Chapter Text
The morning brought much brightness but not much warmth. Neros was woken by the blinding light of the sun in his eyes and not tempted in the least to leave the sanctuary of the bedding. He turned away from the light, inadvertently facing towards Cicero. He was still asleep, though he was close to falling out of the bedroll from his constant movements.
Neros’s body tensed at the memory of the foolish decision he had made last night.
Is madness infectious? Sithis, I hope not.
He had personal experience with how unpredictable Cicero was. He could be singing your praises one moment and trying to end you the next.
So why did I think it necessary to invite him into my bedroll? Or worse, to accept his request for…closeness, of all things?
Visions of waking up to find Cicero curled up on the (sanctuary) cave floor, shivering from (blood loss) the cold, his lips tinged with blue, filled his mind as they did last night.
Just another way that he fluctuates, between indestructible and frail enough to be knocked down by a summer breeze in Solitude.
Neros frowned at the thought, shuffling away from Cicero slightly. This movement was enough to jolt the still-alert Cicero into wakefulness, his eyes wide open and staring at his Listener. Neros froze for a moment. Cicero's face filled with a too-wide grin, before his hand started to move towards Neros's shoulder, his fingers wiggling in a sinister fashion.
“Good morning, Listener.”
Neros jolted into action at this, his hand automatically going for the small dagger hidden within the confines of his robes. He elbowed Cicero away in the process, causing him to roll out onto the cave floor.
“Hehe, oh Listener – Cicero apologises, but – hahaha, you should’ve seen the look on your face!”
Cicero burst into hysterical laughter, punching the ground below him and laughing into the floor. Neros, who had untangled himself from the bedding, was standing over him, breathing heavily, his hand still on his weapon. After a few moments, he relaxed, loosening his hold and sighing. He rolled his eyes at Cicero’s continued amusement, turning to scowl at the abandoned furs at his feet.
“Are you going to help me with this or not?”
Cicero’s teary-eyed grin remained as he released another sharp laugh and stood up, responding “of course, my Listener” and moving to help Neros pack. A ‘hmmph’ was the most he received from the Listener after that, as he tried, and occasionally failed, to contain his giggles.
“You know, Listener, you don’t have to be so tense. It’s only Cicero.”
The Listener opted not to respond, keeping to his silence. The quiet lasted for only a few seconds before Cicero began to hum to himself, sending the Listener glances and smiles when he wasn’t looking. They changed into their scaled armour (though Cicero went without a helmet, preferring his usual headwear), and Cicero found enough undamaged sweetrolls in his backpack to make a decent breakfast for both of them. The cold was still a source of discomfort to Neros, even if it was not as biting in the daytime, so he informed Cicero that it would be wise to push on soon.
They had been on their way from Windhelm to Dawnstar after a successful contract. Neros wanted to avoid lingering in Windhelm as much as possible but was too restless to indulge in a carriage, so they marched along the stone paths. Quick, sharp snowfall set in halfway through their journey, impacting on their ability to move through the snow and to see where they were going. The huge Frost dragon didn’t help matters. It was no longer snowing, so Neros thought it best to take advantage of this and set off for the Sanctuary.
The hours passed, and a number of bandits and bears were torn apart by an ebony dagger and an ebony sword, with some fire magic used (I’m getting there, but it’s still hard to aim and control, and Cicero darting in front of me makes it harder.) There was another pit-stop for lunch (does he eat nothing but sweetrolls and carrots?), and quite a bit of improvised singing on the part of a certain jester (I wonder how awful a duet between Cicero and Inigo would be…hopefully it wouldn’t end in them trying to kill each other, but who can say?) Eventually, Neros and Cicero were back home. Cicero immediately made a beeline for the Night Mother, murmuring as he checked her and her casket over for any signs of damage.
YET ANOTHER CHILD HAS PRAYED TO THEIR MOTHER.
Neros turned towards the whisper that blocked out all other sound, Cicero hopping to the side at the Listener’s advance so he could take in the latest instructions. However, he was in no hurry to run back out into that cold, especially since the sky had darkened and begun to produce more of its beloved snow. Besides, there was no rush. ‘These targets aren’t going anywhere’, as Nazir was fond of saying, especially when Neros would jump from contract to contract in one of his restless moods, Cicero following after him more often than not.
