling the members of the contracts, without having to do them himself. The old, corrupted Falkreath Sanctuary would be destroyed. This double-agent spying nightmare would be over. Oh, yes, he could see the plan. He could see it so well! Cicero was a genius. Of course, it would have been great if he told him of his plan before fleeing like that, but Elias would take whatever he could get. This was Cicero, after all. What else could be expected of him?

He was fiddling with the journal as he was thinking, mindlessly flipping the pages, when he noticed two other entries, several pages after what he thought was the last one. Odd. Maybe he meant to keep them hidden?

He read the date of the first one of these entries and his heartbeat fastened all of a sudden. Those were very recent. He gave it a read:

First entry: Such a cold welcome Cicero had in the Falkreath Sanctuary. Barely no reaction to the Night Mother. What a shame! Only one of the members showed kindness to poor Cicero; Elias is his name, a young Breton man whose weapon of choice is the sword, a long and thin one. He wears armor that looks like crystalized ice, surely from another world. His thick, wavy brown hair is always tied halfway up his head in a braid. Such unruly hair he has, unlike his very short and neatly trimmed beard, but it suits him well. His eyes are a mixture of grey and green, very slightly downturned, but so piercing, they seem to bore into whatever he looks at. His nose is rounded and imposing, and the gap between it and his tiny lips, rather large. It reminds Cicero of a rabbit snout, which is honestly quite adorable. An interesting soul, both in and out, for certain.

We had met before, on the road, when Mother and I were on our way to the Dawnstar Sanctuary. He and his friend helped us when our wagon wheel broke and we were stuck. Such a kind deed it was! Cicero sure did not forget it. What a beautiful coincidence it was for our paths to meet again! 

Elias’ pulse just kept going faster when he realized most of the paragraph was about him. He wasn't sure how to feel about it. Part of him felt shy to be described with so many details, like some unwanted attention was on him. However, he also felt quite touched; His description was accurate, yet he managed to turn all parts he was self-conscious about into something good, or at least not something so blatantly undesirable.

Crazy how different other perspectives can be. 

2nd entry: Elias has asked Cicero to join him for his first big contract. Quite the honour. We travelled together to Markarth to meet our contact; She sent us here, to Baltdzar, an old Dwemer ruin where the wanted man was holding up with his goons. They all died well. 

Elias is still sleeping. Well-deserved rest for a skilled assassin. Everyday, I understand more and more why his presence in the guild is a gift. He wields his blade fiercely, and uses his dragonborn gift, the Thu'um with incredible strength and precision. He shows respect and kindness to all, especially to Cicero and the Night Mother. Surely, it was Sithis' will to have him in our ranks. Cicero is blessed to have him as a colleague and a friend. A possible ally, maybe?

"Yes!" he wanted to scream at him through the messy lines of his handwriting, "Yes! We can be allies! We can be on the same side!"

Energized with the rush of this new information, he got up from the bed and hurried back to Astrid.

"I know exactly where he is," he said as soon as he saw the Nord woman.

"Where?" Astrid asked frantically. "How did you find out?"

"Found his journals. He mentioned an abandoned Sanctuary in Dawnstar. I have the passphrase." 

"The Dawnstar Sanctuary? Whatever for? Never mind, it doesn't matter. You need to leave. Now. Every moment counts, so I want you to take my horse. His name is Shadowmere. You'll find him outside, by the pool. Let's just say he's... one of us. Find Arnbjorn. Make sure my husband's all right. And then, send that jester's twisted little soul to the Void, in as many pieces as possible."

Elias sighed when he went next to the little pond and saw no sign of a horse. He didn't have time to go look for it. Just as he was about to go get his own horse, Nin, the water started bubbling, as if it was boiling, and a horse emerged.

Oh. He understood now why Astrid said Shadowmere was "one of us". It was certainly no common horse, with its fur darker than a moonless night, and his eyes a glowing red.

Elias mounted him, and ordered Nin to follow, so he could get Astrid's stupid sheepdog back to her. If he wasn't already dead, that was.

It was clear the horse had special abilities just from how fast he was able to go. It was pretty fun, if he was being fully honest, but it was hard to fully enjoy the moment when he still had so little information about Cicero's whereabouts. After all, he never actually told him about his plan; Elias was basing it all off on vague clues and hunches. Maybe he understood the plan all wrong. And maybe Arnbjorn wounded him… or worse.

Shit.

Cicero was an absolute legend with his ebony dagger, but Arnbjorn was still a werewolf. He was dangerous. 

The anxiety crept right back at Elias, a wave of incomfort traveling throughout his entire being. If something happened to Cicero… Gods, it was too painful to think about.

The moon and stars were already illuminating the sky when he finally arrived in Dawnstar. Now, where the hell was this Sanctuary? He tried to make Shadowmere stop to get a good look at his surroundings and plan his search, but the horse kept walking, as if he knew exactly where he was going. Elias let him walk; maybe he was able to sense the Sanctuary's location. Another perk from a magical horse.

The man let the horse guide him towards the beach, each step bringing them further from the village. He eventually started seeing traces of blood on the ground. Uh-oh. He squinted to look further and saw a familiar manly silhouette sat on the ground, blood spattered on the snow around him. His blond, almost white hair was also tinted in spots of red.

Arnbjorn.

Elias made Shadowmere go faster, and then got down from him when they reached the wounded man.

He lifted his head to address Elias. "Should have figured Astrid would send you."

"You're hurt."

"What gave it away? Ha ha ha ha ha. Yeah, got to admit that little jester is good with that butter knife. But don't worry, I gave as good as I got."

"Where's Cicero now?"

The Breton tried not to sound too panicked, but it was obvious he was in distress.

"In there! Through the door. Some old Sanctuary, by the looks of it. I would have followed him, but I don't know the phrase."

"I know the phrase. I'll get Cicero - you go home with Shadowmere."

"All right. Doubt I'd be much good to you, anyway. The little fop cut me pretty deep. But I slashed him good. Pretty sure I severed an artery. Don't know what you're going to find in there... but you can probably just follow the blood."

Elias hurried to the door and waited for the low, gravelly voice to finish talking. Why did it talk so slowly? It's like it did it on purpose just to spite him. "What is life's greatest illusion?"

"Innocence, my brother," he yelled, as fast and clearly as he could.

"Welcome… home."

Hurry, hurry, hurry. He almost forced the door open with brute force out of impatience. 

When he entered, he barely took the time to look around. He just ran.

"Hold on, Cicero," he thought. "I'm coming."

Chapter Text

The sound of his own ragged breathing and his boots clapping against the stone floor were the only things Elias could hear. 

"Listener! Is that you?"

He stopped so abruptly, he almost tripped. It was definitely Cicero's voice. But where was it coming from? It seemed it was coming from the walls themselves. How was this even possible?

"Oh, I knew you'd come," the voice continued. "Send the best to defeat the best. Astrid knew her stupid wolf couldn't slay sly Cicero."

Wait, defeat? What was he talking about?

"Cicero!" Elias yelled back as he spun around, trying to discover where the hell Cicero's voice was coming from. "Where are you?"

"Oh, but this isn't at all what Mother would want," the voice answered. "You kill the Keeper or I kill the Listener? Now that's madness."

Madness, indeed. He didn't seem to have heard him, though. What in oblivion was happening? Was Elias experiencing psychosis or was all this actually real?

Questioning reality was usually a very good way to trigger the feeling of panic in Elias' brain. He was already so short of breath, the attack didn’t come as a surprise. But it came nonetheless. With tremors in his limbs and his eyes watering, he continued to follow the stone path. Maybe it was a good thing he was panicking now; It was a situation where he’d actually need that stupid overly high amount of epinephrine in his body to be able to survive. 

He opened the door at the end of the path, to discover a room barred with iron gates all around it. As soon as he turned his head to the left, he noticed a figure coming towards him. Cicero? No, it seemed to be translucent, almost fading into the background. Like… a ghost?

Ah, crap. He had fought some of those before, with Mjoll. You had to be quick, and combat in melee, because they were very easy to lose visually.

He didn’t have time to wonder what it was doing here, because it was coming towards him with its weapon drawn.

"You are not welcome here!" it yelled.

Quickly, Elias used his thu'um to disarm the attacker, and took this moment of confusion to run his blade across its neck, nearly decapitating it on the spot. Lucky hit. The figure fell to the ground, with its head half dangling to the side, and started fading out. It disappeared, as if it had never been here in the first place. No blood, nothing. Odd. Usually ghosts just crumble into piles of ectoplasm… Something was off. None of this felt right, none of this made sense. What the fuck was even happening?

He continued following the path and found himself in front of a suspended wooden bridge. Thank Sithis, he waited before crossing it to see if another one of these transparent killers was near. There was indeed one at the other end. Just as he put a first foot on the bridge, he heard a loud clicking sound. Oh, he recognized that sound. A typical trap sound. He backed down just in time to not get hit by giant metal spikes.

"Ouch! Pointy pointy!" Cicero's voice said again. "My home is well defended. I always have been a stickler for details. Get it? 'Stick-ler.' Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Oh, I slay me!"

Okay, it was definitely psychosis. How could Cicero know where Elias was and make a bad joke in reference to it? And how could he hear him? It was his imagination speaking. It had to be. It was the only explanation. Some abnormal ghosts and Cicero’s voice in his head… Well, Elias’ first psychosis was definitely a tale to remember.

He didn't fight long with the second opponent; The adrenaline was really starting to have an effect. So much so, it almost didn't feel like he was in control of his body. His body was there, but his soul felt so far away… It was like he was in a trance. He was slashing and yelling with unusual strength.

The Breton then went down the spiraling stony staircase the path was leading to, and he went down it so fast, it almost looked like he was gliding. When he arrived at the bottom, he turned left to a big rounded room, the one he had just crossed from above on the bridge. Just when he realized he should slow down to look for enemies, he heard a commotion, and felt something breaking at his feet. Uh-oh. In his hurry, he forgot to look for booby traps. Two fire vases fell from the ceiling and shattered on the oily floor, creating a fiery explosion. He retreated before the fire could reach him, but the fumes sent him into an atrocious coughing fit. He was already breathing too fast, and this definitely didn't help. 

He managed to unsheathe his sword and to get in an attacking position when the flames were starting to fade, but it seemed he didn't need to; The two ghosts that were there got caught in their own trap.

"Dumbass," he thought as he continued, before suddenly remembering he was the one who activated it in the first place. And he was fighting imaginary ghost warriors with Cicero's voice in his head. No, he wasn't in the right position to call anyone a dumbass.

"You're... still alive," Cicero's voice said again as he started walking up another staircase. Well of course he was still alive. This was just a dream. A weird hallucination. Silly Cicero! Oh, he'd have to tell him about this weird experience when he'd get back to the Sanctuary! Or this weird dream. Whatever it was. Maybe someone secretly drugged him in his sleep? Was that a weird variety of skooma that gives hallucinations? Who knew! Not him!

"Cicero respects the Listener's abilities, of course, but could you at least slow down a bit?" the voice continued. "I'm not what I used to be. Heh."

What was Cicero even talking about? Even the nonsense in this dream was nonsensical.

He followed the small hallway at the top of the stairs and reached another big open room, with high ceilings. This was the area he saw behind the metal bars, when he came in.

Two more ghosts went at him, weapon forward. Elias was almost laughing at this point.

Chop, chop, chop! Goes the sword against the see-through necks. He was moving so fast, striking so fiercely, it was an unfair combat. The ghosts should have been the ones afraid of him.

The man quickly glanced around the room and decided to head for the weird round hole in the wall. It seemed to be leading to a cave, a freezing cold cave filled with snow and ice. As he made his way into the icy sinuous corridors, he could hear Cicero’s voice again:

"Brrr! Chilly! You'll enjoy this. Not an original part of the Sanctuary, per se. Let's call it a 'forced addition.' Forced by what? Oh, come and see!"

He was warning him of something. His own instincts, taking the form of Cicero's voice. Crazy how the brain could be when disconnected from reality.

A horrible stench hit his nostrils. Death. The familiar smell of rotting corpses. Not of men or mer, but of animals. He looked to the ground and saw several carcasses, their flesh ripped from their bodies, as well as a bunch of bear traps scattered throughout the snowy ground. Could it be…

A troll. Yikes. He could see the grey-ish mound of fur, on the little hill not far from where he was standing. 

Fire was usually the best defense against trolls. He could use the thu’um to make his breath fiery, but it wouldn’t last long; A destruction flame isn’t the same as a real, organic one, it doesn’t keep burning without fuel. He’d still have to fight in melee for a while, and it was much harder to do when the enemy attacked with their claws. Not to mention he was alone: Mjoll or Cicero weren’t by his side to help. Physically, at least. He wasn’t used to fighting alone.

He had to make a decision quickly because the troll was approaching.

“Yol-Toor-Shul!”

He watched the beast burst into flames while tumbling backwards for a couple seconds. Quick, quick, quick! He had to use this moment to plan his next attack! Come on, Elias, think! The troll was regaining composure and starting to walk towards him, again.

Fuck. He wasn’t strong enough to melee with a troll! What would he have done if he could have planned it? What would Cicero tell him to do? UGH, where was his voice in his head when he needed it? Oh, lovely Cicero with his fiery hair and his sweet nightshade smell, where was he? 

Nightshades…

Of course! 

He reached to his side and quickly opened his potions satchel. Some poison could certainly help! He grabbed the first dark green colored flacon he saw (because yes, he colour-coded his mixtures), without even reading the label on the cover, and let it drop on his blade. It was messy, half of it dropped on the ground, colouring the snow a gross brown-ish colour. No time to worry about that; the troll had arrived. He drew his blade in its direction and turned his body at the same time to avoid its claws. The blow was successful, as the poison did penetrate the skin, but it was only a slash on the arm. Painful but not fatal. Elias defended himself as best as he could before the poison started to affect the beast and weaken his body, but it had been able to reach his face with its claw. It wasn't a cut as much as it was a scratch, but it burned pretty bad, nonetheless. Some blood was dripping down his cheek like tears, but he had no time to take care of it now; he had to finish his job first. With the troll squirming in pain and falling to the ground, its limbs all stiff, it was easy for Elias to end it with a quick, hard strike to the heart. He removed the blade from the creature's chest and struck again on the side of its neck, right in the jugular. Just in case. 

A little pond of blood was now forming under the troll, tinting the snow red. If the snow was a canvas, then Elias was becoming an artist. He backed away and finally reached his wounded cheek with his hand. His gloves were slightly soiled with blood when he brought it back to his face, but it wasn't too bad. He'd bandage it later.

His breathing still heavy and his heart still pounding, he continued following the path, until the cave seemed to end and he was back inside. Cicero's voice resonated between the walls again:

"All right, so Cicero attacked that harlot, Astrid! But what's a fool to do, when his mother is slandered and mocked? Surely the Listener understands!"

Of course, Listener understands! Listener agrees! Where are you, Cicero?

After crossing a wooden door, he went up another stony staircase and was met with another opening blocked with metal bars. He yanked on the chain mechanism to make it open and continued. Another staircase to go down, and he found himself in a room where coffins were piled on big shelves, left and right. It almost looked like a hall of the dead.

"You are not welcome here!" another ghost attacker yelled again before dashing towards Elias, accompanied by another translucent friend.

Almost a piece of cake, compared to the big troll he had just killed.

Chop, chop, chop! And swing, swing, swing! This was too easy. He continued going forward and was met with another group of ghost attackers. He couldn’t tell how many there were, all he could do was run, hack and slash. He must have looked beautiful from an outside view, moving around so quickly, so fervently. It could’ve almost looked like a dance.

As he spun around to make sure he had killed them all, the jester’s voice spoke again: "Cicero admits, he thought the Listener would be dead by now. Heh. Maybe we could just forget all this? Hmm? Let bygones be bygones? What do you say?"

What? Had he been trying to kill him all this time? Was it the plan all along by bringing him here?

By the gods, when would this nightmare end? Was he going to wake up in his bed in Heljarchen Hall and realize all of this was just a weird dream? Maybe he could try to. He tried to pinch himself as he walked up another staircase, he closed his eyes really hard and opened them back again, but no! He wasn’t waking up! He was stuck! Stuck in this weird hallucination!

"If it's any comfort,” Cicero said again, “I do feel slightly bad about Veezara. Stupid lizard got in my way! But please tell me that hulking sheepdog has bled to death."

Arnbjorn? Who knows. He was very badly hurt when Elias got to him. 

Elias ran down a hallway where he could see the five tenets plastered on the wall at the end, on top of a little table. When he reached it, Cicero spoke again:

"And now we come to the end of our play. The grand finale."

His voice sounded much closer now, like he was in the room next to him. Quickly, Elias turned to his right and pushed the wooden door open. Could it be…

Oh gods. Oh gods. He was there. The Breton’s legs felt like jelly, and he almost collapsed on the ground when he saw him.

“Cicero!” he cried as he ran towards him.

He was lying on the ground in a fetal position, hands gripping his left side, seemingly to stop the blood from leaking. There was a small puddle forming under him already. Shit. Was Elias too late?

“Listener,” Cicero answered through gritted teeth, his face scrunching under the pain. "You caught me. I surrender, ha ha ha ha!"

Elias grabbed a health potion in his satchel and almost forced it down the other man’s throat. “Shhh,” he hushed him as the fool grunted again, while slowly turning over on his back to show Elias the painful spot. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Elias said. “I’m here.” He lifted up Cicero’s motley until he could see the exposed wound, making the fool wince. Elias felt his stomach churn when he realized the cut was in the upper inguinal area, but quickly reassured himself that it would have bled a lot more if it had touched the iliac artery. But it was so close! Missed by mere centimeters. Arnbjorn knew his anatomy well, but he fortunately had missed precision on this one. It was bad, very deep and quite bloody, but it could be saved. Cicero was going to be okay. 

"You'll need stitches," he told him as he fumbled inside his bag. He always kept a sewing kit there, and he had used it more than once in the past, both for himself and Mjoll. By experience, he knew the thread had to be already attached to the needle in the little sewing kit; trying to pass a thread through a tiny needle hole was quite the task when under stress. He'd only need to disinfect the wound and the tools before getting started.

“You alone, Listener?” Cicero asked in between two retained groans, while the Breton searched for the disinfecting solution in his potions satchel.

“Yes.” Elias removed his gloves and doused his hands with the disinfectant, before doing the same thing to the needle. “This is going to hurt,” he said as he shoved one of his gloves inside Cicero’s mouth. Then, he poured the rest of the solution onto Cicero’s wound, making the poor man writhe in pain, his whimpers muffled by the improvised gag he had inside his mouth. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Elias said in a voice he wanted reassuring while he was getting started. His hands were shaking, and his vision was blurry from the tears, but he had to do it. He forced himself to focus on the thread and the needle, pushing any other thoughts away, and before he knew it, he was already halfway there. 

“Hang in there, Cicero!” he added, both to encourage the fool and himself. The jester was still breathing harshly, and Elias could see his limbs trembling in his peripheral vision; Gods, he just wanted to hold his hand, hold him in his arms and whisper sweet nothings to him, promising him he’d get better and the pain would go away. He had to remind himself it was exactly what he was doing now, it was part of the whole process, even if it didn’t look like it. It had to hurt more before it could feel better.

“Done!” he said as he tied up the last stitch. He cut the rest of the thread with his sword and opened up another tiny bottle of disinfectant. “It’s the last one, I promise,” he told Cicero as he emptied half of it on the now sewn-shut wound, making the fool scream again. Quickly but gently, Elias cleaned and dried the area with bandages, before using a new one to wrap around the man’s hips, making sure the wound was fully protected. 

The Breton could feel his breathing getting back to normal. Cicero would be fine. It was all over. It was all okay.

Cicero removed the glove from his mouth and let out a huge sigh. “Thank you, Elias.”

Elias wanted to hug him, but he was scared to hurt him, so he just stayed where he was, and grabbed another health potion inside his satchel.

“Once more,” he said as he uncapped it and led it towards the jester’s mouth. He gulped it all down without resisting.

“You need to leave, Listener,” he said after he had finished it, while trying to lift his torso up.

Elias stopped him with his hand. “Don’t strain. Why would I leave?”

Again, his stomach felt like it was twisting inside his belly. He remembered what Cicero was saying while he was traveling through the Sanctuary. “Send the best to defeat the best”. “Cicero admits, he thought the Listener would be dead by now.” 

Elias still wasn’t convinced it was real, and not created by his own imagination. Tending to Cicero’s wound seemed to have grounded him back to reality, but part of him still hoped he would wake up from this nightmare soon.

“You need to return to the Sanctuary,” Cicero continued, ”and tell the Pretender I’m dead.”

The pretender? Astrid?

“Tell her you strangled me with my own intestines!” he added before starting to laugh, his high creepy laugh, but he was soon cut short by a cough.

“Okay,” the Breton answered despite the knot in his throat. “I will. But then what?”

“Continue your contracts like nothing happened. Finish the Emperor contract. This one is too important to be meddled with. Cicero will use this time to heal. Let’s give it one or two weeks, maybe. Then, Elias comes back here. And the plan continues.”

Oh. Right. The plan. Of course! It was all starting to make sense, now. It was all part of it. Except for the unexpected wound…

“I don’t want to leave you,” Elias told the older man, his voice breaking on the last words. “You need me to take care of you.”

“Cicero will be alright,” he answered. “Cicero has had worse. He can take care of himself alone. The Listener helped a lot already.”

Elias put his hand on Cicero’s cheek and stroked gently. He felt the fool’s face turning towards his hand, like a house cat stretching its body to feel more of their owner’s caresses. He knew Cicero was right, but leaving him to suffer alone went against all his instincts. It physically hurt to think about it.

“You trust Cicero, right?” the older man asked. “You said you did last time we were together. Remember, Listener?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Good boy,” he said before giving Elias’ hand a soft, very light kiss.

His stomach churned again at these last words, but not for the same reason it did earlier.

“Go now,” he added. “There is no time to lose.”

The breton found another health potion in his satchel and placed it next to Cicero. He only had one left, so he’d have to be safe. He got up and started walking towards the exit to re-do all the path, but backwards. There was no point lingering there and making the goodbyes hurt even more.

Now that his breathing and heartbeat had gone back to -almost- normal, he realized how much energy he had actually spent during his rush of adrenaline. He was completely exhausted, and all his extremities hurt. He just knew it’d be horrible the next morning. 

When he finally stepped outside, the cold wind of Dawnstar hit his face and made him shiver. He spotted Nin not far away, waiting for him. She had followed him and Shadowmere earlier. Elias walked slowly towards the horse, his sore feet dragging on the snow. Some spots were still red from Arnbjorn’s blood. Some snow, some blood. Some snow, some blood. Some snow, some blood. It reminded him of the troll he fought in the cave. By Sithis, it was real. What he had experienced, as weird and messed up as it was, was not a dream, nor a hallucination. It was all real. He was still unsure about Cicero’s voice, though. Did he actually hear it or was it just inside his head? To be honest, it didn’t really matter to him anymore. He had found him, he was safe. Well, as safe as one can be when they’ve just been stabbed. But he told him he was going to be okay. Elias had said he trusted him. It was going to be okay. If he had to repeat it to himself a thousand times to believe it, he would.

He jumped on Nin’s back and looked at the night sky with lost eyes to think of his options. He was way too tired to go back to Falkreath directly, so it was already out of the equation. Heljarchen hall wasn’t far either, but the inn would only be a couple of minutes away. Although his own bed, with his own usual surroundings, as well as his family, these would all help a lot after what he had been through. Yeah, he knew where he was going. 

“We’re going home,” he said to the horse, and off he went into the night.

Chapter Text

Elias looked at Lucia's sweet little resting face on his lap with envy as he slid his fingers through his daughter's hair. Oh, to be young and innocent! Unaware of all the atrocities this cruel world had to offer, or simply too far away to care. Elias moved his hand from the girl's hair to her face, as softly as possible to avoid waking her, and traced the curve of her cheek with his fingertips. Soft as silk, pure and unfazed. It was instants like this that reminded Elias that there was still good in this world, something worth it, something to be fighting for. He had to hold on to it, because he was forgetting it too often these days.

There were rattling sounds to his left, and the man turned his face towards it to see the tall and imposing figure of Gregor, standing in the opening between the dining and living room. Taking his housecarl job very seriously, he wore his steel armor from the moment he woke up till the moment he went to sleep.

"There she is," Gregor said with relief when his eyes found Lucia.

"It's past bedtime, I know," the Breton said in a tone that sounded almost guilty. "But at least she's asleep."

The housecarl walked towards them. "I got it." 

He slipped his arms under the girl and slowly lifted her up, bridal style, before transporting her to her room. She shifted in his arms, but didn't wake up.

Those kinds of tasks were probably not what Gregor had in mind when becoming housecarl, but he seemed to execute all of them flawlessly nonetheless. He'd never admit it, but Elias knew he was a big teddy bear under his rough appearance.

The hound of a man appeared back in the living room, arms empty this time, and sat down on the couch next to Elias. The Breton was sitting sideways on the couch and he had brought his legs up, circling them with his arms. He rested his head on his knees.

"You don't look well, Thane."

Elias sighed without looking up. "That's because I'm not."

"Yeah. Even the girls are starting to notice."

Elias felt a pit in his stomach at these words. They hadn't said anything to him about it, never showed any sign of it. Yet, Gregor knew… so they had told him. Was Elias slacking off in his parent's role? He was already not there often, but if he was emotionally unavailable at the rare moments when he was, it wouldn't be very fulfilling for the girls. The guilt he felt about it made his entire soul hurt, more than it already was.

It had been almost two weeks since the last time Elias saw Cicero. Everyone at the Sanctuary welcomed him back as a hero and had no trouble believing the fool was dead. Elias was then sent off to Markarth to extract information out of a fellow Breton called Anton Virane. He told him the true identity of the Gourmet, an anonymously famous cook all throughout Tamriel that Elias was supposed to impersonate as a way to kill the Emperor. He'd kill him, take his writ of passage, and pretend to be the Gourmet himself during the Emperor's visit in Solitude. A plan that was so crazy, it was genius. A plan worthy of Cicero. Too bad he wasn't there to see it.

Anton Virane had to die also. "Loose ends and all that," Festus had said. Elias did what he had to do. It didn't feel good, nor bad. It didn't feel like anything. Nothing felt like anything anymore, period. Not knowing if Cicero was okay, if he was alive, that was all that was needed to make Elias' brain rot. Numbness was how it manifested itself to him. The Imperial had told him to continue his contracts like nothing happened, and especially to finish the one for the Emperor, so he did. Once it'd be done, he'd run back to the Dawnstar Sanctuary to find his jester, and get down to the real plan: the destruction of the Brotherhood. Well, the corrupted part of it, at least.

Elias had acquired the writ of passage a couple days ago already. All that was left to do was wait for the Emperor to arrive in Solitude for his special meeting with the Gourmet, which was not until three days later. He had been at home ever since. Waiting. Surviving.

He was about to kill the Emperor, the Emperor of fucking Tamriel. Yet, he didn't even feel an ounce of stress about it. It wasn't even on his mind; Cicero was taking all the place there.

"Is there something going on that I should be aware of, Thane?" Gregor asked in response to Elias staring into nothingness after his last statement.

A good question, that was. Elias wasn't sure if it was wise to share any information with his housecarl about it. Well, no, it wouldn't be wise at all, and that he knew. Whether he cared or not about it was the real question. 

"Because if it affects your safety," the Nord man added after seeing Elias' hesitation, "or ours, then I need to know."

He was right, however Elias didn't think his family would be in danger… But keeping it all bottled up inside just wasn’t working anymore.

“Gregor”, he started, his voice very soft, “I did something really messed up.”

The Nord looked concerned. "What have you done?"

How could he even start explaining it without sounding like a complete lunatic? He tried to remember how it all started and realized how far away it seemed. It felt as though it happened in another life. He also realized how absolutely stupid he had been with his idea of destroying the Brotherhood from the inside, alone, in the first place. Gods, it was shameful just to think about it. And the Night Mother? Being chosen as the Listener? His strong friendship and alliance with the jester Keeper? How could he even begin to explain that to Gregor without him thinking he's crazy?

He let out a huge sigh. He had to try, at least.

"Alright," he said finally, "brace yourself 'cause it's a long fucking story."

—-----------------------------------------

The weather elements were in perfect balance with the sun's warmth heating Elias' skin, and the wind cooling it down. Such a beautiful day for a stroll in the streets of Solitude. Unfortunately, having to kill the Emperor of Tamriel was a bit too important of a task to be able to do something else the same day.

Not knowing Cicero’s current situation was still weighing heavy on him, but coming clean to his family about everything two days before really did alleviate some angst. When he had told Gregor, the Nord suggested Elias tell the rest of the household, and he did exactly that, without holding a single detail back. Oriella and Gregor were confused, but overall pretty indifferent towards it; It’s not like it changed anything for them anyway. Lucia took it well, and kept saying her papa was a total “badass”. Mostly, her questions were about Cicero . “Does he know acrobatics?”, “Can he dance?”, etc. For some reason, the fact he was a jester was what stood out the most to her about the story. At least, she was okay with it. She was probably still too young to really understand all that it entailed, but it was satisfactory enough for Elias for now. Sofie was the one who had the most trouble with it. She was still in the mindset that killing anyone for any reason was bad, so she obviously didn’t like the idea of her father being an assassin. She was also very offended by all the lies Elias had told them to keep them from discovering it. She came around, eventually, after a long one-on-one talk with Elias and a potion-making session. The Breton was thrilled his daughter finally showed some interest in his favourite hobby, and that she asked to participate. He took his time with her, explaining everything slowly, and letting her do most of the manipulations. It was a precious bonding moment for them, and Elias was thankful for having experienced it before doing the craziest, most absurd quest in his entire lifetime.

Elias could see Commander Maro in front of the Castle Dour doors, and his heartbeat sped up at the realization of what was about to happen. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. He touched his hair to make sure the complex braid Sofie had done for him yesterday was still in good shape, and he walked towards the guards. It felt weird to head into a soon-to–be battle without his armor; He had traded it for some proper, clean civilian clothing, the fancy looking kind that resembled what the other pretentious rich people of Skyrim were wearing. He wore a protective vest under it, as well as his sword, but it still felt unnatural to move around in such an attire.

“Stop right there,” the black-haired Commander ordered when he saw Elias approaching. “The tower is off limits until further notice.”

Moisture was starting to form on Elias’ hands, and his limbs were feeling fizzy. This man in front of him just recently had his son killed. By Elias' own hands.

He forced himself to push the thought away and focused on showing him the rite of passage. Right now was not the right time for an emotional breakdown.

“What’s this now?” Maro said as he took the paper. “... order of his eminence… possessor of these papers… the ‘Gourmet’...” His eyes widened. “By Azura!” He was looking at Elias now. “The Gourmet! I… I’m sorry! I didn’t realize! We… We had no idea who to expect, you understand. But please, don’t let me keep you. Proceed to the kitchens straight away. Gianna, the castle chef, has been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

He opened the door for him, and Elias followed the brewing broth smell to find the kitchen at the end of the corridor. A young lady with a dark complexion was stirring a mixture inside a cooking pot. She stopped when she noticed Elias.

“Not another delivery,” she said with a sigh. “I told you people, our stocks are fine. Now put whatever you have over there, then get out!”

Ha. Even as the Gourmet, Elias was still being so casually disrespected by the lovely people of Skyrim.

“You misunderstand,” the Breton said in a tone he tried very hard to make sound calm. “For I am… the Gourmet.”

“The… Gourmet?” Gianna’s face suddenly lit up. “Oh! Finally! When I heard the Gourmet was being brought in to cook for the Emperor, I could hardly believe it. It’s just… I… Well, I just never expected the Gourmet to be a Breton. It almost seems too obvious. Some of the greatest cooks have been Bretons, and…”

“Well, I’m sorry if my race disappoints you,” Elias cut her off. “Now let’s get cooking.”

“Oh. Well, um, actually… you’re not. Wearing a chef’s hat, I mean. There’s one right over there on the shelf. You can’t very well cook without it…”

Elias raised an eyebrow. Really? Was that some kind of weird cooking rule he wasn’t aware of?

“Oh! Of course,” he said, trying to sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world. When he had it on, he returned to Gianna.

“Oh, just look at you. Absolutely brilliant. Now… now you’re just as I imagined. But enough talking. The Emperor has requested your signature dish - The Potage le Magnifique. I’ve taken the liberty of getting it started. But the cookbook only says so much, and everyone makes the potage differently. I would be honored if we could make it… the Gourmet’s special way. The base broth is already boiled. We can get started right now. So… which ingredient should I add next?”

Elias smiled internally. Thank Sithis, he had studied the recipe before arriving.

“A carrot,” he answered.

"Carrots? Really? Okay... What next?"

What the fuck else did she expect?

“Alright. You must now add a splash of mead.”

"Ah, of course. I suspected as much. Next?"

“One nirnroot.”

"Really? Oh, I use Nirnroot as a special seasoning all the time as well. What a wonderful idea. Okay. Now what?"

“Diced horker meat.”

"Hmmm... horker. So delicious. I swear, is there a soul alive who doesn't enjoy the taste of... Sorry, I didn't mean to get carried away. There we go, one cup of diced horker meat. I have to say, the stew seems done. Add anything else, and we may dilute the distinct flavors. So... is that it?"

Elias smirked.

“You said you wanted it the Gourmet’s special way, right? Well, I have a secret ingredient. Here.”

He showed Gianna the jarrin root.

"Oh?” the cook answered. “What is this, some kind of herb?”

“A good cook never reveals their secret ingredients.”

“Heh, I'm sorry. Of course. It's your most famous recipe, after all. All right then, your secret ingredient's been added. And if I may say so... it has been an honor, getting a chance to prepare a meal with, well... the best chef in the entire Empire. I'll carry the stew pot, and lead the way up to the dining room. I'm sure the Emperor and his guests are dying to meet you."

Gianna took the stew pot and started walking towards the dining room. Elias almost wanted to laugh. It had been as easy as that. The hard part was to follow, though. He put his hand on the bump to his side under his clothes to make sure his sword was still here. All the right potions were still aligned in his potions satchel. The one for invisibility, the one for stamina, the health ones, the poisons… Everything was in order. All that was left to do now was wait for the emperor to choke on his potage.

Elias felt his stomach drop as he got nearer the dining room. He could hear voices speaking.

“You mean the wedding? My cousin’s apparent murder?” a man’s voice said. “An unfortunate misunderstanding, no more. Cold mead, hot tempers… these things happen.”

Oh, by the gods… the Emperor. It was him speaking. He was there, in the next room, in blood and flesh. Elias' heart was beating so fast, he was scared Gianna could hear it.

“Quite,” another man answered. “Yet that recent business with the young officer. Maro, was it? How dreadful. The son of your Commander, plotting your assassination.”

“Here we are!” Gianna said when they arrived in front of the door. Gods, I’m nervous. We’ll go in in just a moment. Please, I’ll serve. You just stand there and… be amazing.”

Oh, that he would. Elias gripped his potions satchel one last time. It was going to be okay. He had everything. And if it failed, he had his voice. 

Gianna opened the door and Elias felt the rush of adrenaline spreading throughout his entire body. He didn’t even take the time to look at the people sitting at the table, he just immediately tried to register everything he could about the room, and how to use it to his advantage. Large room, one exit north. Table in the way. It would be more strategic to stand on the other side of it… Especially since the guests would be facing the other way. It wouldn’t look suspicious to do so since the emperor was sitting at the other end of the table, and he could just act like he wanted to stand to his side.

He looked at the man as he walked around the table and almost felt wobbly. The goddamn Emperor. In front of him… Oh gods, he had to keep it together.

Elias smiled timidly at the Emperor and he stopped talking to his noble friends at the table when they locked eyes.

“Aha!” he said. “Here we are. Honoured guests, I present to you - the Gourmet!”

Elias looked at the guests and nodded politely with a smile. 

“The Gourmet has cooked for us today,” the Emperor announced as Gianna was done putting the mixture in the bowls. “Ah, the Potage le Magnifique. So delicious. My friends, as Emperor, I of course reserve the right of first taste.”

Oh shit. It was now. It was happening. Fuck. As softly as possible, Elias moved closer towards the archway that led to the exit and subtly slipped his hand inside the potions satchel. First row, first column, left side; the invisibility potion.

Elias watched as the Emperor brought the spoon to his mouth. He swallowed.

"Oh... Oh how marvelous," he said. "Just delicious. It is everything I had hoped it would be. It.... I.... I think something's... wrong... I…"

The Breton heard a thump as the man's head fell on the table and he knew it was his signal to flee.

He didn't even have time to hear the people's reactions, he was already out the door. Quickly, with shaking hands, he gulped down the invisibility potion and ran forward on the stone bridge that was leading to the spiral staircase out of the castle.

I just killed the Emperor of Tamriel.

It felt like his insides were twisting and turning inside him as reality settled in, and he thought he was going to throw up. 

Just as he was about to reach the end of the bridge, he bumped hard into something and fell backwards from the impact, canceling out the potion's effects. Shit. He looked up and realized, with panic, that he didn't run into something, but rather someone. Tall, black hair, a mustache, penitus oculatus armor… Commander Maro!

The Imperial man clapped his hand with a smirk as he watched Elias getting back up on his feet. He tried looking for a quick exit, but the staircase was blocked by three other agents. He was ambushed.

"That man was, by far, the most insufferable decoy the Emperor has ever employed," the Imperial said with fake amusement in his voice. "I'm glad he's dead. Ah, but I'm even happier that you killed him. You, an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood, have just made an attempt on the Emperor's life. Would have succeeded, had it been the real man."

What?

"Surprised?" he asked after seeing confusion all over Elias' face. "So was I, when a member of your 'Family' came to me with the plan. We worked out a deal, you see. An exchange. I get you, and the Dark Brotherhood gets to continue its existence."