Instead, Neros focused on tending to his backpack. Before setting off for Dawnstar that morning, he had quickly thrown out many of the items that were beyond saving. The salted meats were more wet than salty, and the gemstones had cracked into little pieces from the freezing blast. However, most of his items were still intact, including his piles of gold. The backpack itself had mostly dried, and he had hopes for the bedroll, which he placed on a rack in front of the fire that blazed in his master bedroom. He jumped up the stone steps to his shelf to grab his usual robes and get changed.
His master bedroom was a sanctuary within a Sanctuary. The one place he had barred Cicero and any other family member from entering, for many different reasons, at least one of them being his need for some level of privacy. Another reason was that Neros liked having piles of different stuff lying around on the floor and sticking out of his packed chest, from old dusty tomes to back-up armour. He knew that Cicero’s desire to ‘serve the Listener’ would lead him to moving things about and disrupting his organised chaos, or worse.
Neros, now changed into his favoured attire, began to look through his backpack for more items to add to the various piles, when there was a knock at the door.
“Hey, Sir Sociable! Get your tail downstairs if you want any beef stew! Get it before it’s gone!”
While Neros did feel a desire to unwind after two days straight of socialising with Cicero (that little jester can be…overwhelming), the mention of beef stew perked him up. Cicero’s love for sweetrolls was only rivalled for Neros’s love of beef stew, and Nazir knew to use this as an incentive if he wanted to get Neros to talk to the members of the Sanctuary for a couple of hours.
Neros raced out of his room and through a hallway to get to the dining area, avoiding the longer way over the bridge. A new initiative stood at the cooking pot, stirring and keeping her gaze down as Nazir peered over her shoulder.
“You’ll want to turn down the heat now. That is, if you don’t want the Listener whining to you about it being too salty. Speak of the Daedra.”
Neros stopped in the entrance to the dining area as Nazir turned to smirk at him.
“Eager as ever, hmm? Thought you’d be sick of the stuff by now.”
“Says the man who spends half the money he gets from contracts importing candied scorpions.”
“I enjoy a wide flavour profile! More than can be said for some. Either way, I didn’t call you here to criticise your diet, much as I would love to go on. Zebba, start serving.”
The initiate halted mid-stir, sending a darting glance to Neros before ducking down to grab bowls from the nearby shelving. Nazir strolled towards the chairs at a leisurely pace, indicating with a hand wave for Neros to follow. As the initiate rushed from the table to the pot to deliver the stew, hands trembling under the weight as she poured out sizable portions, a voice called out from the torture chamber.
“Having dinner without me?”
Babette walked into the room, licking at the blood at the corners of her mouth.
“That’s probably for the best. I don’t think what you’re serving would be quite to my tastes anyway, dear.”
Babette smiled up at the initiate who, having finished pouring out portions, gave a wide-eyed stare to Babette and a hasty bow before hurrying back to the cooking area.
“Ah, still got it.”
Babette jumped up to sit beside Nazir, who sat opposite Neros. Halfway into his first bowl already, he stopped to look up at the two with squinting eyes, who both smirked at him in return.
Nazir tilted his head to look at the initiate.
“Zebba, grab a bowl for you and the other new initiate. Eat in your room for now.”
“Yes, run while you still can!” Babette showed her fangs for a few moments before descending into giggles.
Zebba flinched before hastily obeying, rushing off with two bowls.
Neros halted in licking at the underside of the bowl to speak.
“You’ve forgotten Cicero.”
“Please, he’s never appreciated my cooking. He can make his own meals.”
“TOO SPICY!” came a cry from upstairs.
Nazir closed his eyes, pressing his fingers on the bridge of his nose.
“Why, Listener? Why did you have to let him live?”
“CICERO HEARD THAT!”
Only the points of Cicero’s hat were visible as he tried to stretch himself to glare over the tall stone banister at Nazir.
“AND CICERO RESENTS THE QUESTIONING OF THE LISTENER’S DECISION MAKING. HE-“
“Speaking of the Listener!” Babette cried. “I couldn’t find the ingredients for the health potions you wanted.”
Neros turned to Babette with a look of confusion. She gave him a pressing look in return, a small hand gripped into a fist on the table.
“Ah- oh, that’s alright. The alchemist might still be open, I’ll go check.”
Neros began to stand as Cicero rushed from his place to block the Listener’s access to the stairs.
“No, Listener, no! It’s so cold and dark and snowy out there, you’ll get sick! Please, please, whatever you need, let Cicero get it for you.”
“Are you sure you want to? It’s still a bit unpleasant out there.”