Elias wasn't sure what emotion to feel first, so he felt them all at once. Confusion, disgust, disappointment, anger. Astrid… It had to be her. Not only was she a pain in the ass, she was now also a traitorous little bitch. Elias was shaking and his jaw was clenching. Not even out of nervousness anymore, but out of pure anger, if not absolute fury.

"But you know what?" Maro continued, "I've changed my mind. How about this? I kill you, and butcher each and every one of your miserable friends? Your Sanctuary's being put to the sword right now. That's what I think of this 'deal.' You killed my son! All of you! And now you'll pay the price." He turned his head towards the men behind him. "Kill him. And make sure there's nothing left to bury."

Elias honestly couldn't blame the man for his reaction. Having your own child killed… That's not supposed to happen. It's unforgivable. Unforgettable. He was well within his rights to attack Elias. He didn't know, however, that putting the Sanctuary "to the sword" was basically just fulfilling him and Cicero's original plan for them. Oh, what a beautiful mistake that was! Such a happy accident! Elias couldn't help it; he started laughing.

"Why are you laughing, boy?" the Commander screamed with half anger and half fear on his face. "Are you mad?!"

The Breton backed away and forced himself to gain back composure. This was just perfect.

"Fus… Roh-Dah!"

He ran forward as the men flew in the air before brutally hitting the stone walls, the force of the impact making their bones audibly crack. Elias didn't even take the time to wait for them to get back up. He wouldn't kill them; There was no time. The only person he wanted dead at the moment was Astrid. He had to get back to the Sanctuary as soon as possible and evaluate the damage. Maybe he could even kill the bitch himself.

He gulped another invisibility potion midway through the spiral staircase, hidden from all eyes and untouched by the men still trying to get back up. Then, for the second time this month already, he fled from Solitude, with the help of the shadows, concealing his true form. What made this moment different from the other one was the huge smile he had on his face as he ran.

Let it all burn down.

Chapter Text

https://ao3-rd-18.onrender.com/works/26624560/chapters/105436044

Chapter Text

Smoke, fogging up the colourful dawn sky, thickening the air. The indisputable smell. Elias could feel it prickling his eyes, tightening up his throat. His mouth was dry. He coughed.

They were almost there.

Elias had retrieved Nin at the spot where he left her, in the little forest, just outside Solitude. They haven’t stopped moving ever since. The man was tired, having spent the whole night awake on his horse, but he was so overwhelmed by this sudden turn of events, it was keeping his mind awake. 

He had a lot of time to think and ruminate on his way there, and there was one thought he couldn’t get out of his head; what if it wasn’t Astrid who gave him away to Maro? What if it was Cicero? After all, it almost fulfilled the plan entirely… The last time he saw him was more than two weeks ago. If the fool didn’t succumb to his stab wound and it healed properly, he definitely had enough time to orchestrate it all. So, it was possible. If it really was the case, then Elias wasn’t sure how to feel about it. It was one hell of a risk to make him go through all that and expecting him to come out of it alive. Well, he sure did this time, but there was a lot of luck and good timing involved. Was Cicero really willing to take such a huge risk with him? It was basically what he did when he sent him to the Dawnstar Sanctuary. Thanks to Elias' weird panic-induced delirium, he had been able to surf on an adrenaline rush to stay energized and effective. But it was still a very dangerous mission, especially alone!

Either Cicero was over-estimating Elias' battle skills, or he just didn't care that much about his survival. The last option was so painful to consider; it seemed his subconscious had pushed it away completely these past weeks and he was just now taking it into consideration.

There was no time to think about it anymore, though; he had arrived. The smoke was getting thicker, floating over the hill inside where the Sanctuary was hidden. Elias could see two men not far away, guarding the outside. They had probably seen him since they both had their weapons drawn and were looking in his direction.

Right. He almost forgot they would be after him too.

He hopped off of Nin and shooed her away. Horses had the very brave but very impractical tendency to want to fight alongside their master, and then getting themselves stupidly hurt if not killed. He drew his blade and walked towards the guards.

“Zun Haal Viik!” Elias shouted, and the men's weapons flew away from them.

"What the…" one of them said as he looked around, confused.

Quickly, the Breton took this opportunity to strike, right in the jugular. The man collapsed on the ground, heaving one last breath as blood spattered everywhere.

Elias hated bloody deaths, since they were so messy and catching someone else's blood on your skin was such an easy way to get an infection. He had but little choice in this case, however, since it was the one weak spot of the penitus oculatus armor.

He'd wash up later. There was still another one to take care of. He seemed to be stuck in his fight-or-flight transition phase, unsure where to go or what to do.

 "That's right, it's the Dragonborn," Elias said just before giving him the same treatment as his little friend.

Elias stood in place to catch his breath and noticed that the big tree next to the Sanctuary was now ornate with a dead body, being held in place by arrows. He squinted to get a better look and gasped when he realized the body belonged to Festus Krex. He felt his stomach drop. Of course, he was expecting it, from the very beginning, but it still felt weird to see it actually happening. He had no particular emotional attachment to any of the members, but he had still spent a lot of time in their company. And they trusted him. It was a weird feeling.

The man stared at the smoking Sanctuary door and sighed. He had to get in to evaluate the damage, see if there were any survivors. The smoke was already thick from the outside; he couldn’t imagine what it would feel like inside… He took a bandage in his knapsack and wrapped it around his mouth and nose to make somewhat of a facemask and then he entered.

It was unpleasant. As he went down the stony stairs, he could see two guards coming towards him; they had probably heard the door.

“Get him!” one of them screamed. 

Elias felt strong enough to shout again.

“Fus… Roh-Dah!”

The men went flying, before landing on the ground, right in the flames they had created themselves. Serves them right. As they burned alive, Elias looked around and saw Veezara’s body on the ground, next to the bookcase. Oh, gods. Rest in peace .

It was getting harder to breathe, and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. He continued walking towards the main open room and witnessed Arnbjorn falling to his death as soon as he entered. Elias couldn't give less of a fuck about this one, honestly. Arnbjorn's three attackers were just now noticing Elias. There was so much fire everywhere, both him and the opponents seemed confused about where to stand and how to move forward. It was an absolute mess, a real labyrinth of flames. How did they even expect to come out there alive?

Elias needed more time for his strength to recharge to shout again, so that wasn't an option for now. With one shaky hand, he opened up the satchel to his side and took out some poison. The heat was starting to make him more weak, so he'd need all the help he could get. He coated his sword with the mixture and started traveling through the fire maze.

As he met the men in the middle, he managed to dodge the first one's hit and was able to give him a pretty deep wound under his knee. The poison would do the rest. Quickly, he backed away to make more space between him and the other men. 

Just a couple more seconds, and he could shout again. He could feel the strength coming back to him, but it wasn’t fully there yet. He just had to keep them here until then. He moved around in random patterns, covering as much ground as he could while avoiding the flames, before finally feeling ready to use the thu’um again. He waited until the two men were next to each other and then focused his energy into his shout.

“Zun Haal Viik!”

No time to watch the weapons flying away. Quick, he had to get to them before they could retrieve it. He doused his blade with the remaining poison in the flask he had used earlier and started slashing. It wasn’t long before both agents were on the ground, writhing in pain, powerless. 

He still had Nazir, Babette, Gabriella and Astrid to look for, and his throat was already getting sore from the smoke. He couldn’t stay here much longer, or he’d get some internal burning by inhalation. Not something that heals easily, unfortunately.

As he ran towards the sleeping quarters, he stumbled across something and almost lost his balance. He looked down and, fuck , this was Gabriella’s corpse he had just tripped over. The pit in his stomach just got heavier at the realization. But he’d mourn later. Rest In Peace .

He continued his path towards the kitchen and saw a couple more dead bodies scattered throughout the room, all belonging to Penitus Oculatus agents. That was already a bit reassuring. A manly voice started speaking from above the stairs:

“If I am to die today, so be it. But you’ll not soon forget the Dark Brotherhood.”

Nazir. 

Elias walked up the stairs to join him in destroying the agent attacking him, but he was doing quite good by himself already. Elias was the one who gave the final blow, right in the middle of the chest.

“So you are alive,” the Redguard said to Elias, out of breath. “I was starting to wonder.”

“The Emperor…” Elias' voice was weak but not devoid of angst. “It was all a trap. Someone set us up!”

“Considering most of us are now dead, I assumed as much.” His tone was almost sarcastic. “And before you ask, no - I don't think it was you. Well, maybe I did, but you saving my sorry hide just now sort of erased any doubts. So thanks."

Huh. You’re welcome?

“We need to get out of here!" the Breton screamed as the pain in his throat was starting to get unbearable.

“You've got that right. Only a matter of time before we're roasted alive. Come on!"

As they tried to make their way towards the exit, the familiar croaky voice of the Night Mother in his head stopped him short.

Listener.

He shivered through his sweat. By Sithis, he’d never be able to get over that weird sensation. A ghost speaking inside his head. Even if he tried to explain how it felt, he couldn’t.

I am your only salvation. Come. Embrace me.

The smoke was getting thicker and the air hotter. What did the Night Mother mean by that? He had no time to stop. He had to get out of here! If he could even make it to the end without suffocating… 

Oh! Of course! Embracing the Night Mother… He knew what she meant, now. She wanted Elias to hide in her iron tomb with her. It would make a damn good shield against the fire and the potential explosion, indeed. There was no time to lose. 

“Elias!” Nazir screamed. “Move!”

He caught up to him, and they crossed the door to enter the tomb room. Another agent was waiting for them there, but Elias didn’t even stop to help Nazir defeat him; with the last burst of energy he had, he bolted towards the oil-smelling corpse and closed the iron doors on them both. 

Sleep.

Elias wasn’t sure if the Night Mother had hypnotized him with this simple word or if he had simply lost consciousness from the lack of oxygen, but sleep he did.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

“Hurry Nazir! I’m telling you, he’s in there!”

The soft, childish voice had woken Elias up. He opened his eyes. All he could see was darkness. He was sitting, his body folded in a weird and tight position. His ass and thighs hurt. He lifted his head up some more and the strong scent of nightshade oil made him remember everything.

"I'm going... as fast... as I can, you stupid she-devil. I don't see you... helping..."

That was Nazir’s voice. It felt like they were moving the coffin Elias was in.

"I'm not exactly built for manual labor. Now come on, you've almost got it."

Babette. Without a doubt, it was her voice.

"One more... pull... Yeeaahh! There."

"Can you get it open?"

"I think so. Just hold on a moment."

So, both the vampire child and the Redguard were alive. Elias wasn’t sure what to think of it. In his original plan, they would’ve all been dead after that, but he was just so glad to still be alive himself, he couldn’t bring himself to care about others for the moment.

Listener .

The Mother’s voice, again. This slow, gravelly voice that usually creeped him out so much… It almost seemed comforting to hear it now. The Night Mother did save Elias’ life, in a way, by telling him to join her inside the tomb. Who knows if he would’ve made it to the exit otherwise?

You must speak with Astrid. Here, in the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary.

Oh, what now? This bitch was alive too?

Without any warning, the iron doors suddenly opened with a creak, and Elias closed his eyes ferociously, protecting them from the harsh contrasting light. He tried to get back up.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Nazir said as he offered him his arm for support. “Slow down. It's all right. You've been through a lot. Maybe you should just sit down for a bit..."

“Astrid is alive!” the Breton said as he blinked several times, adjusting to the new lighting. “The Night Mother says I must speak to her. Where is she?”

"She's here? By Sithis, I thought we'd lost her. Let's go!"

With a racing heart and a fragile stomach, Elias walked rapidly towards Astrid’s ex bedroom. The Sanctuary was in complete ruins, and the stench of burnt flesh was heavy. He’d pretend to care later.

As he walked inside the room, Elias gasped, in shock. On the ground laid a mere excuse of a human body, burnt to a crisp and heaving. It was Astrid.

“Alive…” the Nord said. “You’re alive… Thank Sithis.”

Elias didn’t know how to answer. He could feel his palms getting sweaty and his limbs feeling heavier. Around Astrid were a bunch of lit candles, a dagger and… Nightshades? What was happening here?

"Ssshhh…” the Nord uttered, before Elias could speak. “Please. There is much... I have to say. And... not much time... I'm sorry. So very sorry. The Penitus Oculatus... Maro... He said that by giving you to them, he would leave the Dark Brotherhood alone. Forever. By Sithis, I was such a fool. All of this... it's all my fault. You are the best of us, and I nearly killed you... as I've killed everyone else..."

Elias was stunned. He should have felt angry at her for being a traitor, but the only thing he could think about at the moment was how relieved he felt that it wasn’t Cicero who had betrayed him.

"Don't you see?” Astrid continued after realizing Elias wasn’t going to answer. “It was me. I set you up, wanted you dead. I betrayed you, the Night Mother... everything I hold dear. And now Maro has betrayed me. I just wanted things... to stay the way they were. Before Cicero, before the Night Mother. Before... you. I thought I could save us. I was wrong. But you're alive! So there's still a chance. A chance to start over, rebuild. That's why I did... this. Don't you see? I prayed to the Night Mother! I am the Black Sacrament."

“What are you saying?” Elias asked in legitimate confusion.

"I'm saying you were right. The Night Mother was right. The old ways... they guided the Dark Brotherhood for centuries. I was a fool to oppose them. And to prove my... sincerity, I have prayed for a contract. You lead this Family now. I give you the Blade of Woe, so that you can see it through. You must kill... Me."

She pointed to her daedric dagger with a quick movement of her eyes.

Elias took it, in a robotic mechanical way. This was too much to take in all at once. Astrid admitting her wrongdoings? Sacrificing herself? Passing the role of leader to Elias?

What in Oblivion was happening?

With an anxious, scrunched up face, Elias turned slowly towards Nazir and Babette, desperate to understand. They both had melancholic faces, but Nazir nodded briefly, as if giving his approval.

“Do it, Listener,” Babette added.

The Breton turned back towards Astrid, the blade of woe weighing heavy in his hands.

Wasn’t it a fantasy of him to kill this woman? Then why did it feel so weird now that the opportunity was there?

"Please, Listener,” the Nord begged upon Elias' hesitation. “Release my soul and let Sithis be the judge."

Elias closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay.”

There was no point in making her suffer; she already had enough by nearly burning herself to death. It needed to be a quick one.

The Breton focused his energy and struck as sharp as he could, straight through the heart.

“Thank…you,” Astrid managed to say as she took her last breath, blood seeping through her teeth. 

Elias released the blade from the now limp body. He turned his head towards the two other survivors, not wanting to linger on the sad shell that once contained Astrid’s soul. The angst in his gaze was still there.

"If I hadn't heard it with my own ears,” Babette said, “I wouldn't have believed it. How could Astrid have done this to us? Strangely, I feel only pity for her..."

"Astrid…” Nazir added. “By the sands, I still can't wrap my head around it..."

Elias neither.

Astrid is dead.

“Wait guys, the Night Mother’s speaking to me again.”

It is as it should be. May she find redemption in the Void. But while you live, the Dark Brotherhood lives. We must fulfill our contract. Emperor Titus Mede II must be eliminated. Speak with Amaund Motierre at the Bannered Mare in Whiterun. He will know the true Emperor's location. But first, inform Nazir of your plans. For you are the Listener, and must bind this Family together."

Elias looked at Nazir when the voice in his head stopped.

“Well?” the Redguard inquired. “What did she say?"

“I must speak with Amaund Motierre once more.” 

If he only knew how much this man was the least of Elias' worries at the moment…

"Amaund Motierre? But that would mean..."

“The contract is still on. The true Emperor must be assassinated.” 

Elias tried to hide a sigh of exasperation as he said that last phrase. And to think this whole mess was finally over…

"You mean... there's still a chance? But how? Our plan has gone to ruin. Everyone is dead, the Family..."

 “Our Family lives on, Nazir, you have to trust me.” Elias recoiled after saying it. Where the hell did this cheesy line come from? It sounded like something the Night Mother would say. Was she starting to play with Elias' subconscious too? 

"Hmph. All right, then. Go. Go, my Listener. Find out what that slimy bastard Motierre has to say, then send the Emperor to Sithis”

Fuck. 

“Ah, but when you're done, there's no use returning here, is there?” he continued. “I was thinking... the Dawnstar Sanctuary. We could make a proper home there.”

Yeah. That was the plan, originally. Except, it was meant to be for him and Cicero only. To start anew together. He had not planned on keeping Babette and Nazir…

It was weird to admit, but he didn’t feel that mad about it. To be quite frank, he never really had much of a problem with them. It was mostly Astrid and her stupid stinky wolf that he wanted out of the Brotherhood. The others… Well, they would just follow whoever was in a position of power. Which was now him, in this case. Maybe, just maybe, this could be good. Him, Cicero, Babette and Nazir… It could work.

“Yes,” he finally answered. “The Dawnstar Sanctuary. I was thinking the same thing.” 

“Right. Listen, when you're finished with this Emperor business, meet Babette and me there. I'll find some way to move the Night Mother. Don't worry. Now go! And come back with a barrel full of gold, hmm?"

Elias nodded in a way he wished looked solemn, when in reality he felt on the verge of panic. As he walked in the ruined Sanctuary towards the exit, he thought of Cicero. Nazir and Babette would probably expect to find his corpse in the Dawnstar Sanctuary. And maybe they would, if he didn’t survive his wound. A probability Elias had avoided thinking too much about. But what if they found him there alive? What would they do? Try to kill him? Oh, Cicero was a strong warrior, yes! But he was wounded, and there was no way to know how well it healed. He could very well lose this battle. And what would they think of Elias for lying to them about the fool’s death? Would they lose their trust in him? Would they try to kill him too?

Elias wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Should he try to reach the Dawnstar Sanctuary before them and see about Cicero himself? No! He had told him to finish the Emperor contract first… But the contract had completely changed… Did this rule still stand?

Argh! Why did everything have to be so complicated, all the time? 

Once outside, the first thing he saw was Nin, munching on grass. Elias had a little smile at the sight. At least, he could count on his horse for being the one stable and comforting element in his life.

He ran his fingers through its mane.

“Let’s go home, big girl.”

Chapter Text

Imagine being tasked to kill the Emperor. Of Tamriel. Twice .

Yeah. It didn't feel too real for Elias either.

He looked at the ship's silhouette from the edge of the river, safely hidden behind a little rock formation. 

How was he supposed to do this? There were agents everywhere, just on deck. He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like inside. It was a suicide mission.

Maybe a breathe-under-water potion… Entering from the opening under the boat. And then maybe an invisibility potion. Even then, there were probably a ton of guards inside. If he accidentally touched one of them, the potion would lose its effects and he’d be discovered. And he didn’t even know where inside the boat the Emperor was! Honestly, this whole plan was a leap of faith. It was the riskiest quest he would probably ever do. However, if anyone was to succeed, it would surely be him. After all, he did go to Apocrypha and Sovngarde, and was still back on Nirn, alive. He was the fucking dragonborn. 

He would have to try, at least. 