“All the more reason for Cicero to make the trip! What does the Listener need?”
Babette debriefed Cicero on the health potion ingredients that Neros had apparently requested while Neros grabbed a small bag of gold from his room. He started to make his way to the hallway, but stopped for a moment, his stomach churning before he began to search for something.
When Neros returned, Cicero stood grinning where he had been left as Nazir tried to ignore him, wiping at the remains of his stew with bread.
“Cicero is ready, Listener! Is there anything else you need while he is out? Some horker meat, perhaps? Or lockpicks from the Khajiit caravans? Oh, do you need that mending?”
Neros stood holding out a cave bear fur coat.
“Put this on.”
“…Listener?”
Neros shook the item in his arms for emphasis.
“Put on the coat.”
Cicero knew this was an item of clothing Neros wasn’t too fond of, due to its being too large for him and its weight slowing him down, a great flaw for an assassin. However, in that moment, the tactical disadvantages were not on Cicero’s mind. He was much more focused on seizing this opportunity.
“I-if the Listener commands it.”
Cicero took the coat from Neros’s arms, admiring the feel and weight of it as he put it on. It smelt of blood and saltwater, as the Listener often did, and it chipped at the cold in his bones. A warm smile formed on Cicero’s lips.
“Thank you, Listener.”
Neros scowled down at Cicero.
“The gold you’ll need is in the left pocket. Once you have the ingredients, go to the inn and get yourself a meal.”
He kept his gaze on Cicero’s face as his eyes narrowed.
“A proper meal, not just carrots and sweetrolls. That’s an order. Then report back here.”
Cicero, for at least a few moments, was still and silent, staring open-mouthed at the Listener, swamped in a coat three sizes too big. His mind eventually catching up with reality, he noticed Neros’s continued glare and hastened to show his obedience.
“Yes, Listener! As you command! Cicero will return soon, Listener! But, oh, not too soon, Cicero will follow his orders first, yes! Goodbye, Listener! Goodbye!”
Cicero stumbled up the stairs as he spoke, trying not to trip over the furry fabric, his face red with something other than the cold. Nazir smirked into his bowl and Babette hid her mouth with her hand. Only when the Sanctuary door shut behind Cicero did they allow themselves to burst into laughter. Neros looked in their direction, tilting his head before walking over and sitting opposite them.
“Who knew you two could find Cicero so funny?”
“Oh, Listener!” Babette cried, wiping her bloody vampiric tears from her eyes. “It’s both of you, you’re a true comedy act!”
Neros blinked.
“Standing there trying to look intimidating with that huge fur coat!”
“And the way he said ‘that’s an order’!” Nazir attempted his best impression of Neros’s gravelly voice between chokes of laughter. “It’s like something out of a trashy romance novel!”
Neros, realising what they meant, stiffened before moving to stand up. Babette and Nazir both groaned, gesturing for Neros to return to his seat, which he reluctantly did as they caught their breath.
“We’re sorry, Listener, but by now you have to see how painfully obvious you both are.” Babette placed a small hand over his, smiling up at him indulgently.
“While I still have no idea how you can stand to hold a conversation with the little freak, much less anything else, I’m not here to judge anyone’s…preferences.”
“Life can be short, Neros. You should live it while you can.” The little hand squeezed the larger, scaled one beneath it, which seemed to jolt Neros out of his shock. He felt the largest scar on his side burn and the palms of his hands grow hot. He withdrew his hand, his face twisted into a grimace as his arm came to hold around his stomach under the table.
“If this is your idea of a joke, leave it to the fool. I want no part in this.” Neros remembered to move his arm to his side, clenching his hand into a fist as he stood.
“Wait, you’re not going to stay for seconds?” Nazir gestured towards the cooking pot, still half-full of beef stew. Neros didn’t look back, taking long, quick steps towards his bedroom. The echo of Babette’s soft “I told you he wasn’t ready” followed him as he slammed the door. He spun to glare at the already charred training dummy, sending a cascade of fire magic its way. He stopped a few times when he had run out of magicka to unleash the occasional YOL TOOR SHUL in its direction. Zebba spilled her stew at the sanctuary-shaking sound, but the initiate Haren didn’t seem to notice the thick liquid coating his uniform, staring forward into nothingness as he whispered.
“By Sithis. Dragonborn.”
Babette was halfway out of the secret entrance for new prey and some quiet time. She turned to a sighing Nazir, rolling her eyes as they both spoke.
“Dragonborn.”