With a heavy sigh, Elias took out the underwater breathing potion and gulped it all down. Then, quickly, he got into the water and swam as deep as he could to avoid being seen from the surface. The water was cold, and dirty, which was overall extremely unpleasant, but he could at least see the boat very well. As he got near it, he swam around it to find the trap door and he easily found it. The next step was going to be the hardest one. The little door was easy to open, but very difficult to close back up, because of the water’s pressure. He finally managed to do it, and then he turned around to inspect his surroundings. He found himself inside a very tiny wet room. The room was entirely built with a waterproof material, and the water that had accumulated when he entered was slowly being evacuated out of the boat from what looked like a little tube on the floor. Elias was lost in admiration for a moment. “How clever”, he thought. It made a perfect transition spot. He didn’t know how it was possible for the tube to only push the water out and not get any more inside, but he had bigger things to worry about at the moment. 

He wrung as much water out of his hair and clothes as he could and then opened the door to the inside of the ship, as slowly and quietly as humanly possible. He was relieved to see there were a bunch of crates shielding him from view. He could hear voices in the distance, but it seemed no one was near. Good. The hardest step was already done, which was getting inside without being noticed. Now all he had to do was gulp down the prolonged invisibility potion and try to find the emperor’s chambers. And hope her step would be light enough to avoid the floor from creaking.

There was no point in procrastinating. It was now or never. He swallowed the entirety of the potion flask and quickly started moving forward. Quickly, but carefully. He counted the seconds in his head, making sure he could find a way to take the next one before the effects faded after three minutes. Gods, his heart was beating so hard, he was scared the guards could hear it. They didn't, however. Actually, the rattling sound of the waves hitting the boat were basically covering up the light noise his boots made across the floor, as well as the droplets of water falling from his soaked clothes.

Elias briefly stopped once he got to the big dining room, hiding behind the wall. So far so good. None of the guards had said anything yet. He still had a good 30 seconds to move upstairs before taking the second dose of potion. Surely the Emperor's room would be upstairs, right?

When the man reached the top of the stairs, he hid behind a dresser to take the second dose, while looking around, trying to determine which way to go. It was hard to say. There were many doors all around. They were probably rooms for the guards and sailors. Otherwise, they'd all be closed off and locked tight. But there was another one behind him, and this one was closed. Going there was probably the safest bet; The Emperor probably had an isolated room for himself, not just one out of the many ones for the guards. It'd be too easy otherwise.

The problem was opening the door without being noticed. Actually, it was simply impossible. By touching the door and fiddling with the lock, he'd break the invisibility shield around him anyway.

Well, fuck.

Elias had two options at this point: either using the remaining invisibility potions to turn around and head out, or crossing that door and risking getting caught.

He sighed internally. Of course he had to pick the second option. He had already gotten too far to back down.

Alright. Time to act. He opened the door, very quickly, and then didn't even have time to open it fully before hearing the guards mumbling about hearing something. They quickly saw him, and he immediately used the thu'um to bolt towards the other end of the room in a second. 

"Wuld… Nah Kest!"

There was no time to react. Or think. Quick, quick, quick, he had to keep moving! He saw stairs and went up them, then tried to open the first door he saw. 

Locked! He punched it out of frustration before turning around, but before he even had time to make a step forward, he heard the door open behind him, and was grabbed by the arm from whoever was inside. The door was closed back off and locked immediately.

It all happened so fast, the guards didn't even have time to follow him upstairs. He turned around and almost choked when he realized who had yanked him inside the room. 

A long fancy robe with bright colours and fur, a half bald head and some calm, wise blue eyes.

This was the emperor.

Elias was frozen in place, mouth open as he stared at his unexpected saviour. He could hear loud steps and screaming from outside the room. Then, there was a loud, hurried knock on the door.

"Your Highness! Are you safe?"

"Yes, I am," the old man yelled back, very calmly as he continued pulling the other additional locks on the door.

"Stay here, sir, and lock everything!" the guard answered. "There's an intruder! We'll find him!"

"I will remain locked in here then."

The sounds of footsteps got quieter as the guards scattered around the boat. The Emperor turned towards Elias and spoke:

"You're the one from the Brotherhood, are you not? Elias."

"I…" he started, struggling to let the words out. 

The Emperor had a slight chuckle at the Breton's confusion and then started slowly pacing around the room, looking out his tinted windows.

"And, once more, I prove Commander Maro the fool. I told him you can't stop the Dark Brotherhood. Never could."

Elias did not answer. He had trouble understanding what the hell was happening. Was this another trap?

The old man turned his head towards him. "Come now, don't be shy. You haven't come this far just to stand there gawking."

Silence, again. Words simply weren't coming to Elias' mouth, nor even his brain.

"You and I have a date with destiny, it would seem," the Emperor continued. "But so it is with assassins and emperors, hmm? Yes, I must die. And you must deliver the blow. It is simply the way it is. But I wonder… would you suffer an old man a few more words before the deed is done?"

Everything was clicking in Elias' head, now. 

The Emperor knew. Accepted his fate. This man knew what the Black Sacrament meant. What it entailed. The consequences. This man understood . The waves in his ocean eyes were regular, slow but assured. He wasn't scared. Not even in the slightest.

"Please, your Highness," Elias finally managed to say, with a new, unexpected sense of admiration in his voice. "Go ahead."

"I thank you for your courtesy. You will kill me, and I have accepted that fate. But, regardless of your path through life, I sense in you a certain… Ambition. So I ask of you a favour. An old man's dying wish. While there are many who would see me dead, there is one who set the machine in motion. This person, whomever he or she may be, must be punished for their treachery. Once you have been rewarded for my assassination, I want you to kill the very person who ordered it. Would you do me this kindness?"

The Breton had a melancholic sigh. The old man had a point.

"I'll consider your request, your Highness."

"Thank you. Now, on to the business at hand I suppose, hmm?"

It was a weird emotion Elias was feeling. It wasn't happy, nor necessarily sad. He couldn't find the words to describe it. Yet, tears were rolling down his cheeks. 

"Well?" the old man insisted. "I won't fight you, so may as well get this over with."

Elias went to reach for his sword handle at his side, but then quickly changed his mind.

"Tell me, your Highness, how would you like to die?" he asked. "I do not have any ill intentions towards you, sir. I do not take joy in hurting people. I am simply a means to an end. You seem like a wise man, your Highness, and I wish to give you a good death."

The good death . 

It was Cicero who had coined this expression for him. Heavier tears escaped Elias' eyes and he pursed his lips to retain a sob, now fully aware of the reason they were there in the first place.

Cicero .

For his final, most important assassination, it was him and him only he could think of. It was always him . Always was, always would.

Disgusted and ashamed of the profession of assasin at first, he had later grown to be somewhat comfortable with it, thanks to the jester. Today, however, was the day he realized all of his doubts about it had disappeared. Cicero had shaped him into the fair assassin he was now, the one he was finally content to embrace. He never changed him, and never tried to; he took him as he was, with his strengths, with his weaknesses. All Cicero did was show him more colours to be seen in this seemingly dull grey world.

Elias knew now what emotion was responsible for these peaceful tears, rolling down his cheeks.

Love . 

A soft hand on his shoulder pulled his mind away from his daydream. “You are most kind, Elias. Please do not cry. I accept my fate with serenity.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t the reason for his tears, but he offered him a little smile nonetheless.

“What’s the least painful way to die with a blade?” the Emperor asked him. “Surely you know more about the subject than I do.”

Indeed, he did.

“Decapitation is the quickest, painless way to die with a blade,” he answered. “But miss your shot and it becomes one of the most painful and gruesome deaths.”

“Hmm. I see. Any other options?”

“If you deeply cut a major artery, you’ll bleed out in no more than a couple seconds, but the initial stab stings quite a bit… And it’s messy. Otherwise, there’s always asphyxiation. Not painful, but very uncomfortable. And a bit longer” 

The man pondered for a bit. “I’ll go with a major artery.”

“Okay. Which one, sir?”

“Which one do you suggest?”

“The carotid artery, your Highness. A sure shot. On the side of the neck. It usually gets the jugular vein at the same time, so it’s extra quick, and doesn’t even require that much strength. It’s just very bloody.”

“Alright. Let’s do this one.”

He took out his blade and got into position.

“Ready when you are, sir.”

“I am ready.”

Elias paused. “I was honoured to have met you, your Highness. New adventures await you on the other side. Until we meet again.”

He took a deep breath, and coordinated his strike with his exhale. The old man collapsed to the ground as soon as Elias removed the blade from his skin, blood flowing out of him in rhythmic pulses as weird choking sounds escaped his mouth. It took only a few seconds for the body to completely stop moving. Thankfully, Elias had striked hard enough to make it quick. He was satisfied to know his contract died well. 

Rest in peace.   

—------------------------------------------------

It was a beautiful night, the sky clear, the two moons full and the stars so very bright. Amaund Motierre was dead, by now. The poison Elias had secretly spilled in his drink was highly effective, one of his best. He found a little bit of comfort in that, at least. The Emperor's last wish was fulfilled.

He was staring at the Dawnstar Sanctuary door, not fully ready to enter. He was anxious to see whether Cicero was there or not. And if he was, would he even be alive? The thought was unbearable. Yet, he had to consider the possibility.

He forced his muscles to push open the door after the passphrase unlocked it, and quickly walked forward, following the stone path. His stomach felt like it was twisting inside of him, and his heart was thumping like crazy. He quickly spotted Nazir.

“Listener! Elias!” he exclaimed with a smile. “You are back! So, how did it go?”

“The Emperor is dead. The real one, this time. By my hand.”

He smiled faintly as he remembered the nice moment they had spent together before his death. It had definitely been his favourite contract.

"Truly?” the Redguard asked, joyous. “Could you have brought us more wondrous news? Recent events notwithstanding, this is a happy day for us, my friend. Despite your misfortunes, you stayed true to the Dark Brotherhood. You've saved us all, and for this you have my eternal thanks. Now, of course I must ask... Killing the Emperor... How much did Motierre pay for such a thing?"

“20,000 gold. It’s located in Volunruud. I wanted to report to you before journeying there to get the money.”

"Ha! Remarkable! Well, the old bastard certainly made it worth your while, didn't he?"

“He sure did.”

"Now, might I offer some advice? You should go to Riften and find Delvin Mallory. I believe Astrid had you visit him once before? Mallory is an expert 'obtainer of goods.' We can use the money to repair and refit this Sanctuary. Make a true home for us, hmm? You do that, and I'll see what I can do about recruiting some new additions to our Family..."

“I will.”

“Excellent. We can manage with the little decrepit beds here for a while, but an upgrade would be welcomed.”

Elias forced himself to smile, but it seemed as though Nazir saw through its fakeness.

“Are you alright, Listener? You look… sad.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “I’m just tired. And I miss my family.”

“I understand that. You’ve been through a lot. Do me a favour, Listener… After you meet with Mallory, have a little vacation. Go spend time with your family. Relax. You deserve it.”

He nodded. That was indeed very well deserved.

“Okay. I’ll write down the contracts the Night Mother gives to me if she does so when I’m not here.”

“Speaking of the Night Mother… When you killed Cicero, did you leave his body here? Because his remains are nowhere to be found.”

Elias thought his heart would jump out of his chest at the mention of Cicero. 

So, he wasn’t in the Sanctuary when Babette and Nazir arrived. Then, where was he?

A glimmer of hope shined inside Elias. There was a chance he was still alive.

“No,” he lied, “I didn’t kill him inside. It was a bit of a hide-and-seek game… The final battle was on the beach.”

“Ah! That explains it. Off with you now! You have places to be. I will tell Babette of your achievement when she returns from hunting.

After some brief goodbyes, Elias headed towards the exit. There was only one thing on his mind.

Where the fuck is Cicero?

Chapter Text

Elias walked towards Nin, uncertainty clouding his mind. Where would he even go to search first?

"Listener!" a voice echoed in the distance.

Elias felt as though his heart had stopped beating for a second. There was no need to search. He could recognize that voice amongst thousands of millions of others, in a whisper or a scream, in silence or in clamor, in the light or in the dark. His voice.

Despite feeling like his body was frozen in place, he managed to turn around. The red headed fool was looking at him with his eyebrows raised, grinning with newly scarred lips.

"Cicero," Elias uttered in a desperate cry, his words breaking as he bolted towards the other man with as much speed as this sudden rush of adrenaline allowed him. When he reached him, he put his arms around his neck and squeezed him so tightly against him, it would have looked as though he was trying to choke him to death if the other man did not respond by hugging him back, his arms firm against his body. 

Elias closed his eyes as he pressed his face against Cicero's neck, the slight familiar scent of nightshade intoxicating him with an intense sense of relief, of well-being, of home. 

Alive . Cicero was alive.

Nothing could have taken his attention away from the man. He was aware of him only, the way his body felt so warm pressed against his, the soft tickle of his hair across Elias' cheek, the harshness of his motley's fabric, the hard curve of his shoulder under his ear. At that moment, he did not want anything to exist in the world except for Cicero and himself.

After a while, Elias lifted his head up and faced him. He seized the Imperial's face with his hands, and stared into his eyes, letting himself drown into the black abyss of his sloes. Elias ran his fingers across the other man's face, letting his fingertips register every bump and cavity, every line of his skin, enjoying the soft parts on his cheeks and temples, just as well as the rougher parts on his jaws, where hair had started to grow from the last days.

"It's you," the Breton breathed, "you're real, I'm not dreaming." 

He was now cupping Cicero's face with his hands, holding him firmly as though he was afraid he would disappear again if he let go.

"Of course I'm real!" the older man exclaimed, "you're the one who let poor Cicero live! Don't you remember?"

"Yes," Elias answered, "but you were so hurt at this point, I wasn't sure you'd even survive on your own! I made the stitches so fast, there was still a high risk for infections! How did you even… How-"

"You left your disinfecting solution there, Listener," he said, cutting him off, "Just before you left. You even gave me an additional health potion"

Elias furrowed his brows and tried to remember. He vaguely recalled the health potion, but he was under so much stress and fear back then, he was almost unconscious of his actions. Even when he tried to focus, his memories of the Cicero chase in the Dawnstar sanctuary was mostly a blur.

"Well, thank Sithis I was smart enough in my delirium to help you recover," he said as he started to let go of Cicero.

The Imperial was staring at Elias with wide eyes. He eventually broke the silence:

"You know, you were a fool to spare me. What, did you think I would be grateful? Cicero should be Listener! Not you! Now, you will die!"

Elias did not move, nor even react. He felt completely numb. 

What?

"... Ahhh.... gotcha!" Cicero finally said as he saw the sparkle of light slowly leaving the Breton's eyes. "Oh, Listener, you should see the look on your face!"

He was now laughing maniacally. Elias was not sure if he wanted to strangle him or hug him again for that bad, horrible, terrible joke. Although, he had to remind himself this was Cicero he was dealing with. What else would be expected of him?

"Oh, Cicero has returned!" he said as he grabbed Elias' arms, "Not to kill the kind Listener, but to serve, until one of us dies horribly, in service to our Mother! Best friends forever!"

His face had gotten extremely close to his when he said that last phrase. Elias shivered when he felt his breath on his face. He was trying hard to remain mad at him, but he simply could not. 

"Oh, my sweet, sweet Elias," Cicero said as he pressed himself against the younger man to hug him again, "My beautiful Listener, you have saved me. You have saved Cicero from an awful death."

"I know you'd have done the same for me," Elias answered as he toyed with the tips of Cicero's hat with his hands.

"Without a shadow of a doubt."

The fool lifted his head and grabbed Elias' face in his hands, before giving him a soft kiss on the forehead.

Elias felt like he was going to suffocate, and Cicero stepped back.

"I think it's time I go back into the Sanctuary," he said, "Mother needs tending, I'm sure."

"No," Elias answered firmly, "Not now, Cicero. I don't think Babette and Nazir are ready to see you yet. They think you're dead… I just… I don't want them to hurt you. And I'm too tired to get into a fight."

"Yes, I know, these two survived. But, Listener, I need to-"

"Listen," Elias interrupted him, "if Mother was able to be away this long from her Keeper, she can still wait another day. Now here's what we'll do. I go in alone and tell them the news. I don’t think they’re ready to hear it and I don’t want there to be a fight. While I do this, you wait here. I’ll come and get you when I know everything is safe."

It was Cicero's turn to let out a heavy sigh.

"Fine," he answered finally, "I guess you are right. I know the Listener knows what he is doing."

Elias suddenly felt a huge amount of tension finally quitting his body. He really thought he would have had to argue more with Cicero.

“Let me make things right,” he said to the jester softly. “I’m the Listener, after all, and they made it clear they were happy to be under my authority, after everything that happened. I’ll make sure they know to not hurt you. Trust me.”

“Cicero trusts you,” the man said with a little smile, and Elias entered the Sanctuary, again. He did not want to have that conversation with Nazir. At all. There were so many other things he wanted to talk about, needed to talk about with Cicero. Like where did he hide all this time? And what would become of the Brotherhood? They needed to do some MAJOR debriefing, about the plan, about the Sanctuary, about them. Nazir and Babette were honestly the last thing on Elias' mind at the moment.

He found Nazir downstairs, sitting at a table with a bunch of parchment papers scattered around.

"Babette, is that you?" he said without lifting his head from his papers.

"It's me again," Elias answered as he sat in front of him.

"Oh. Did you forget something?"

"No. Something just happened… Listen, Nazir. I haven't been completely truthful with you."

The Redguard looked puzzled.

"What is it now?" he asked with a twinge of fear in his voice.

Elias took a deep breath.There was no point beating around the bush.

"I didn't actually kill Cicero. He’s alive."

Nazir was staring at him, his dark eyes gleaming with dangerous anger under his furrowed brows.

"What?" he asked, his lower jaw visibly tightening.

"I… I couldn't,” the Breton answered. “It was against the Night Mother’s wish to kill her Keeper. She wouldn’t let me.”

Not only that, but it was against all of Elias' personal instincts and desires too. But Nazir didn’t need to know that.

The Redguard was looking away now, slowly trying to register Elias' words.

“So you lied to all of us?” he asked after a moment.

“I had no choice! I had to appease you guys, especially Astrid. I mean… What would you have me do? What would you have done in my place?”

Nazir sighed. He paused for a moment, staring at Elias, before answering in an exasperated tone:

“Where is he, now?”

“Outside. I just ran into him when I got out a couple minutes ago.”

The man got up from his chair, and Elias quickly did the same, grabbing his arm.

“By order of your Listener,” he said firmly, “you will not lay a single finger on him.”

The Breton’s eyes were fixed on Nazir’s face, not flinching. He stared back for a moment, before roughly pulling his arm away from Elias' grip.

“I’m not asking you to like him,” Elias added. “I understand your emotion. I’m not dumb, I know how all of this must feel. It’s a lot to take in. But, please. You have to trust me. Or at least trust the Night Mother. Cicero is essential to this guild. Whether we like it or not.”

Another heavy sigh. Nazir crossed his arms on his chest.

“I do trust you,” he said after a moment. “I guess we do need a clown to oil the Night Mother’s corpse. Because I sure as hell am not doing it.”

Elias felt his muscles relaxing. Thank Sithis.

“How do you think Babette will take the news?

The Redguard scoffed. “Terribly. You’re lucky she’s out hunting for her dinner, because I think the fool would’ve been it before you could even stop her.”

Elias chewed on his bottom lip, wondering what to do next. Then, something horrible went through his mind.

“How long has it been since she left?” he asked Nazir, angst tinting each word.

“A while. She should be back any second now.”

Fuck. Without explaining himself, Elias ran back towards the exit, heart beating louder than his boots against the stone ground, with Nazir following him in confusion.

When he opened the door, he saw the tiny vampire’s body, astride Cicero who was on the ground, trying to push her face away from him.

“Babetter, stop!” Elias yelled as he ran towards her and tried to get her off of the jester. Nazir joined in on his efforts, pulling on the little woman’s arms. Gods, were those night creatures strong!

Cicero was finally able to break free and he quickly rose back up, knife in hand.

“Babette,” Nazir said firmly, “listen to us!”

The creature turned around to face them and Elias almost fell back from surprise. He had never seen her actually unleash her vampire abilities. The small woman’s child face was distorted in ways Elias had never seen before, and her fangs were out, looking sharper than razor blades. Her eyes were glowing red and her entire body was shaking, an aura of pure hatred and anger surrounding her.

“Do not touch him,” Elias said with a tone he wanted calm, but was sounding rather alarmed. “Listener’s order.”

The vampire quickly freed herself from their grip, but remained in her place, eyes going back and forth between Nazir and Elias.

“He was supposed to be dead!” she growled in a voice that resembled a dremora’s more than a child’s. 

“It’s a long story,” Elias answered.

“Believe me,” Nazir added, “ I was as confused as you were when Elias told me just a couple minutes ago. I can’t blame you for your reaction.”

Her shaking diminished, as if reassured by the Redguard’s voice.

“Can someone explain to me what in Oblivion is going on before I sink my fangs into all three of you?” the small creature asked, her voice slightly less rough than before.

“I had to lie to you about killing him to keep the Brotherhood alive and functioning long enough to complete the Emperor’s contract. Well, it got all messed up in the end, but I just simply couldn’t kill him. Night Mother’s orders. She couldn’t let her Listener kill her Keeper.”

The vampire was looking to the ground, visibly trying to control herself. 

“I know how it looks,” Elias added. “Your anger is valid. You’re allowed to hate Cicero. Just don’t touch him.”

Babette closed her eyes.

“Leave,” she said clearly but softly.

Elias looked confused.

“Elias and Cicero,” the vampire added, “leave. Now. I will not dismiss the Listener or the Night Mother’s authority. But I won’t be able to control my anger much longer. So, for your own security, please, leave. At least for the night.”

Elias looked at Nazir and he nodded. 

“I’ll deal with her,” he said before the Breton started walking towards Cicero. 

The redhead was leaning against Nin, his dagger still in defense mode, but it seemed forced. His face was all scrunched up and he was holding his jaw with his other free hand.

“Elias, her fangs scratched me,” he said as Elias got next to him.

Oh. Shit. Vampire venom hurt like a bitch, and Cicero would turn eventually if nothing was done. Quickly, he opened his potion satchel and silently thanked all the gods he had a cure-disease one in there.

“There,” he said as he gave the flask to the fool.

Elias could see Cicero's body relaxing as soon as he had swallowed, and he let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“What would Cicero do without Elias' alchemy expertise?” he said with a smirk as he gave him back the empty bottle. Elias smiled.

“You heard Babette,” he said. “Let’s go to the inn for tonight.”

Elias mounted his horse and held out his hand to Cicero so he could sit behind him.

The feeling of contentment when he felt his body against his back was so strong, it was almost embarrassing. He felt Cicero's head resting on his shoulder as his arms encircled him to secure himself in place, and Elias almost cried from joy. His touch, his presence, it was simply undeniable how much he needed it to feel whole. It had been more than three weeks now since the last time they were together, and the gap his absence left had grown to a dangerous size. It was crazy how quickly it disappeared, the exact moment he heard his voice again.

“I’ve missed you,” he said to the jester after he ordered Nin to go forward.

“Cicero’s missed you too, sweet Listener.”

His breath was hitting Elias' naked neck, and he could feel all of the hairs on his body rising. Cicero's voice was tired. The inn would do him well.

“Where have you been all this time?” he asked, finally. “After I left you.”

“Cicero stayed in the Sanctuary for a while. I went into town to grab the essentials to survive. And came back to the Sanctuary.”

“Were you there when Babette and Nazir arrived?”

“Yes. I managed to escape without them noticing me. I wanted to wait for you to talk to them.”

“How the hell did you manage to escape?”

“Cicero knows how to sneak.”

Right. If anyone could do this, it was certainly Cicero.

“And how have you been, Listener?” he asked.

“Oh, I just killed the Emperor of Tamriel. Twice. It’s a long story... Almost got killed by the Penitus Oculatus because Astrid basically sold me to them in return for leaving the Brotherhood alone. They destroyed the Falkreath Sanctuary. I survived the explosion as well as Babette and Nazir. Had the satisfaction of hearing Astrid say you and I were right all along. Killed her, as she asked. Told my family about everything. They took it well. Oh, and Gregor made a new bed for Sofie. Painted it white, it’s very cute. Even made a matching dresser. So yeah, nothing much.”

Cicero stayed silent for a moment. He wasn’t too good with sarcasm.

“I think we’ll have a lot to talk about, Listener,” he finally answered. 

“Yeah. Loads.”

Like how his plan almost killed him. Several times.

They stayed silent until they arrived at Windpeak Inn, not long after. They both quickly realized the back of a horse wasn’t the best location for a serious discussion. They each got themselves a room, and Cicero got himself a proper dinner, as Elias was off to the bath chambers. Once he was clean, it was his turn to have something to eat, and Cicero’s turn to go wash up. When he got out, he went back to his room and Elias followed him there.

He closed the door behind him. Now that they were both clean, fed and safe, it was officially debriefing time.  

“I think we need to talk,” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“We sure do,” the jester answered before sitting down in the leather chair in the corner of the room, facing Elias.

They both stared at each other in an uncomfortable silence. It was Elias who first spoke:

“I would just like you to explain your plan exactly. Did it all go… accordingly?”

“Yes!” he said enthusiastically. “Well, getting stabbed by the stinky wolf wasn’t part of it. The whole Falkreath Sanctuary burning down either. It’s quite beautiful news you just told me, Listener. I would have preferred Nazir and Babette dying in there too but, oh well! We can manage with them too. They trust you, after all. It's all that matters, now.”

Elias suddenly felt his stomach twist inside of him, as he remembered the sting he felt when thinking about this whole adventure at home. How scared he was that it was actually Cicero who betrayed him. How hurt he felt that he made the plan so risky for his life.

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” the Breton asked harshly, more than he intended to. “We could have talked about it, I mean, I could’ve helped you-"

“Elias,” he cut him off, “I could not!”

“Why not? After all this time we spent together, all those things we said, why didn’t it occur to you that I would be on your side?"

Elias was on the edge of his seat now. The jester still looked rather calm.

“Listener," Cicero answered, "it was part of the plan. The reason why I let all my journals in plain sight throughout my chambers… I knew they’d send you to investigate, to find me. Who else if not you?”

“Yes, that I know. But why did you have to hide it from me? Why couldn’t we have done this together? If you trusted me to come find you, then why… I don’t understand, Cicero.”

The Imperial sat up and paced to and fro across the room. Elias stared at him, waiting for him to give him answers, reasons, something worthwhile.

“Cicero just wanted to protect you,” he said in a low tone, looking down.

“By sending me to chase you down? Do you know how many times I could have died in that damned sanctuary?”

“Cicero never doubted the Listener’s abilities.”

“Then, what were you trying to protect me from?” he asked in an exasperated voice as he sat up from the bed.

Cicero sighed and stopped in his steps.

“If The Pretender was to find out you were on my side-

“Oh, so it was Astrid you were protecting me from?” he said, disgusted. “What, I can beat a frost troll and some ghost guardians but not her?”

“Listener...” the fool answered, anger very softly growing in his voice. A scary thing when coming from Cicero. “This is not the same thing… The entire Brotherhood was following Astrid's orders. It wouldn’t have been JUST her you would've had to fight.”

Elias pursed his lips and crossed his arms.

“They needed to think you were on their side," he added. "It was imperative. Cicero couldn’t have taken the risk of having them hurt you.”

Elias sat back on the bed. Although it slightly hurt his ego, he did believe Cicero when he said he wanted to protect him. But why would he go out of his way like that to do so? Didn’t he realize his plan was madness? So much more than if he just told him before he fled? Didn’t he realize how much of an emotional wreck this would be for Elias? How hurt he would be? 

"So it doesn't matter to you how hurt and confused I was throughout all of this?" he asked, glaring down, his back hunched forward. "Only your plan mattered, not my feelings?"

"Maybe Cicero's plan was flawed… but I never intended to hurt you. Quite the opposite, really."

"But how did you not know it would hurt me? How didn't it occur to you?"

The older man let out a deep breath.

"I don't know, Elias. Cicero isn't as talented as you when it comes to… people and their… feelings."

Blood cannot boil out of anger. However, at that moment, Elias felt as though his body was a cooking pot, and his blood was some hot water, ready to be served into the tea cups. 

He wanted to slap him. Hit him across the face and leave a mark. 

"Why are you like this, Cicero?" he asked as he got up from the bed, his voice shaking from rage. "How can you not know? How can you be so oblivious?"

"From what?!" the jester screamed in a genuinely confused voice. 

Elias closed his eyes and squeezed his fists, as if protecting himself from the next blow he knew was inevitably going to come out of his mouth. 

Cicero walked closer to him, their faces now almost touching from how close they were. "Say it!" he demanded.

Elias opened up his eyes and finally let the cursed words escape his lips:

"From the fact that I love you, you fucking fool!" he bellowed, not even trying to contain his tears anymore. He pushed the man in front of him and made him tumble backwards. "I love you," he repeated before burying his face in his hands, realizing what he had done.

He could barely believe himself. He had said it. It was done. The point of no return had been reached.

It felt like ages of him looking to the ground alone, his vision blurred by tears, before he finally felt a cold leathered finger brush against his chin, then picking it up, lifting his head upwards.

"Elias," Cicero said, "is this true?"

His voice seemed to have lost its high pitch and sounded rather low and raspy. In fact, Elias had never heard him sound so serious.

"Yes," he answered simply, locking eyes with him. 

What was the point of denying it anymore? It was too late. 

Cicero closed his eyes and let out a weak sound, almost like he was choking. His entire body shivered, as if he had just gotten stabbed in the back, and he dropped his head on Elias' shoulder.

"Please," he asked in a weak voice, "please do not give Cicero hope if there isn't any."

Oh. Oh . So, he too wasn't sure if Elias was… like that.

He felt his throat tightening again, another sob begging to escape. He seized the jester's head and forced him to look in his eyes. He understood Cicero's uncertainty. He had felt it himself, the entirety of his friendship with Cicero. He needed to be clear with his words.

"Allow yourself to be loved, damn it!" he said to the jester.

"Please pardon poor Cicero," the older man said to him. "I never thought it would be possible that my feelings for Elias could ever be reciprocated…"

Guilt. That was the closest word able to explain what Elias felt in that moment. He thought he had made it obvious he was bent with how much physical contact he allowed with Cicero. But it's always risky to assume. Also, of course the poor man was emotionally incompetent. He had spent eight years isolated with the Night Mother’s corpse as his only companion.

“It’s okay,” Elias said as he brushed his nose against his, not knowing what else to say.

“I love you, Elias,” Cicero whispered as he put his arms around the other man’s waist. “I love you more than I can even comprehend…”

Before he even had time to realize what Cicero had just told him, his lips were already stuck to his. Elias' heart was beating so hard, he feared he would suffocate, and yet, he could not stop, did not want to stop kissing Cicero, tasting him, devouring his mouth like its flesh was his life essence.

Chapter Text

The kiss was becoming rougher, quicker, almost desperate. Elias was seizing the other man’s head with both hands, gripping so tightly, as though he was scared he'd slip away if he let go. Heat was pooling inside of him, so much that it boiled, it bubbled, it steamed out of him and flushed his entire skin. Finally . How many times had he fantasized about this moment? How many times had he wondered how it would feel to have Cicero's lips on his, those pink, plump beautiful lips of his? How many times had he dreamt of his body, the feeling of the Imperial's soft skin not just on his fingertips, but on his mouth? Too many times, without a doubt. It was hard to believe it, but it was happening. And fuck , it was good, better than he could have ever imagined. The warmth of his mouth, the eagerness of his tongue, his hands all over Elias, in places he never quite dared to go before… It's not just that it felt right , it's that everything else before that suddenly felt wrong . How had they even been able to go all this time together without it? Elias needed Cicero's touch like a flower needed sun and water. From the desperation in his kisses and his retained whimpers, from the tightness of his grip and the beating of his heart, Elias knew, he knew Cicero felt just the same. And that was the best damn part of it all.

Elias forced his body to pull away from the jester for a second. He had to look at his eyes, watch them as he'd tell him the words one more time. 

"I love you", he whispered, heaving, before giving Cicero a quick peck on the lips. "I know I already told you like two times a couple minutes ago, but damn I can't help it, fuck , I love you so fucking much.”

“Cicero likes it when you say that,” he said, smiling. “Say it again.”

Elias returned his smile, almost laughing, and obeyed. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

The older man's hands on Elias' hips gripped tighter.

"I love you," the jester answered, almost giggling, before his mouth found Elias' again.

Elias let his hands roam on Cicero’s body, going down until it landed on his ass. He squeezed, absolutely unable to resist the temptation, then went down on the back of his thighs, pressing up. Cicero understood the message, and bent his knees slightly to boost himself up and jump into Elias' arms. A little sound of surprise escaped his mouth when Elias caught him. He wasn't as strong as Cicero, but he was taller. Cicero was a small man, muscular but in a lean way, so he was relatively easy to pick up. 

Elias let out a little laugh. "Hey, I'm strong too, you know."

"Cicero never doubted it," the other man answered as he hooked his legs around Elias' waist, securing himself in place. They kissed again, and Elias relished in the feeling of Cicero's entire chest against his. He liked the sensation of him in his arms, how easy of an access he had to his butt, his thighs, his back… He was pressing on Cicero's back, as if he was trying to bring him closer, closer, and closer, even though they were already stuck to one another. Oh, this moment was long, long overdue, and they both knew it.

Elias took a few steps backwards, Cicero still in his arms, and sat down on the edge of the bed. The Breton’s lips and tongue got more curious, and decided to explore around the Imperial’s mouth, to feel his scarred cheeks, the line of his jaw, and his neck, so strong yet so soft against his own skin. He felt Cicero breathing hard, softly moaning as he stretched his neck, leaving more place for Elias' kisses to land. 

"Oh, Listener…" he whispered with hunger in his voice, a hunger that was so clear, so palpable, and so reciprocated. 

Elias buried his hands in Cicero's hair to keep them from shaking as he assailed every inch of naked skin he could reach on the jester, and accidentally knocked his hat off. Elias stopped for a second to catch his breath and to look at him, realizing for the first time that he had never actually seen him without his hat before. It was as though the hat was part of his identity, part of his outer shell, his corporeal form. It didn’t seem like much, but it made a world of a difference. Holy crap, he looked so stupidly handsome with his hair down. He looked almost… normal. Like a sane person.

“My hat,” Cicero said, falsely teasing Elias.

The Breton smiled, staring at the fool as though it was the first time he had ever laid eyes upon him. “First time I’ve ever seen you without it.”

Cicero stared back, cocking his head, as if trying to decipher what Elias was thinking.

Honestly, seeing him without the hat felt even more intimate than it would've with any other piece of his clothing. Elias could not help but to laugh, feeling so satisfied, touched almost, at this new part of him he had discovered. He wanted more, more of those secret parts of him, he thought as he continued fondling Cicero’s auburn locks, still damp from his bath earlier, but still so incredibly soft and light between his fingers. 

"You're so beautiful, my love," Elias said. He truly meant it.

Cicero smiled. “Oh, you are,” he replied before reconnecting their mouths together and taking control of the kiss. It was his turn to explore the younger man’s facial features with his lips, and Elias' heart fluttered faster in agreement. The Breton was so focused on the warm feeling of Cicero's mouth against his neck and the sweet smell of nightshade in his hair, he almost did not notice his own shirt being gripped by the jester. Elias let Cicero get it off of him before tossing it to the side, but he quickly grew jealous; he wanted to feel and see Cicero’s naked chest too. In a fit of raging desire, Elias brought his hands back under Cicero’s thighs and stood up again, the fool in his arms still, but he quickly turned around to throw him back on the bed. Cicero giggled lightly at the Breton’s impatience, which was even more apparent now that Elias was climbing on top of the bed too, slotting himself between the jester’s legs. There was no way now to ignore both their lengths colliding against each other, so painfully hard under their clothes. Their mouths connected again as they instinctively rubbed against each other, and they were both moaning into the kiss. It’s like it was never enough, like they were making up for all the times they wanted to do it in the past but didn’t. 

At the same time, Elias was trying to unbuckle and unlace every belt and string holding the top of Cicero's outfit together (Why did he need so fucking many of these?). He was struggling, and Cicero soon went to his rescue, undoing it all in a couple seconds. He sat upright to take it off, and Elias couldn't keep his hands to himself. He ran his hands across Cicero's now naked chest and was met with a whole patchwork of textures; the soft skin, the coarse little spots of hair around his nipples and under his navel, and finally the rough scars and wounds, so similar to his own body. Elias' gaze got focused on Cicero's most recent wound, the one he had sewn shut himself not long ago. It had healed well. Elias brushed his fingers against it, and was able to picture them again, sat on the cold stone floor of the Dawnstar sanctuary, promising trust to each other once again. He found it lovely. A body that told stories. Simply ravishing.

“Let me taste you,” Elias said before showering the other man’s chest with a bunch of little kisses.

Cicero plopped back down on the bed with a soft sound of contentment. Elias kept kissing him all over, very softly on the scarred skin, lingering there with his tongue instead, but mercilessly on the healthy skin. He loved feeling Cicero's chest going up and down to the rhythm of his breathing, which was growing heavier, he could faintly hear it when his ears got closer. What he loved even more were the lewd noises coming out of the fool's mouth, a delicious way of telling him he appreciated his attention.

Elias stopped himself when he got to the jester's stomach, and decided that his middle left ab was the perfect spot to mark his territory. He kissed it and then sucked on the skin, making the man react vocally. 

"Elly…" he said, almost purring. 

He was claiming him, and Cicero liked it. Gods, he liked it too. He wanted to cover his whole body with hickeys, just for the satisfaction of being reminded he was his whenever he'd look at him. But one would be enough. For now. They had other business to get to.

Elias stopped only once the insides of his cheeks started to hurt from the suction. He then opened up his mouth and admired his work, a rounded little red mark, subtle but still visible. 

“You’re mine,” he simply stated as he looked back at Cicero, gripping at his waist. The Imperial smirked as he rose back up, and surprised Elias again with his strength when he completely flipped them over. Elias found himself under him, and didn't even have time to react before the man started kissing him again. He was holding Elias' face in his hands tenderly, such a soft caress in contrast to his now sharp, frantic kisses. 

“All yours,” Cicero affirmed through his affection.

“My keeper”, Elias thought, lovingly. Such a fitting title he had. He wrapped his arms around him, pushing him closer against him, the naked skin of their upper bodies now touching. It seems it wasn't enough for Elias, as he started to wrap his legs around him too. Honestly, if he could have melted into his skin, he would’ve at this point. He started to feel the fool slowly moving his hips again, grinding against Elias’ clothed erection, and oh! Such a tease he was, it felt good, so good, he just wanted more, and more, and more. Elias gripped the other man’s ass to push him harder against him, and Cicero got louder, grunting through his kisses, which were now going down to the younger man's neck and chest.

"My sweet Listener…" he whispered, starting to make his way down Elias’ tummy with his mouth. "Let's get rid of all this unnecessary clothing.” 

With his lips still touching the younger man’s skin, he grabbed Elias’ trousers and pushed them down, making sure to catch the hem of his underwear at the same time, before tossing everything to the side. Elias felt his heart beating faster as he realized he was now completely bare in front of Cicero. With a heavy sigh of satisfaction, the older man ripped out his gloves from his hands by biting on the tip to help get them off quicker, and then let his naked fingers glide on Elias’ cock. There was no way to cover the loud sigh Elias made then, this body part finally getting some well needed attention from the jester. 

“Mmmh,” Cicero moaned as he took hold of Elias’ length and started moving his hands back and forth on it, so incredibly slowly, making Elias a panting mess. “So hard,” he said, gazing at the younger man, while starting to pick up the pace, “so eager”. He chuckled softly. “Cicero likes that.” He kissed the base of Elias’ cock. “Oh yes,” he continued, his voice getting deeper, “Cicero likes that indeed.”

He continued giving soft little kisses to the area, going further up everytime, and Elias finally released the breath he had been unconsciously holding. Cicero’s lips were barely grazing his skin, but this part of Elias was so starved, it was enough to make his entire body react. 

“Cicero…” the younger man started to say repeatedly in hushed whispers, between ragged breaths. Cicero’s lips eventually got to the head, and that was the moment when he moved on from kissing to licking, leaving fat stripes of saliva all over Elias’ dick. The poor Breton man thought he was going to burst from so much teasing, his intimacy just aching to be sucked. The fool looked up, locking eyes with Elias for a moment, before finally opening up his mouth to take him in fully. Elias groaned from satisfaction as he watched Cicero’s mouth stretched out around his cock, going up, going down, slowly and methodically, moaning into it like he was savoring a treat. Elias grabbed the other man’s head to anchor himself, feeling his eyes roll back from the pleasure.

“My delicious Listener,” Cicero murmured in between two flicks of tongue.

It felt as though the entire world around Elias just shut down. All he was aware of was the feeling of Cicero’s tongue and lips on him, so soft, so warm, so wet and messy. The fool seemed to enjoy himself so much with all these naughty sounds coming out of his mouth, and it was part of what made it so good; It made Elias feel wanted . Cicero was worshiping him with his mouth, and he was so skilled at it, Elias felt like a god. No aedra or daedra could have ever been served better. 

"You feel so good," Elias whimpered, with his fingers tightly gripping at Cicero's hair.

“You taste so good,” he replied in an out of breath whisper, before diving back in, picking up intensity.

The Breton lifted his head back up, unable to resist watching Cicero as he pleasured him. Gods, if he was gentle earlier, he was completely devouring him now. What a sight it was, his beautiful Keeper between his legs, his lips around his cock and his arms wrapped around his thighs. Cicero was staring right back at him with doe eyes, so watchful of Elias’ reactions, so eager to please. If it was approval he was looking for, Elias was damn sure he was getting it; He was breathing so hard from the adrenaline, and the soft swearing through his teeth was getting louder as Cicero sucked harder and deeper. With every lick, every kiss, every suction, he was simultaneously sensitizing it and relieving it, creating a perfect balance of sensations, a work of art. Such an artist he was, when Elias was the canvas!

Just when the Breton thought the sensation couldn’t get any better, Cicero brought his hands back on Elias’ crotch, one fondling the balls, while the other pumped the shaft, helping his mouth cover more ground. 

“F-fuck,” the Breton stuttered, drunk with arousal. “You’re good at this.”

The fool let the member flop out of his mouth to answer. “Anything for my Listener.” And he went right back at it, going so deep this time, Elias thought his poor Keeper was about to choke himself to death on his cock.

Cicero was obviously very submissive in nature, which seemed to be a perfect way to bring out the dominant part in Elias.

“Such a good boy”, Elias said lovingly as his grip on Cicero’s hair loosened and became more tender. The jester moaned in response, without stopping his work. Seeing how well his praising did, Elias continued, delighted. “My sweet Keeper… Taking me in so well… Such a skilled little mouth.”

It seemed to drive the fool crazy judging by how much retained whimper noises he made and how hard he was going. Elias felt his toes curling and his back arching, all on their own. It had been a very long time since his body had been greeted with such an overwhelming amount of pleasure, it was as though it forgot how to behave. His breath was labored, and his moaning was starting to resemble grunting, as Cicero kept taking him deeper and quicker into his mouth.

“You like it?” the fool asked quickly, afraid to lose his rhythm if he stopped for too long.

“Yes,” Elias answered in a voice he just realized was now sounding so needy.

Bliss. Ecstasy. Dopamine in its purest, rawest form. Elias didn’t know how else to describe the sensation this man was blessing him with. All he was able to do was push Cicero's head deeper onto him, and cry out his name.

It was getting better by the second, dangerously better. As the older man's mouth moved on his length, Elias started feeling that familiar tugging sensation in his abdomen. He shifted slightly, now fully focused on the growth of that little ball of energy inside him. Cicero seemed to notice the change, and he looked up:

"You're close?"

It wasn't really a question, but rather a statement, judging by the sounds Elias made.

Oh gods, it was about to happen. Elias could feel it locally, and inside his tummy, it was growing. The slight numbness just before the explosion, the hot flashes; it was coming.

"Cicero, I'm…" 

Was he going to take his mouth off or…? 

"Cum, Elly. Cum for Cicero."

And that was it. That little ball of heat inside him, it spread, sending waves of pleasure throughout his entire body, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He spilled his seed inside Cicero’s mouth, and the fool wasn’t pulling back a single inch, swallowing everything he was receiving greedily. That sight alone made Elias feel like he could cry from satisfaction. By Sithis, he could hardly believe it. Even the whores he had fucked in brothels, both men and women, didn’t even go that far. It felt so good to cum in the warmth of his lover's mouth, so intimate yet so filthy. Elias forcefully pulled himself out of Cicero’s mouth, overwhelmed. He then grabbed Cicero’s face in his hands. 

"Come here," Elias said almost aggressively as he led the fool back on top of him. He kissed his pretty Keeper with a fierce passion, all the while he embraced him, moving his hands all over his body, hungry for his flesh. Words were missing to express how blessed he felt to have him. How grateful he was to be sharing this bed with him, to make love to him.

“My Cicero,” he whispered against the man’s ear, “my Keeper, my love. My treasure.”

“I love you,” Cicero said once again as he brushed his nose on Elias’ cheek.

“I love you more,” the Breton answered as his hands finally landed on the jester’s ass. He felt almost indignant at the fact that it wasn’t bare, so he grabbed the hem of Cicero's pants, trying to push them down. Cicero rose slightly, standing on his knees to untie the lace keeping them up. Elias smirked in response and waited until he was done to finally push down the fool’s pants in one quick motion. Some red hair was revealed first, and then his cock popped out. Elias just abandoned the pants midway to Cicero’s thighs, too mesmerized by the sight. It was so, so clearly in need of attention.

"So hard for me," the Breton stated as he grabbed the shaft. Oh, he’d never get tired of that sensation. Elias was always amazed at the texture, so hard and strong, but covered with the softest part of skin on the entire human body. A beautiful contradiction, an oxymoron in body parts. Cicero clearly didn’t disappoint in that area. Poor man was so hard, it almost looked swollen. 

Elias started stroking up and down, slowly, letting his hand savour the silky softness, and Cicero looked like he was about to burst. He let himself fall forward and stopped himself with his arms, planted at Elias’ sides, so he could hover over him.

“Listener,” he whispered in a tone that sounded almost accusatory. “What are you doing to Cicero?”

Elias smirked. “I’m exploring what’s mine,” he answered as he sped up the pace. He enjoyed watching the older man’s facial traits change due to his touch, and his moans of contentment were pure music to Elias’ ears.

“Your… hands,” the fool said, out of breath. “So soft… so good.”

His mouth found his again, and Elias kissed him back slowly, scared to make poor Cicero suffocate. He realized it must have been literal years since the last time he had been touched there, thus making him overwhelmed. Yet, it seemed as though he didn’t lose his skills. 

“You like it?” Elias asked in between two kisses.

“Mmmh… Yes,” the jester answered. “Cicero loves it.”

Good. Elias wanted nothing else in that moment but to make his precious little Keeper feel as good as he made him feel earlier, if it was even possible.

“Lie down,” he ordered Cicero, and the man obeyed.

Elias removed the rest of Cicero’s outfit before placing himself between his legs. 

“Let me take care of you, my love,” he said as he looked up at the jester.

He spread Cicero’s legs open and couldn’t help but to notice the familiar texture of scars on his thighs. Not battle scars, but small straight lines, all placed very orderly, in a repeating pattern. The unmistakable pattern of self-harm scars. Elias knew these all too well, since he had them himself. Cicero had probably noticed them too earlier but chose not to comment on it, so Elias did the same. Yet he couldn’t help but to brush the tip of his fingers on them, as if subconsciously soothing the past pain. He tried to focus on the inner parts of Cicero's thighs instead, leaving a bunch of soft little kisses. The fool was twitching.

“Elly,” he said, almost giggling, “that tickles.”

Elias smiled and moved upwards with his mouth to the groin instead, all the while he reached back for the man's cock with his hand. He could feel Cicero’s breathing getting louder, which was encouraging him to keep going.

“Listener,” Cicero moaned softly, as he started stroking Elias’ hair.

The younger man was eager to finally get his mouth on the fool’s length, but he decided to give the balls a little love first. He had never done that before, but truly wanted to, scared to miss even just an inch of his lover. He kissed and licked first, getting his tongue and lips used to the texture, and then he finally felt comfortable enough to suck on the skin, which made Cicero arch his back and moan louder. He kept on teasing him like this for a little while before he finally couldn’t help himself anymore and moved upwards to his shaft with his mouth. That , he had already done before. He wasn’t as skilled as Cicero, clearly, but would do his best to please him. He kissed the tip, tasting the salty drop of precum as he did, before letting it glide in his mouth.

"Listener!" Cicero gasped when he entered Elias' mouth. He sounded almost incredulous, as if surprised he would receive the same loving treatment he had given his partner earlier. For once, his love and affection would be reciprocated. Elias would make sure of it.

He bobbed his head up and down on it slowly, getting used to the shape of Cicero. He wasn't able to go as deep as he did on him, but he got at least halfway, and stroked the rest with his hand. The soft, whiny sounds Cicero made were absolutely delicious.

Elias wanted to tease him with his words, to ask him how he liked it, but he didn't want the fool out of his mouth. Instead, he used his free hand to softly fondle his taint, alternating stroking with the tips of his fingers to heavy pressure. Cicero seemed to enjoy it, for his legs kept opening up wider the more pressure Elias put. That gave him an idea. 

He let Cicero out of his mouth, continuing stroking the shaft with just one hand instead, and went down with his mouth, right where his fingers had been earlier. 

But he also went lower. 

Much lower.

He could feel Cicero twitching under his touch the closer he got to that pink little hole, gasping at Elias' adventurousness. 

"Elly, what are you doing?" Cicero asked, his tone a mix of excitement and worry.

Elias shushed him softly, and opened up the older man's cheeks slowly with his free hand, just enough to see the spot fully, without the hair blocking the view. Just that seemed to have left the fool completely out of breath. 

"Fuck," Elias said as he admired the sight. "So perfect for me." He gave the area a few kisses, and then started exploring the redhead's hole with the tip of his tongue.

Elias felt a sting on his head as Cicero pulled on his braid in response. 

"Listener," the jester said, moaning loudly. "You can't do that."

His legs opening up and him pushing himself harder against Elias' tongue seemed to be telling another story.

"Then stop me," the Breton answered defiantly.

As he had predicted, Cicero did nothing to make him stop, only whimpered harder. There was no smell or taste there since the fool had just bathed, which made Elias want to keep doing it for as long as he was allowed. He flicked his tongue against the entire hole, coating it with spit. He could feel the ribbed sensation of the little wrinkles of flesh opening and closing lightly against his tongue as Cicero clenched. The poor Imperial was so touch-starved, so sensitive, it was obvious with how he was writhing at Elias’ touch. The Breton loved it so much, he could feel himself hardening again. But it was of no use; his focus was on the jester only. He started pushing with his tongue, partially entering the hole, and then looked up at Cicero. He looked in bliss, eyes closed and mouth opened. Elias slowed down the strokes on the fool’s cock as he got harsher with his tongue. He felt his hair being pulled again, a confirmation from Cicero that he was doing it right. 

But this wasn’t enough. He wanted to feel more of Cicero. To make him scream . 

He knew just how.

Elias removed his mouth from the jester for a second and lifted himself up slightly. He opened his palm in front of Cicero’s mouth, his middle finger pointing more fervently towards him than the others. 

“Suck,” Elias commanded, and it wasn’t long before the redhead closed his mouth on the finger, sloppily sucking it, way longer than was actually needed. 

“Good,” the Breton said as he stroked the man harder. Cicero was looking back at him, like a lost little puppy wondering if he was pleasing his master correctly. “Such a good little Keeper.”

Elias took his finger out of Cicero’s mouth with a pop and immediately brought it to where his tongue had been earlier. He gently massaged the area, all lubed up with saliva now. Cicero instinctively lifted his legs up at the contact, holding them with his hands under his knees, which opened up his cheeks even more.
Oh, he had done this before, for sure.

“Good boy,” Elias praised as he rubbed little circles on the hole with one hand, and stroked the cock with the other. A real coordination challenge, but he was wildly determined. Cicero was breathing hard, whispering Elias’ name and his Listener title over and over again through his teeth, in a tone that was so filthy, so desperate, so needy. He was clenching his hole so much, probably not even consciously, and Elias didn’t even have to try for the tip of his finger to slip right inside. Cicero moaned loudly as it entered, which made Elias bite his lips in admiration, both turned on and enamored by this precious sight.

“That’s it, my love,” Elias said as he felt his whole finger being swallowed by the hole. He started moving his finger inside of him, very slowly, in a “come here” motion. He adored the feeling of Cicero’s inner walls clutching at him, so warm and soft. Elias was moaning too, pleased by this experience alone.

“Right… There…” Cicero said, almost whimpering. Elias smirked. Yeah, he knew the spot his finger was hitting.

He stopped stroking the man’s cock and used his now free hand to push Cicero’s legs even further up towards his chest, still all knuckles deep inside of him.

“You’re taking me so well, baby,” Elias told Cicero lovingly. “I bet you could take more.” He spat in the direction of the hole, lubing up the area a bit more before slowly adding a second digit. The feeling of Cicero stretching out around him was simply magnificent, especially when accompanied by the naughty sounds he made.

“Elly,” Cicero growled, almost angrily. He was so deep in pleasure, he had started sounding feral. 

And it wasn’t even Elias’ final move. 

With his other hand, he grabbed back Cicero’s cock, still hard as a rock, before slipping it back in his mouth. 

Needless to say, the poor jester was an absolute mess, panting and moaning as he tried to keep himself in place, his limbs shaking. Elias was focused, working hard to make sure both ass and cock were getting an equal amount of attention. He couldn’t tell how long it had been of him pleasuring Cicero like that before the man warned him of his upcoming climax, but he knew he could have kept going so much longer. No words were worthy of describing how much he enjoyed the idea of his little jester going crazy under his touch, to dominate him with pleasure. 

“Elias,” Cicero said after a while, his breath loud and heavy, “I’m gonna…”

The Breton took him out of his mouth and stroked with his hand instead, pumping vigorously.

“Cum, baby boy,” he answered Cicero, almost as desperate as him for the release. “Oh, please, cum, cum for me!”

The fool clenched so hard against Elias’ fingers, he thought they were going to break. Cicero’s whole body was pulsing to the rhythm of his heartbeat as he came undone, his semen spilling on his own stomach and soiling Elias’ hands.

The Breton patiently waited for Cicero’s body to stop shaking without moving his hands, admiring his lover’s face softening as he was coming down from his high. Elias couldn’t believe how beautiful he looked, lying fully bare on the bed, his fiery red hair framing his sweaty head like a lion’s mane, his hands still tightly gripping the skin under his own knees. As softly as he could, Elias took his fingers out of his lover’s hole all the while he let go of his softening cock. He then moved next to Cicero, lying down right next to him on the bed while maintaining eye contact. He didn’t want to overwhelm his Keeper. He wanted to let him come to his embrace by himself, at his pace. The fool took a couple seconds to regain his breath and then reached out his hand towards Elias to stroke his cheek. 

“My sweet Listener,” he said weakly, moving his body closer to the Breton. He kissed him, very slowly this time, the urgency and passion giving place to tenderness and gentle movements. Elias wrapped his arms around him, and Cicero pressed himself back against him. The jester’s tummy was still slick with his own seed, now sticking against Elias’ skin too, but neither of them cared.

They broke the kiss gently and just stared at each other, breathing slowly. Love was flowing out of them in waves, encircling them like a shared aura.

Elias caught Cicero’s hand in his. He brought it to his lips and kissed it, a long, slow but hard kiss. 

The redhead squeezed the other man’s hand. “Don’t let me go.”

Elias squeezed harder. “Never.”

Chapter Text

Cicero made love the same way he did just about anything else; Passionately but, most importantly, loudly . And to think this man was the best sneak assassin Elias had ever seen… How ironic. They were lucky if just half the inn had heard them last night. The thought made Elias smile. It was the kind of thing that would have usually left him paralyzed in shame in the past, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care this time. Fuck, Cicero would have blown him right in the middle of the building, with a whole audience watching and Elias would have let him. That was simply the effect this man had on him.

Elias was lying on his side in the bed, Cicero's arm around his waist. If he didn't have to pee so badly, Elias would’ve stayed like that for as long as Cicero would allow it. He turned his body to the other side and was surprised to see Cicero’s eyes already opened.

"You're awake," the younger man stated as he put his head on the arm Cicero was slipping under his neck once more.

"I have been for a while, yes."

"You could have gotten up without me if you wanted, my love." Elias started stroking the jester’s chest with his fingertips. 

"Oh, it's quite alright. Cicero didn't want to interrupt the Listener's sleep. Or leave him."

He held Elias tighter and kissed the top of his head.

"Were you afraid I'd slip away?" Elias joked.

The older man took a while to answer. "Maybe subconsciously." 

Elias suddenly remembered about Cicero's long past of isolation, his several years of solitude.The silence. Right . He couldn't blame him.

"You don't have to worry about it," he said as he moved his hand from the other man’s chest to his cheek. "The day I leave you is the day one of us dies. You're stuck with me until then." He smirked, and Cicero did it back.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," the jester answered before his lips collapsed onto his. 

Elias welcomed the kiss with enthusiasm. As their lips started opening up more, and their tongues started touching, he felt the heat rising in his abdomen. They were both still naked, too tired the night before to put any clothes back on. He could feel the tip of Cicero's length against his own as they moved around against each other, which made him all the more excited. Well, it was morning after all. They both weren’t exactly soft. Fuck.

However, unless he wanted to empty his bladder on Cicero, he had to get up. Now.

"Sorry," Elias said as he painfully forced his body off of the other man, "Mother nature's calling".

He quickly found his discarded clothing on the ground from the night before, and he started putting his underwear back on, before the pants, and then the white shirt. He sat back down on the bed to lace his boots. He could feel Cicero behind him.

"It’s cold outside," the jester said softly, his hot breath hitting the back of Elias’ neck. He stretched out to grab his motley on the ground, next to the bed, and draped it over Elias’ shoulders.

The Breton put it on correctly before turning around to give his lover a quick peck on the lips.

"Thank you," he said before quickly turning around and heading to the door. If he was to see the redhead naked on the bed any longer, he would drive himself insane. "I'll be right back."

He was disappointed to find Cicero all dressed up when he got back, minus the top, of course. After a lot of teasing to give it back to him, they went for breakfast together before renewing Cicero's room for another night. Even if it turned out Babette had calmed down enough today to let him be in the Sanctuary without killing him, there weren't enough decent beds for everyone. 

Elias didn't need to renew his room for another night since he never even used it in the first place. He knew where he'd be staying. With whom he'd be staying.

Cicero was looking forward to go "tend to Mother" today, but Elias convinced him to wait at least for the afternoon or even the evening before showing up there again. He reluctantly agreed and they decided to go for a little walk in the city as a start to pass the time. Elias had subtly placed his hand on Cicero's as they were walking, barely even touching it, to test the waters. He was glad when he immediately felt the man’s gloved fingers reaching back, constantly touching his hand as they walked together, without holding his hand in his completely. They didn’t want to risk their current peace of mind with a fear of having slurs spat at them in public. Elias couldn't help but to smile as they walked around together, as if they were just a normal couple enjoying a calm morning together in this fair weather. Well, maybe they were, after all. Of course, they were Keeper and Listener of the most famous assassins' guild in all of Tamriel, and one of them was the 4th era's Dragonborn who had saved Nirn from Alduin and Miraak, while the other had been driven to madness from isolation and had adopted a jester's persona to cope. Yes, they were definitely one hell of a weird pairing. But, at the end of the day, they were both still humans . And it felt good sometimes to pretend that's all they were.

Dawnstar was Elias’ town, so they frequently walked past some of his friendly acquaintances. They all greeted him with joy, but with visible confusion, probably wondering why in the world he was accompanied by a jester. He didn't care. He was glad, even. Yeah, that's right, everyone, look at my pretty jester. He's mine and he’s fucking crazy. 

They stopped at Frida's since Elias needed to stock up on some alchemy ingredients, and the old woman had the exact same reaction as everyone upon seeing Cicero. He managed to charm her quite quickly though and made her laugh, as is usually the case when it comes to the redhead. Frida then felt comfortable enough to ask them for a favour, which was to gather a couple ingredients from the beach for her since her stocks were running low and her back hurt too much to keep bending over. They happily agreed, since they were looking for something to do anyway.

And off they went.

----------------------------------------------------------

[SWITCH TO CICERO'S POV]

A very peculiar feeling, this was. The Imperial man's heart was beating slightly faster than usual, but this was not due to anxiety, no, this was different. His head felt lighter; a welcome change from his usual oppressive headaches, and he hadn't even taken anything for it. He was cold, so very cold in this stupid icy gray land, but his chest felt warm. From the inside .

Could it be…? Could it actually be… happiness?

He had no clear memory of what it felt like, but this sure seemed like it.

He looked at the younger man, a couple steps ahead of him, and he felt his smile widen on its own. He was crouching on the edge of the water, his small mouth turned into a light grin, eyes fixated on something Cicero hadn't seen yet. 

"Cicero, look!" he said, his gaze unmoving.

The Imperial crouched next to him.

"Tiny frogs," the Breton said as he pointed towards the little critters with his finger.

Cicero chuckled and held out the little bag in front of him.

"Are these ingredients we need to pick up too?" he jested. 

It was Elias’ turn to laugh. Oh, Cicero liked it when he did that! It made his cheekbones go up and half his eyes disappear behind the chub of his cheeks, turning them into little half-moon crescents. 

"No, silly," the younger man answered. "They're just cute."

Before getting up, he brought his hand to his face to push a strand of hair away and accidentally left a little trace of mud on his cheek.

Yeah. Cute.

Cicero stepped on one of the critters as Elias looked away. 

"There must be more barnacles nearby," he told Cicero as he grabbed his hand and led him further down the beach. 

The jester followed, and as he looked at Elias’ long graceful figure trudging along so joyfully, he wondered what he could have possibly ever done to deserve the company of such a precious, beautiful creature. His Listener, his ally, his lover. His Elias .

It was all starting to make sense, now. Mother's reward for being such a loyal, faithful Keeper wasn't to make Cicero the Listener. How foolish he had been, wishing for it! Oh no, this was so, so much better. Exactly the way it should be. Mother knows best, after all. Cicero knew now more than ever how true this statement was.

Cicero missed Mother very much. She was due for an oiling yesterday, but the recent insane turn of events had made it impossible to do so. He'd spend twice as much time on it today to make up for it -If he was even allowed back in. Yes, Mother deserved that, at the very least. Especially considering how little she had been on his mind, lately. He didn't love her any less than usual, no, of course not. But he had to admit the Listener had been the very center of his thoughts these last few days. This was good, obviously. Mother would want her Keeper and Listener to get along well with each other. But by doing so, he was thinking less and less about her. Speaking to her less. Did she mind? Was it offending her? Was Cicero lacking in his Keeper role? It wasn't him she spoke to, so he couldn't know.

"I found more!" Elias said as he let the barnacles fall from his hands to the little bag Cicero was holding open in front of him.

His hands. They were wet and crusty with dirt. Yikes, yikes, yikes, yikes, yikes. Bad texture. The Imperial cringed internally just trying to imagine how it must feel. Thank Sithis gloves exist.

That was not the problem, however. They were getting red, very red. Meaning he was cold, too.

Cicero put his own hands around his, squeezing.

"Elly, my love, the water is too cold for your hands." He tried to wipe the dirt off of it. "You need to take a break."

"You're the one shivering," Elias replied before surprising him quickly with a kiss on the lips.

Ah, yes. That was a good texture. All warm and soft. Wet, but a good wet. As Elias started pulling away, Cicero followed with his head, lingering there as long as he could. It made the other man giggle and he changed his mind, going back in even harder this time. Oh, sweet, sweet Elias. Why and how was he so good at understanding other people's wants and desires without them saying a word? Cicero was about to slip his tongue in and search for his, but Elias broke the kiss. An involuntary moan escaped the fool’s mouth at the loss and he held the other man’s hands tighter.

"We need to move to warm up," the Breton said before leading them forward once more.

Some snowflakes were starting to fall from the sky and the cold wind was starting to seep through Cicero's clothes and touch his skin. He shivered, and was about to ask if they should turn back down soon, when he saw something in the distance.

"What's that?" Elias asked, having spotted it before him.

As they got a bit closer, they realized it was a tent.

"Shit, bodies," Elias said upon noticing the two corpses on the ground. He didn't need to point it out; the stench was already starting to get to them. It wasn’t pungent, probably due to the cold weather slowing the decomposition process, but it was there nonetheless.

They let go of each other's hand and each went their separate way to inspect on their own.

Cicero kneeled down next to one of them to have a better look, blocking the smell with his hand in front of his nose and mouth. Gods, it was unbearable from this close. Could someone ever actually get used to this smell? Mother never smells bad, never like that. Cicero always makes sure of it.

The corpse seemed free of maggots and didn't look bloated, which meant the death was rather recent. The dress was the only thing indicating it was a female, because its body and face were but grotesque shredded pieces of flesh. It looked like it had been mauled by an animal.

"What's the verdict?" Cicero asked his partner as he watched the snowflakes falling on the body. They were already getting thicker.

"Bear or sabrecat," Elias said as he got up. He was trying to suppress his gag. "There's two bedrolls and a shit ton of blankets inside the tent. And also candles and red flowers. Looks almost romantic."

The Imperial scoffed.

"A honeymoon gone bloody," he concluded.

"Yeah. Bound until death."

The wind was blowing stronger and the snow was now falling faster. 

"I think it's time we turn back," Elias said.

Cicero wanted to agree, as the cold and the snow hitting his face were getting unbearable, but the idea of walking almost a whole other hour in this weather seemed even worse.

He had an idea instead.

"Maybe we can use the cursed lovers' nest while we wait for the storm to pass."

Elias smiled. "Now, now, naughty little man… That’s actually a good idea. I'd like that. But let's move these bodies away, first. We don't want the fleshy smell to attract more beasts."

They started with the female. Cicero grabbed the feet while Elias grabbed the shoulder (thank SITHIS he put his gloves back on) and threw the body in the water, letting the waves drag it away from the shore.

Cicero's face was starting to hurt from the snowflakes that were turning into hail, but they were almost done. They just needed to drag the second body a bit further, just a tiny bit further, and then-

"Fuck," Elias said as he dropped the corpse's head on the edge of the water, "do you hear that?"

Cicero stopped for a second. The wind was howling, but there was more. Growling, that's what it was. This meant an animal was near. Elias was looking around, with a worried crease forming on his forehead. 

Cicero started talking:

"Do you see where it's com-"

His question was cut short by something pushing him backwards, brutally. Before he could react, most of his body was already submerged by the water.

The cold. Oh gods, the cold . Was it even cold at this point, or was it burning? Whatever it was, the pain was agonizing, and he couldn't move. His vision was getting cloudy. Was that the void? 

After what felt like an eternity -but was probably a couple seconds- he suddenly felt himself being yanked forward, away from the water. Ouch . His vision cleared and he could see a blood puddle expanding on the ground, a mound of white fur next to it.

"Stay with me!" he heard, the voice coming from in front of him. Elias . Sweet Listener, beautiful little star! His arms were around Cicero, oh yes, he could feel it now, his sweet warmth, his strength. He was pushing him forward towards the tent, and with such hurry! Poor Cicero could barely follow, for his limbs were having trouble obeying his brain's commands. Elias was too fast, and Cicero was feeling himself starting to fall forward but the other man caught him, and just dragged him like a ragdoll for the last two steps they needed to cross before entering the tent.

Cicero let himself fall on the soft surface of the bedroll, and could immediately feel the relief of the lack of wind and snow. He was hyper aware of the wetness of his clothes though, and honestly couldn't tell if it was this or the cold that felt worse. He felt his body trembling, shivering and he couldn't help it, couldn't stop it, couldn't do anything!

Elias was frantically unbuckling the fool’s belt and trying to get his wet motley off of him, but his hands were freezing too, complicating the task even more, and Cicero wasn't able to help much with his constant shaking. Elias finally managed to get it off, by passing it over Cicero's head and damn nearly decapitating him in the process from the brute force. The bottom of his outfit was much easier to take off, and it only took a couple more seconds for him to find himself completely nude, shivering on the bedroll. Elias took the first blanket he saw and draped it over Cicero, before tucking in the sides and throwing the two other additional big pieces of fur on top of him.

The relief Cicero felt when the blanket hit his skin was immediate. Some warmth, some protection, and more importantly some dryness. Oh, by Sithis, it felt good! He closed his eyes to try and focus on the sensation, embracing the shivers he knew would eventually go away. He soon felt the blankets moving, almost getting away from him, and, oh no , he was about to protest, don't disrupt my warmth cocoon , but he saw it was actually just Elias sneaking under the covers. He got on top of him and pressed his body against his, his naked body. The warmth of his skin felt heavenly, and Cicero wrapped his arms around him, obsessed with the feeling.

"Gods, you're so fucking cold," the Breton said as he stroked Cicero's hair, his face pressed against the space between his neck and shoulder.

"And you're hot," the Imperial replied softly, still struggling to align his words correctly with all this trembling. 

His limbs were starting to tingle as the blood started flowing again. The Listener was visibly cold too, but he still decided to share the little body heat he had left with Cicero. Oh, how blessed he was! How lucky was the Keeper to be matched with such a kind and caring Listener! He pressed Elias tighter against him, letting himself relish in his warmth, in his softness, in his comforting herbal smell, always so focused in his hair. Elias kept whispering sweet nothings in Cicero's ear, telling him he was going to be okay, that he was here for him, even giving his cheek and neck little kisses between sentences. It felt amazing, comforting. They stayed like that for a while, all tangled up, as Cicero's body slowly warmed up. He felt safe there, serene, despite the storm raging outside; the tent proved to be surprisingly efficient to shield them from the weather. 

Cicero had started rubbing his arms and hands against Elias’ back, initially to help the blood flow, but even when the numbness disappeared, he just couldn't stop himself. His fingertips had tasted the other man's skin and were now hungry for it. He stroked him slowly, up and down his spine, and closed his eyes to fully savour the sensation. Cicero was so used to touching and oiling dead skin, all cold and hard. Elias’ skin was such a welcome change, all warm, soft and tender under his fingers, so full of life . Cicero liked tracing the younger man's scars with his fingers as if they were paths on a map. It gave him flashbacks of the night before, when they had made love. He yearned to explore again the beautiful land that was his body.

Elias lifted his head slightly.

"You're not shivering anymore."

He was right. Cicero had been so focused on the other man, he hadn't even noticed. He was still cold, of course, but he wasn't completely freezing anymore.

"Indeed," the jester answered as he moved his face closer to the other man’s, drawn by the hot air he exhaled.

He felt Elias’ hand on his cheek, stroking him with the tip of his thumb.

Cicero couldn't resist. Slowly but assertively, he filled the gap between their faces to place his lips on his. 

If their kisses so far had all been hard, filled with urgency, this one was as soft as a flower petal. So, so delicate. Their lips remained like that for a while, unmoving, before Cicero decided to open up his mouth, just barely, which pulled a little moan out of the other man. He felt a tingle in his stomach at the sound. Oh, how he loved it when his touch made Elias react vocally! His mouth opened up too, and Cicero was delighted. He tasted fruity, probably due to what they had for breakfast earlier, and his tongue was warm, so warm! The tingles in Cicero’s tummy spread, and he just wanted to devour him whole, mercilessly, but no, he had to fight the urge, he had to be slow and take his time for this one, to enjoy every second. He had enough self control to keep his kisses soft, but his hands however, oh! his hands did not obey. He pressed the man tighter against him and let his caresses go lower and lower, until they weren't on the man's back anymore. He opened up his hands on the buns and ah! How nice of a texture this was, the soft and pudgy skin on such strong muscles, just asking to be grabbed! The heat was now spreading all throughout his body, especially in the member between his legs, that was also starting to harden, may it be said. 

"Cicero…" Elias whispered against his neck, with a tone that did nothing to hide the fact that he was craving him, too. 

Funny how absolutely freezing Cicero was, mere minutes ago.

The jester squeezed with his hands, almost kneading the skin like dough, and Elias had a little whimper. The Breton lifted his upper body a bit higher as he repositioned himself on the other man, in such a way that Cicero could feel his length directly touching his own. He, too, was hard as a rock.

Knowing Elias’ body reacted like that due to him , oh gods, this was enough to drive Cicero’s mind completely dumb with lust.

“Well, someone has definitely warmed up,” the Breton whispered. Cicero could only moan in response, his mouth caught in a deep, open-mouthed kiss. 

He could feel that Elias started rolling his hips, extremely lightly, to the point where it was almost imperceptible. Oh, the little tease. Cicero pressed his hands harder on Elias' ass, as if daring him to go faster. 

“Fuck,” the younger man sighed in pleasure as he broke the kiss.

“Please,” the jester pleaded in a small voice, “do not stop moving. It's… working very well to keep Cicero warm.”

Elias smirked. “Oh you'll be warm alright when I'm done with you.” He gave a harsher thrust. Cicero gasped, surprised by the sensation of both their cocks colliding onto each other. The Breton kept going with a bit less intensity, but a steadier pace. The jester could feel his foreskin stretching out and shrinking up on his shaft as Elias’ cock moved on it. Poor Cicero simply couldn't retain the lewd noises coming out of his mouth, or his fingers digging in the skin of Elias' ass.

“Yeah,” Elias said tenderly as he placed his hand on Cicero's cheek. “You like that, huh? You like when your Listener takes care of you?”

“Yes,” the fool answered with audible lust in his voice, “yes, please, my Listener, continue.”

The Listener obliged, of course. Cicero could feel the man's lips on the side of his neck. He was not sure if it was kissing, licking, sucking or all of these at the same time that he felt there, but nevertheless, he knew he liked the warmth and the attention. Elias’ hips were moving at an ideal pace, and the pressure he was applying between their two bodies was just right, leaving Cicero to pant and moan against his partner's shoulder.

However, it seemed as though Elias had other plans. Suddenly, he raised himself up slightly and started kissing lower on Cicero's neck, going down to his chest. The Breton locked eyes with his jester and started licking around the nipple, very softly, before closing his mouth around it and giving it a soft suction. Cicero's back arched on its own as he felt a shiver travel across his entire body.

“Elly…” he moaned in between two harsh breaths. His heart was thumping inside of his chest, harder than the hail was hitting the fabric of the tent.

“Sensitive, aren't we?” Elias teased as he gave the same loving treatment to the other nipple.

His mouth was deliciously warm, his tongue so soft, yet his suction so hard. He really knew what he was doing, huh? How could he know Cicero's body so well already, know exactly what he wants and needs? Such an incredible man he is, this Elias.

The Breton then brought his head lower, and started kissing the redhead's tummy, following the happy trail with his lips. With a quick hand movement, Elias lifted one of the furs back up on Cicero's body to cover his chest and arms. The blanket was still over his legs and thus over Elias' body as well, leaving only his head and the jester's crotch uncovered.

“There’s an area I’d like to warm up with my mouth instead,” the Breton said before placing a little kiss on the head of Cicero's cock.

His breath hitched at the contact. If it was going to be even just half as good as it was the day before, it was already more than he could ask for.

“My love,” Cicero started saying as he lifted his head up, “you don’t have t-”

“Shut up,” Elias interrupted him, right before encircling the tip with his lips.

And the fool's head fell right back onto the bedroll. Alright, he wasn’t going to argue with him, then. He closed his eyes and arched his back, completely dominated by the sensation. The inside of Elias’ mouth was so warm, and his tongue and cheeks so soft, so slippery against his cock. Cicero blindly searched for his Listener's face with his hands, and landed on his hair. He let his fingers slip through his thick mane, needing to find a place to anchor himself. The feeling of his lips going up and down on his intimacy was hypnotizing, addicting; he never wanted it to stop. 

“Mmh, Elly…” he moaned as he slowly allowed his eyes to open to look at his lover. To say he looked beautiful would be an understatement. He looked absolutely striking in this position with little strands of hair falling on his face, eyebrows scrunched with concentration. He wasn’t looking back, he had his eyes closed, so focused on the task. 

Cicero was starting to get pretty loud at this point. He wanted Elias to hear it, wanted him to know how well he was doing, how much he appreciated it. But it wasn’t enough. He needed to use his words.

“So good, Elly. You’re being so good to Cicero… Such a good Listener, oh yes!”

The younger man’ eyes opened at the praise and Cicero could detect a light smile, even with his whole mouth around his cock. What a blessing it was to be the beholder of such a sight! He maintained his gaze for as long as he could, wishing he could immortalize this moment, engrave it in his brain to forever hold on to. 

“My beloved Elias,” he said as he let one of his hands slip to the other man's face, caressing his cheek. He was staring back at him with gentle eyes, head still slowly bobbing up and down on his erection. Elias closed back his eyes and with a sound of contentment, lowered his head slowly, bringing Cicero’s dick deeper, so much deeper into his mouth than he had brought it before, and the poor jester thought he was going to suffocate. He could feel the head of his cock hitting the back of Elias’ throat, and it just kept going deeper. The Breton was visibly struggling to breath with a mouth so full, but he kept going, determined to finish what he had started.

“Listener…” Cicero warned him, scared that Elias would hurt himself, even though part of him wished he’d keep going since it felt so, so, so good…

In one fast motion, the younger man pulled it out of his mouth, gasping for air.

“I love you,” he said before diving right back in, accompanied by his hand this time.

No matter how many times they had told these words to each other the day before, Cicero could swear he’d never get used to it. To hear it out of his mouth, directed at him, while touching him in the most intimate way he could imagine… How could he even explain the feeling? What words were even worthy of describing how special this was to him?

He wanted to answer, but the pure pleasure Elias was overwhelming him with was distracting.

“I- aH! I lov.. I love you!” he finally managed to say through the other man's affection.

Elias was getting faster, and Cicero louder. If the Breton was to continue, the fool would spill inside of his mouth pretty soon. He didn't want to, however, not now. He hadn't even given him anything yet…

"Come here," he forced himself to say as he pulled the other man's face towards him. Their mouths connected again.

Elias was back on top of Cicero, both legs to his side, cock against cock once again. The Imperial wanted to flip them around and have his turn at tasting his lover, but they were already rubbing themselves against each other, both moaning through the kiss. Cicero didn't even know who had started it first, but they couldn't stop, too enraptured by their thirst for each other's bodies. 

“There's something I want to ask you,” Elias said as he broke the kiss and slipped his hand in between them, grabbing both their lengths in one hand. 

“What is it, my love?”

Elias smiled viciously. “I want you to fuck me.”

Cicero froze for a second, not certain he had heard right. “You…you want me to… here? Now?” It's not that he didn't want to. Quite the opposite, the mere idea was making him tremble with excitement. To touch his Listener from the inside, to have his dick buried to the hilt in his warmth… Oh, what a dream! An absolute honour, a privilege so great he almost felt guilty to think about it. Of course, Cicero would oblige, and gladly! Elias does not even need to ask. But this specific kind of loving required thorough preparation, and Cicero wasn't sure Elias was in any state to receive it.

“I prepped earlier today,” the Breton answered. “And I may or may not have used a slot in my potions satchel for a lubrication oil instead of an additional health potion…”

He reached for his satchel that was discarded with his clothes to their side and showed the tiny bottle to Cicero.

That meant he had planned this. All day long, the young man had this very specific intention of getting ruined, and yet he still managed to act so casual. Cicero would have never expected that from Elias. He was pleasantly surprised, though. 

“Oh! Such a clever little Listener you are, you!” the fool answered gleefully. “And oh so naughty… Mmh, yes, Cicero likes that a lot.”

Elias smiled. “You won't have to do anything,” he said as he let some oil drip onto the older man's cock. “Just staying hard.”

“It would be a challenge not to.”

Cicero sighed in pleasure as Elias massaged the oil onto his cock. The Breton lost no time and already started lubing and warming up his own hole with his other free hand.

“Cicero could've helped with that,” the jester said, almost disappointed.

“I know,” the younger man answered, head thrown back as he stretched himself out with his own fingers. “But I was just too eager to wait.”

Cicero was delighted by this answer. Again, surprised, but happily so. He watched in awe as Elias sat on top of his cock, softly pressing himself down on it, teasing the hole. Just that was enough to make the fool moan, which in turn seemed to arouse Elias even more. 

“Whenever you're ready, my love,” Cicero whispered.

Elias finally let the tip in, slowly, groaning at the burning stretch. Cicero started stroking the other man's sides in soothing patterns. It was obvious it wasn't his first time being taken, but the first thrust is always uncomfortable, and the jester didn't want Elias to think he was being indifferent to it.

“Are you alright?” he asked, trying hard to maintain his composure and not fall apart from the warm and tight grip on his tip already.

“Yes,” Elias answered, “Don't worry. I want you all the way in. So badly.”

Cicero pushed his hips up slowly, but it was as though the hole had swallowed it all at once. And as simply as that, their bodies became one. Such a lewd and naughty sound it was that escaped Cicero’s mouth once he was fully in! It squeezed him so tightly and warmed him up so completely! He kept bucking up his hips towards Elias, unable to restrain himself, but the Breton quickly brought his feet up to rest on Cicero's thighs to stop him from moving.

"Let me do the work," he whispered in the fool's ear right before gripping his wrists and pinning them down of the bedroll, right on top of Cicero's head. "You've got to rest. You've been through a lot."

"Yes, Listener," he answered as solemnly as he could, letting him know he was at his command. 

Heavy sighs were pulled out of him at the sensation when Elias started moving his hips. He was slow and methodical, taking him as deep as he could before bringing his hips back up, only the head still inside, like he wanted to make sure every inch was getting the same amount of attention. Fair and thorough, in bed as in battle. Cicero liked it.

Elias’ cock was directly in the jester's sight, all hard and swollen, in dire need of attention. Cicero wanted nothing more but to grab it, stroke it until Elias would see stars, but his hands were bound. Instead, he moved his head up slightly to catch one nipple between his lips, curious to know if Elias was as sensitive as him in this area. 

"Fuck," the younger man cried, and Cicero's stomach coiled. Yeah, he definitely was. "Keep going."

That, he gladly would. “Cicero is at your service, Listener.”

He felt Elias clench around him at his words. He had accelerated his rhythm, and Cicero was glad his mouth was busy, because the sounds of pure pleasure coming out of him would be frankly embarrassing at this point.

“Harder,” Elias commanded in a needy voice, and Cicero smiled, lips still wrapped around the bud. He turned his kisses into suctions, and Elias looked like he was about to burst.

The pressure moving to and fro on his length was getting overwhelming, and he focused his attention on sucking harder to keep himself from finishing inside of his lover. It couldn’t happen now, it was too early. But the younger man was so skilled, if Cicero was to abandon himself to the sensation, he'd come undone in mere seconds. 

As if reading his mind, Elias changed position, sitting more upright on him and unbounding Cicero's hands from under his to touch his chest instead, anchoring himself tightly. The fool seized the occasion to grab the other man's cock like he wanted to before. He loved the weight of it in his hand, the soft and warm skin directly touching his palm while he jerked it, soft and slow. 

“Oh shit,” the younger man said in a tone that almost sounded scared. He was boucing hard on Cicero's cock, without a doubt hitting exactly the right spot. Gods, what a ridiculously erotic sight that was! 

“You look divine, my Listener,” Cicero said as he watched the man bringing himself closer to his climax. It made Elias shiver, Cicero knew it from the goosebumps, and they locked eyes. The Breton was biting his lower lip, and his brows were furrowed, both from pleasure and concentration. This sight in itself was enough to make the fool worry again about prematurely cumming and that wasn't even counting how good Cicero felt stuck inside that tight little ring of muscles.

“Baby, I’m so close,” Elias whimpered as he moved his hands from Cicero’s chest to his face, grabbing it tightly to maintain his gaze.

Baby . He had always thought it a stupid nickname for lovers to give each other. But the way he had said it just now, how absolutely filthy he had made it sound, how intimate he made it feel, that was fitting with the Elias he knew. Cicero loved it.

The jester found himself growing impatient for the Listener’s release, eager to see his face, hear his cries, feel him twitching on top of him as he’d reach it. 

“Use me, Listener,” he encouraged him. “Oh please, use me! Use Cicero’s body to cum.”

Those words alone seemed to have pushed Elias further towards his goal, and his movements got messier, harder. He was close, Cicero could feel it. Suddenly, a short halt, followed by a full body shiver, dirty growls coming out of Elias’ mouth, the grip on Cicero's cock strengthening; there it was. His hand was starting to get sticky with what Elias had released, but he didn't want to remove it. He looked at his Listener in awe, delighted by his reaction, sighing from pleasure simply out of knowing that he had made Elias orgasm.

“Fuck,” the younger man said as he let his body weight drop on the jester, resting his forehead on his. Cicero ached to trap Elias’ still shaking lips in another kiss, but he decided to let him breathe. Instead, he ran his clean hand on the other man's back, tracing his scars that were already starting to feel rather familiar under his fingertips, some of them he was starting to recognize. The one in a straight diagonal line in the bottom right corner, the thick one on the side that split into two smaller ones, the sharp indent of bestial teeth on top of it… He couldn’t decide which one he liked the most.

“Fuck,” Elias repeated. “It had been a while since… you know.”

Cicero smiled. “Seems like the Listener enjoyed himself a lot,” he said as he finally let go of the softening member he still had in his hand. 

“You think?” the younger man answered.

Cicero shrugged. "A Keeper ought to serve their Listener right.

Elias laughed. "As should the Listener to his Keeper," he answered before kissing him again. He started raising up his hips, which abruptly reminded Cicero he was still inside of him. 

"Ah!" He exclaimed in surprise, his voice muffled by the kiss. "Elly…"

His hands made their way back on Elias’ bottom -as if one could resist touching this exquisite marvel anyway- and it wasn't long before the pleasure raised back up to where it was before.

"It's your turn, now," the Breton said before picking up the pace.

By Sithis, the stamina of this man! Cicero was at his mercy, a complete mess of whimpers and gasps as the man rocked his hips on top of him. He wasn’t holding back, impaling himself on him as deeply as he could, with a speed and vivacity greater than Cicero would even use on himself. Elias was skilled in the art of riding, and not just his horse; but this was just technical. Mostly, he had a certain talent in caring for the people he loved. And strong was the love shared between Keeper and Listener. Clearly, Cicero wasn't going to last much longer.

“Clo- Oh! Close…” he moaned in desperation, his fingers digging deeper on the soft skin of Elias’ thighs, right under the curve of his butt.

The message was clear, and Elias didn’t change a single thing in what he was doing, except for breathing harder from the effort. Cicero could start feeling it now, the pressure growing, growing, and growing…

“Cum,” Elias simply said, knowing damn well his Keeper would.

And he did. Cicero released his seed inside of him, writhing under his body, nails leaving indents on Elias’ skin as he held him in place, unable to handle any more stimulation on his cock. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to leave the warmth of his lover's cave, the comfortable slickness of it. He waited a couple of seconds before doing anything, trying to get his breathing back to normal, as did his partner. He finally moved his hands up against Elias and noticed a lick of sweat on his lower back. He had worked for him. How sweet was that?

It was Elias who had pushed his hips upwards to get his lover out of him, and Cicero could feel some drops of his own seed falling back on his stomach from Elias’ entrance that was overflowing. The Breton pushed his hips back down and laid his body down on Cicero, in the same way he did at the beginning when he just wanted to warm him up. The fool embraced him.

“I’m not cold anymore,” he stated as his hand found its way back to the other man's hair.

Elias scoffed. “I could tell.”

The storm outside was still raging pretty loudly. It looked like they were going to have to stay there for a bit longer still.

Cicero wasn’t mad about it.

Chapter Text

[WE SWITCH BACK TO ELIAS’ POV]

They hadn't thought this through. The storm had calmed down by now, and they should've been starting to head back to town now if they wanted to get there before dark, but Cicero's clothes were still soaking wet. And cold. He was fine now in the tent with all the furs and blankets, but what was he supposed to do for the trip back home? Walk the whole hour naked in the snow with furs draped over him? No, what he needed was a change of clothes, but neither of them had one on hand. The best solution they came up with was to make Elias get back in town alone to grab some of Cicero’s spare clothes at the Sanctuary, and then come back to him on horseback. The walk alone to the Sanctuary was an icy never-ending nightmare; of course, the one day Elias decided to not wear his armor had to be THAT day. Oh, the things he’d do for that Cicero of his… 

It was already dark when they arrived back in town, and they decided to head to the Sanctuary directly. Babette had calmed down enough to not completely destroy him and Cicero with her bare teeth, but she couldn’t handle being in the same room. Fair enough. Cicero had been able to do his thing with the Night Mother, while Elias and Nazir discussed the remodeling plans they'd give to Delvin Mallory to make the Sanctuary a livable space. Elias had told Cicero earlier that he’d have to do this trip to Riften, and he planned on leaving tonight. As much as it pained him to think of how long he would have to be away from his little jester, Elias insisted on doing this trip on his own. There was a lot of debriefing to do, to a lot of people. Cicero was disappointed at first, but he understood. After all, he had Mother at home to keep him entertained.

Elias went to check on Cicero a while later, when he thought he'd be finished. He could hear him speak as he got closer but couldn't really decipher what he was saying. Elias didn't care much for it anyway; Cicero talking to himself was something he had gotten used to, at this point.

"Hey," he said as he peeked in the little corner where Cicero was settled with the corpse, the smell of oil and burnt candles overwhelming his nose. "Are you done with her?"

The Imperial turned his head towards Elias and smiled. "Yes, Listener, Cicero was done a couple of minutes ago already. I was just speaking to Mother."

Elias approached him, and the jester intuitively opened up his arms to receive him. The Breton melted into his embrace, and their lips met for a quick kiss.

“I’m going to leave soon,” Elias said as he moved his hands up the jester’s chest to the sides of his neck. “You should be on your way to the inn too.” Nazir and Babette were already using the only two leftover beds in the Sanctuary, so Cicero had no choice.

“Not now,” he answered. “I want to stay with Mother.”

“Alright. But don’t go too late. You’ve been through a lot, today. You need to rest.”

Cicero had a little laugh. “I know.”

Elias was aware it was his overprotective papa side talking, even though Cicero was a grown man capable of taking care of himself, but he couldn’t help it.

The redhead kissed him again, softly, and he followed, savouring the warmth of his mouth, drowning in his scent, so concentrated after having handled the oils. Elias felt his lover's hands pressing tighter against his hips, and a shadow of a whimper through his kiss, which made his stomach coil. 

Fuck. Why was it so easy for him to turn weak in Cicero's arms? They had already made love earlier this afternoon in the tent, and yet his body was still absolutely feral for him.

With a burst of strength driven by lust, Elias pushed him on the stone wall behind him before kissing him again, even more fervently. The Imperial man seemed surprised but pleased, for he held him tighter and his breathing got louder.

After a moment, Elias forced his mouth to break free. “I have to go, now.”

“Yes,” Cicero whispered before moving his lips down to the other man’s neck and lowering his hands on his body.

Elias muffled his gasp as he started holding Cicero's head, and he looked around quickly, making sure they were still hidden from view. The little corner where Nazir had placed the Night Mother was convenient for a quick little moment of privacy, but it was still not a room in itself, and Babette’s footsteps were near impossible to hear, so they had to stay vigilant. Not that they were doing anything wrong , but they just didn't find it necessary for the other members of the Brotherhood to know about the new nature of their relationship. At least, not yet. It was still very new to them too.

Elias could feel Cicero suckling on his neck, making the heat spread in his crotch, the blood flow getting more focused in that area, and he knew it was time to stop before it got out of hand.

"My love," he whispered, "we need to stop."

The jester moaned in annoyance against Elias’ skin. "You're right. Cicero needs to leave Elias to his Listener duties."

One last strong kiss, and he finally managed to let go of him.”Behave yourself while I’m not around,” Elias said jokingly before the official goodbyes.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Mjoll's arms were the second best comforting place in the entire world; the first place had recently been taken over by Cicero.

The two friends were laying down in Mjoll's bed, Elias tucked to the Nord's side and his head resting on the space between her shoulder and her chest. Elias had placed one hand on the woman's belly, hoping to feel the little being move around, as Mjoll had described. There had been nothing so far, but he had time to wait: there was no hurry. Not anymore.

The Dark Brotherhood nightmare had finally ended. Well, the guild in itself was still alive, of course, but Elias' work here was done.

He had told everyone at home in Heljarchen Hall of the recent events yesterday, which was easier since he had already told them most of what was happening before he had left to kill the Emperor. They took it well, again, they were mostly just happy that he was still alive.

Telling it to Mjoll was harder. There was so much to say, so much to explain, so many twists and turns, it took more than an hour to try and recite the whole tale. Elias also decided to share his true feelings about Cicero with Mjoll. If he was going to be honest, it was best he said absolutely everything.

The Nord woman was still in the process of digesting all this new information. There was shock and outrage at first, a lot of confusion, but then also compassion. It wasn't exactly the end result she was hoping Elias would find himself in, but it was good enough. Elias himself was immensely satisfied with how it turned out, which is mostly what appeased Mjoll.

It had been a while since her and Elias were both sitting in silence, simply enjoying each other's presence while trying to sort out everything inside their heads.

It was Mjoll who first started to speak:

"Do you remember the first time we saw Cicero together on the road? At Loreius' farm."

Elias had a little shadow of a smile. "Yes, I remember."

"We were making fun of him, and you said that you thought he was cute and I jokingly said that 'we may just have found your man'"

Elias scoffed. "Oh, gods. It's true, we did say that."

"Who would've thought, right?"

Very soft, yet genuine laughs could be heard now, from both of them.

Indeed, Mjoll was right. Who would've thought? Not even Elias himself could've planned it. Falling in love with a jester assassin… Who in the world could ever expect this to happen?

"He's one heck of a weird catch," Elias said. "I'm very aware. But I… I'm not sure how to explain it, but I feel like… Like I've never felt more sure of something in my life. I just… He's…"

"You don't need to say more. You're trying to describe love, and that's something words cannot do justice to."

Elias smiled as he pressed herself harder on his friend. She always gets it.